Accession No. — J-•••— ----- ^EIVlpRY COLLEGE LIBRARY^ OXFORD, GEORGIA. REGULATIONS. Two books may be taken at a lime by any student or member of the Faculty, of1 any other person in the village paying Library fees, and no volume shall be re¬ tained more than two weeks without a renewal, and no second renewal will be allowed without special permission of the Faculty. 2. A fine of ten cents per week will be assessed for each book detained over time, payable on its return. ^ 3. Any person taking books from the Library will be held responsible tor their loss or injurv- No pen or pencil marks shall be made in the bfebks, and ho books shall be lent out of the household of the person responsible for thjflame. 4. No general reference work shall at anytime be taken from t$§ Library Duilding. 5. Any person willfully violating an" of the foregoing rules^hall thereby forfeit all right to the use of the Librarv. y a ^^ * 9 JXQ ' ENGRAVED BY T.B. TVEECH/FHIL *)FROMAIAGUEPREOTYPE. LIFE OP WILLIAM CAPERS, D.D., ONE OF THE BISHOPS OF THE METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH, SOUTH; INCLUDING AN BY WILLIAM M. WIGHTMAST, D.D., PRESIDENT OF WOFFORD COLLEGE. Cemt.: SOUTHERN METHODIST PUBLISHING HOUSE. 1859. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by WILLIAM M. WIGHTMAN, In the District Court of the United States for the Middle District of Tennessee. STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY A. A. STITT, SOUTHERN METHODIST PUBLISHING HOUSE, NASHVILLE, TENN. Canttnts. Preface is Autobiography , 11 CHAPTER I. Value of autobiography—Mr. Capers appointed Superintendent of a Mission to the Creek Indians—Stationed at Milledgeville, Ga.. 231 CHAPTER II. Stationed in Charleston—Editor of the Wesleyan Journal—Appointed Presiding Elder—Defence of Bishop Soule's Sermon—Elected Dele¬ gate to the British Conference.-. 248 CHAPTER III. Embarks in the John Jay—Voyage—Reception in England—Estimate of the leading Wesleyan preachers — Resolutions of the British Conference—Visits Dr. Adam Clarke at Haydon Hall—Return voyage 264 CHAPTER IV. Invitation to go to' Baltimore—Missions to the blacks established— Results of these Missions 288 CHAPTER V. Elected to a Professorship in Franklin College, Ga.—His own humble appreciation of his scholastic abilities—Severe illness—Castile Sel- by—Stationed in Columbia—Correspondence .with Dr. Cooper.. 303 CHAPTER VI. Miss Jane A. Faust—Miss Maxwell—An awakening sermon—Rhymes —Dr. Capers removes to Charleston—General Conference of 1832 —Is offered the Presidency of LaGrange College 817 iv CONTENTS. CHAPTER VII. Hospitality—Rev. John Hutchinson—The little mail-carrier and' the overcoat—Outlay of benevolence speedily returned, and doubled 332 CHAPTER VIII. Troubles in the Church in Charleston—Transferred to the Georgia Conference, and stationed at Savannah—Lewis Myers—Delivers a eulogy on Lafayette 339 CHAPTER IX. Removal to Columbia—Accepts the Professorship of Moral and Intel¬ lectual Philosophy in the "South Carolina College—Reasons for an early resignation—Denominational education 352 CHAPTER X. Lays the corner-stone of the Cokesbury School—George Holloway—. Visits Georgia—Stationed in Charleston—Congregational singing— Appointed Editor of the Southern Christian Advocate—Great fire in Chaiieston—Collections for rebuilding the churohes—Centenary of Methodism 362 CHAPTER XI. General Conference of 1840—Conversion of his son William—Ap¬ pointed Missionary Secretary for the South—Preaches the funeral sermon of Mrs. Andrew 371 CHAPTER XII. Removes from Oxford to Charleston—Makes the tour of the South¬ western Conferences—Visits his aunt in Kentucky—Incidents of travel—Maum Rachel 383 CHAPTER XIII. General Conference at New York—Debate on Finley's resolution— Incipient measures for a division of the Church 398 CONTENTS. v CHAPTER XIV. Elected and ordained Bishop—First tour of Episcopal visitations— Travels through the border territory of the Virginia Confer¬ ence .- 413 CHAPTER XV. Second tour of visitations—-"The far West—Travels through the Indian Territory, Arkansas, and Texas 426 CHAPTER XVI. Dr. Bascom visits South Carolina—His mind and manners—Meeting of the Bishops and Commissioners ' of the Church suit called by Bishop Soule—Bishop Capers's third and fourth tours of visita¬ tions 439 CHAPTER XVII. General Conference at St. Louis—Fifth tour of visitations—Writes his Autobiography—Illness at Augusta—Sixth tour—Correspond¬ ence 451 CHAPTER XVIII. The Methodist itinerant system—Its suitableness to the expanding population of the country—Statistics—SeVenth tour of visita¬ tions 469 CHAPTER XIX. Eighth tour of visitations—Failing health—General Conference at Columbus, Ga.—Last tour—Illness and death 482 CHAPTER XX. Personnel of Bishop Capers—Intellectual character—Conversational powers—Religious experience—Style of preaching—Theology of the John Wesley school—Administrative capacity—Family feelings —Belief in a special Providence—Disinterestedness—Results of his ministry 492 linfatt. The writer of tlie following memoir deems it proper to state that, shortly after the death "of his honored and lamented friend, the Rev. Bishop Capers, an- application was made to him by the family of the deceased to undertake the prepara¬ tion of a biography. This application, although it furnished a touching proof of personal attachment and regard, he was at the time constrained to de¬ cline, under the conviction "that the pressure of engagements in a new and important field of labor would not allow him the time and leisure demanded by such an undertaking. The lapse of a couple of years having supplied no biographer, he yielded to a renewed application, and consented to make the attempt. He was encouraged by the consideration that his venerable friend had left a minute account of the early years of his active and varied life, bring¬ ing the narrative nearly to the point of time at which the writer was favored to form a personal X* (vii) viii PREFACE. acquaintance with him, to enjoy his friendship, and to possess many opportunities, in the in¬ timacy of daily intercourse, to study the develop¬ ments of his mind and character. His aim has been to draw the portrait of his friend just as the vivid recollections of thirty years presented him to the mental vision; aiming at simple exactness and fidelity to truth in the.picture. The lessons taught by the life of' this eminent, useful, and beloved minister of Christ are of great value to the Church, and should not he lost or forgotten. May this volume, which presents the memorabilia of that life, he the means of perpetuating in the world not only the impression of its excellences, hut the living spirit of grate in Christ Jesus, which .was the source of all its sanctity and usefulness. Wofford College, S. C. LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS, D.D. of Uptlf IN MY PAST LIFE. .X was born January 26, 1790, at my father's winter residence, (his plantation,) on Bull-Head Swamp, in the Parish of St. Thomas', South Caro¬ lina, some twenty miles from Charleston: a place which at the present time might he accounted no place; though it was then valuable, and had served to mate my forefathers comfortable, and to keep them so for several generations. Indeed, it could have been. no mean place at the time of my birth; for when, some four years afterwards, my father re¬ moved to Georgetown District, it was with the pro¬ ceeds of the sale of this Bull-Head plantation, as I have heard him say, that he purchased a planta¬ tion on the island jtist by Georgetown, than which there are how ho lands in the State more valuable. It is fair to say, however, that the change was then, only beginning which transferred the culture of rice from the inland swamps, with their reservoirs of water, to the tide-lands; where only, for the last (11) 12 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS. half century/ this grain has been produced for market. Our name, Capers, I suppose to-be derived from France, and the 'first of the name in South Caro¬ lina were Huguenots. Of this, however, I am not certain, nor is it of any consequence. I remember to have heard no more from my father about it than that he had newer seen the name in any English catalogue of names. Those of the name in Beau¬ fort District, South- Carolina, who are descended from the same original stock with us, say that the name is French, and that our ancestor was of the Huguenots; and I dare say thby are ^ight. My father'sjaame was William; and that of his father and grandfather, Richard. Of my father's father, I know little more than that' he died in middle life, leaving two sons„ George Sinclair and "William, and no daughter. After his death, his widow, "my grandmpther, having contracted an un¬ happy marriage, my father's uncle,. Major Gabriel Capers, of Christ Church Parish, became his foster- father, and did nobly for him. He had five (or more) daughters, but no spn, and my father became his son in all possible respects. My great-grand¬ father survived his son many years: a large healthy fat man of peculiar manners; dressing in osnaburgs and plains, (a kind of coarse woollen,) at home, and in broadcloth and silks, stiffened with excess of gold lace and a powdered wig, when he went abroad. A different kind of man'was my father, whose name I cannot mention without emotion, AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 13 after thirty-eight years since I saw him buried. I have studied his character with intense interest, and honor his memory in every feature of fit with iny whole soul. A,chivalrous soldier of the Revo¬ lution was he, whose ardent, patriotism cooled not to the last of life; and yet,, after a few years in the Legislature following the establishment of peace, he held no civil office whatever, and was seldom s.een on public occasions, except in his office as Major, of Brigade', to muster the troops. He was a military man—the war of the Revolution had made him SO'—ancl to muster a brigade seemed his high¬ est recreation. But no one I ever knew was more a man of peace than my father was. Social and unselfish, generous, kind, and gentle, he loved not war. ' I dare say his nature was impulsive, but it was the opposite of passionate. Benevolence sup¬ plied his-strongest incentives, and the serving of others seemed to be his favorite, mode'of serving himself. I never knew'him to be involved in a per¬ sonal difficulty but once; and then it was on ac-. coUnt of a wrong done by 'an unreasonable neigh¬ bor to one of his negroes! His education had heen interrupted' by the Revolutionary war, and was therefore imperfect; but he had a clear and strong understanding, was fond of .Natural Philosophy and Mechanics, wrote With ease and perspicuity, and in conversation was eminently engaging. He was born October 13, 1758; just at the right time, he was fond to say, that he might have a full share in the war of his country's independence. 1-1 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS. And yet, with the Butlers, of South Carolina, (sons of a worthy sire who did his Country good service,) I have to complain that my father's name does not. appear in any history of the American Revolution. There is, indeed, a small volume, by the late Chan¬ cellor James, in which his name is mentioned, and we are told of his giv-ing several thousand dollars*, (I think it was) for a blanket, and several hundred for a penknife; and some passing compliment is paid to his courage and devotion to the country; and besides this I have seen nothing more. And yet I am bound to claim for him that he fought with the bravest, and best, first as a lieutenant in the second regiment, when General Moultrie was Colonel, Marion Lieutenant-Colonel, and, Horry a Captain; and afterwards, till the close of the war, as one of General Marion's captains, and his inti¬ mate friend. ' ( He was one _ of the defenders of Charleston in the battle' of Fort Sullivan,.(Fort Moultrie;) was in the battle-of Eutaw; was at the siege of Savannah, where Pulaski fell, and'not far from him at that fatal moment; and was at -the battle of Hugely's Mills, which happened after his escape from imprison¬ ment in Charleston, and before he had rejoined Marion. Indeed, he was there in search of Marion, whom he expected to find with General Gates, but found not, as he had gone on an expedition to Fort I * Such was the depreciation of what was. called "Continental money." AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 15 Motte. At Stono, .where the lamented Laurens fell, he was present and fought like himself; at the siege of Charleston he was one of its defenders, and one. of those who accompanied Major Huger on the service, which on their return proved fatal to that gallant officer, by a false alarm-, through the inadvertence of a sentinel, whereby many lost their lives by the fire of their own countrymen from their own lines, of defence; besides .numerous skirmishes which have never found a record in the books, though they contributed no mean quota to the defence of the country.. The silence of the books to the contrary notwith¬ standing, I might adduce something like proof of Marion's friendship for- him,, from a conversation with Mrs. Marion herself, the General's widow, in the winter of 1806-7, when in obedience to my father's commands I called at her house, on my way to Charleston, to make his respects and inquire after - her health, I' might tell how the announce¬ ment of nly name to the servant in waiting brought her venerable person to the door; how eagerly she asked if I was the son of her valued friend; how she seized my hand in. both of hers with a hearty shake, and " God bless your father!" and how late it was that nigjit before I was dismissed to bed from tales of my father's chivalry and. noble heart. And many a time in the course of my earlier life was I honored on my father's account; and never have I met with officer or soldier of Marion's com¬ mand who was mot my friend for my father's sake. 16 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS. But with, respect to his connection with the second regiment, early in the war. If I mistake not, there were two regiments (possibly more) raised by the State nf South Carolina at the be¬ ginning of the war, for the general cause of the Revolution, and not for service within the State only; and fof this reason they were called Continen¬ tal regiments. -This one of them, as T have just said, was commanded at first by Moultrie, with Marion and Horry for Lieutenant-Colonel and Major. And >it was while these officers com¬ manded, that my father, though not of age, held a commission in it. In proof of this, besides having heard it affirmed repeatedly by both my father and uncle, I happen to haye in my possession, a note from General Horry to my father in the year 1802, which I deem conclusive:* The occasion of the note' seems to have been some difference of opinicfn on a point of tactics between my father, then Brigade Major, and his General of Brigade,' Conway, which had been referred to General Horry; who, after giving his opinion, concludes the note 'with these express words: 11 If my memory do not faft me, I think such was the usage, or custom, in the second regiment, to which w'e both belonged in June of our Continental war." Here, then, is explicit testimony from the best pos¬ sible authority, as to the fact that he belonged to the second regiment; in. what capacity is not stated, but it must have been as an officer, for it would have been ridiculous in the General to make such an allusion with respect to a private, and we autobiography. 17 claim for him no higher rank in that regiment than that of Lieutenant. But the General's note serves me for another point. It appears that he and my father, both belonged to the< second regiment, uin June of our Continental war." "What June must that have beep ? The phraseology is peculiar, and can make sense only on1 the supposition that there was 'one June Unmistakably distinguished from the rest, for there*were several Junes during "our .Con¬ tinental war."- It could have- beep no other than June; 1776, distinguished above all others of the Revolution, especially to officers of the second regiment, by the .battle of'Fort Moultrie. 'There was no June for the second, regiment before that, for it had- not been organized and in service, and that was its first great achievement. Nor could there have been any June after it of wiuch General Horry might say that he and my father did then belong to the second regiment; for shortly after the battle of Fort Moultrie, Marion becoming- a parti¬ san General, both Horry and my father left that regiment and joined him—one' as colonel and the other as captain. I have been thus particular because of that mor¬ tifying silence of the books; and because I have even seen a printed list purporting to give the names of all the persons who wepS engaged in the battle of Fort Moultrie, from which my father's name was omitted. This surprises me more than any thing else, for as to the period of his service as one of Marion's captains, the peculiar mode of war- 18 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPEES. fare ,adopted by the General made it extremely dif¬ ficult to gather information of numerous important actions-, whilst his army was so often to be found in detachments only, here. and there, from the Combahee to the Pee-Dee river. Indeed, I believe that after the fall of Charleston there was a con¬ siderable period of time in which it was seldom embodied in any great force. And yet there was always a galling impracticable foe, hard to be found, and still harder to be got rid of, by British or Tory. It was some one of Marion's captains, trained and qualified by that great commander to play the General on -a smaller scale. Much of such service felL to my father's share, and many a thrill¬ ing incident of his scouting-parties have I heard related by him, which I would Tike to give, but that, at this distance of time, they are not distinct enough in detail to my recollection to be narrated with accuracy. They appear indistinctly, or, rather, confusedly, so that I cannot be Sure that I have all the parts of any event in order, or that parts*of one do not belong to another. But I can state with certainty the facts respecting his being once taken prisoner by the Tories; and of his escape from the prison in Charleston mot many weeks afterwards. These are not the incidents I would choose to select, if my memory served- me as well for the rest; nevertheless, you may think them worth pre¬ serving ; or, if not, blot them out. My uncle and father were on furlough for a short time, and had reached my uncle's residence, AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 19 while th^ Torie^ were in force in the neighbor¬ hood. My uncle's wife was at the point of death, and he would not leave her for the night, notwith¬ standing the imminent danger of remaining in the house with the Tories so- n'ear him. My father would not leave his brother alone in so much danger. They barricaded the house as well as they' could, and awaited the issue. -As they had feared, the Tories-were upon them before it Was light — a full company -surrounding the house. Flight was impossible; they must be -taken; and they, would make termsbut how ? They affected to be a company themselves, -muttering a mimicry of many voices, moving rapidly about, and by every artifice in their power seemingjto be a- house- full, and not two persons only. The stratagem suc¬ ceeded, and the craven foe formally demanded a surrender. They were pot quick to answer the demand, .but kept up their bustling with all their might. The demand to surrender was repeated; ■and in finswer to it they inquired how many of the assailants there were. A parley ensued, and they finally surrendered on condition that, on sacred honor, the men should be treated as prisoners of war,'and the house should not foe molested. ^This being done with due formality, they marched out, two men of them, to the extreme mortification of the valiant Tory and his command. They were taken to Charleston,-delivered to the Commandant, Colonel Balfour,-and put in prison. Their apart¬ ment was in the third story of the jail, with some 20 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS. eight or ten other prisoners. It happened that among the gentlemen of the city and surrounding country, who had taken the protection offered by 'the British after--the fall of Charleston,' (and of which they afterwards had so much cause to com¬ plain,) there was a Mr. Bogartie, an acquaintance" of my father and uncle, and of others' of the pri¬ soners, who visited them almost daily, and procured them many Comforts. And after some weeks of their imprisonment had passed, this gentleman, who was ever 'kindly interested for them, brought the appalling tidings of its having been determined to cpnvey them away from the city to the "West Indips. lie had overheard an order to the effect that a vessel should be got ready for this purpose forthwith,, and should sail by the next fair wind. Hothing could have been more abhorrent to them than this information.' Their very souls were sick of the accounts they had heard of the prison-ships in that quarter to which they were to be sent— • their crowded condition, want of food, excessive heat, 'stench, and vermin, Worse than death. What possible attempt might enable if but half of them to escape at the sacrifice of the* rest ? And it was presently concluded that Mr. Bogartie should pro¬ cure a boat and hands to be in readiness at the market wharf that evening, and, if possible, arms and ammunition for their use.; and that they would seize the moment when the turnkey came at dusk to see that all was well, to rush forth together, and, seizing the arms of the sentry at their door, pre- AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 21 cipitate iliemselves on the next and- the next along the stairs, killing or being killed, till they had made their way to the street, and thence by flight to the boat. Conld half of them hope to survive so desperate an attempt ? Perhaps not, but death on the spot, rather than a "West India prison-ship, was their unanimous voice. This being their determination, the faithful Fogartie left them, to arrange for his "part in, the plot—the procurement of arms and a boat at the water-side. There v^ere not many -hours for reflec¬ tion before the fearful point of time when liberati6n or- the bayonet had been fixed on-; and it is not surprising that with the chances so terribly against them, one and' another, as the evening came on, showed symptoms of a lo.ve of life. The first for the plot were the first to abandon it. For several hours the majority stood firm; but the minority could not be reclaimed, but finally overcame the majority, who concluded that the chances for escape mugt be diminished by' as much as their number was reduced, and the plot had better be abandoned. hTot so with my father whose resolution had been taken too firmly to be reconsidered. His last hope was in his brother; who, though he would gladly have been one with the rest in the plot, deemed it mad for two only to attempt to escape by such means, and strove earnestly to dissuade him from his avowed purpose of going by himself, alone if no one would go with him. The remonstrances of the rest he answered indifferently, or with a gibe, 22 LIFE OF. WILLIAM CAPERS. but his brother's importunities cost him soma trouble; till almost at the point of the time he turned sharply on him, and said, "Brother, Tnevfer thought myself a braver man than you. Ifow I know it. Make me not a coward." But 'the time wa3 come. The steps of the turnkey were heard at the door. It was dusk, and was growing dark on the stairs. If the turnkey could be deceived, might not the desperate man escape ? They had in the room R'great bowl out of which they drank their punch;, and there was a little punch at the bottom, of the bowl. This my uncle took, and placing himself next to the door, was ready, the moment it should be opened, to offer it to the,.willing turnT key. It Tyas done. The great bowl hid every thing from him except the punch in'-the bottom of it, and my father instantly was gone. I learned from my uncle that it was not difficult to engage the attention of the turnkey, who loved punch dearly, long enough to afford my father ample time for-his escape. But that escape. Whether in the dusk the sentry at the head of the stairs took him for a visitor, or for the turnkey himself, my father knew not; but they had no dream .offhis being a prisoner making his escape-, and so suffered him to pass without molestation. Just passed them, and haying begun to descend the stairs, his foot slipped, and he tumbled down the whole flight of steps to the platform at their turning, where the next sentry was posted. A laugh and sneer from the Sentinel, who probably took' him to be drunk, was AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 23 all that came of it. This furnished a hint which he improved; and after the same seemingly drunken manner he descended to' t*he lower floor,' and made his'way out of the. house. His friend was waiting at the appointed place, hut had failed of procuring a boat, on account, of extreme had weather. Hot a moment could he lost; but taking a pistol and. a hasty adieu, he was in a trice at the Fish-Market landing. There*, luckily,-he found a negro fisher¬ man hailing a boat; "and leaping into it and pre¬ senting his pistol, he ordered, him to his paddle and off for Haddrell's Point. Th'e affrighted fisherman promptly obeyed, only exclaiming .that they must be lost: the boat could" not possibly live in such a storm. He paddled stoutly—as they well know how to do—and my father found it necessary to be¬ take himself, for his/part, to bailing the boat of the water which dashed in over her bows. .But there was" another danger impending which he dreaded even more than the 'agitated waters. The British galleys were lying in the stream, and it was impos¬ sible to escape their watchfulness., They must see him, would hail him, and whatshould he do? The best expedient he could think of, and pro¬ bably the only one which. could have availed him, was suggested by the lucky mistake of the sentry on the staircase, taking .him to be drunk; and so he summoned his utmost powers to act th'e part of a drunken sailor.- Long before the expected hail of " What boat's that?" he began singing.and huzzaing lustily, now a "stanza of some vulgar 24 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPEES. song, then ""Godsave greatGeorgeour king;" ming¬ ling it to suit, and interlarding it with all sorts of drunken rhapsody.' He: was hailed, and returned it by giving himself some common name, claiming to belong to one of the galleys, and stoutly pro¬ testing he was too drunk and the water too rough; huzzaing for" the king, for the commandant, and almost* any British officer whose name he knew; professing to be as brave and true as any of them, but that he had got drunk among the "gals" on shore, and would not come to. Of course, then, he had to pa*ss. t He Vras hot worth shooting at, and the next day'would bring hihi to condign punishment. And now the jail, the storm, the galleys, all were passed in safety; and landing at Haddrell's Point, and, giving a guinea to the negro whose boat and paddle had been so serviceable to him, he was.onc'e more one of Marion's men. But my honored father was a Christian. It was on the first introduction of the Methodist ministry into South -Carolina that, under the preaching of Henry Willis, of blessed memory, in the year 1786, he was awakened and converted, and became a soldier of the Prince of Peace. His name, and that of my maternal grandfather, John Singe!tary, may be seen in the original conveyances for the first two Methodist churches built in Charleston, (Cum¬ berland Street and Trinity,) of which they were trustees. After his removal to Georgetown, in 1794, he became a strong pillar of the infant church in that place, serving as trustee, steward, and autobiography. leader. A later removal to "Waccamaw Heck proved unfavorable to his spirituality, and it was not till 1808, in Sumter District, tbat be recovered all tbat he had lost of the lifa of faith. Thenceforward till his final removal "to the life above, December 12> 1812, he was a pattern of piety, an example of pure and undefiled religion, such as for consist¬ ency, simplicity, and power I have never known excelled. His death was surpassingly triumphant. I witnessed it, and was with him day and night for several months whilst he 'was passing down into the valley of Jordan. All was peace, and power, and exultant hope. There was no moment of dark¬ ness in his final sickness,'no thorn in the pillow of his repose, no distrust of the Saviour, no lack of confidence in God, but gloriously the reverse. His light was that bf the perfect day* his peace was as a "river, he believed with all his heart, and at the time of his extremest pain h,e would say, with Job, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in Him." My mother was Mary, daughter of John and Sarah Singeltary, of Cain Hoy, in the same Parish ■ of St. Thomas, aforesaid: another place of the olden time, when South Carolina was' peopled mainly in the low country, and Wando river, of whose banks Cain Hoy was the'most notable place, shared with Ashley river, Cooper river, and Goose creek, in a high reputation for society, hospitality, and all that; times gone by with the generations whose very tombs are now in ruins. But by one 2 26 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS. conversant "with those times, (the late Captain Hibben, of Haddrell's Point,)' I have heard my grandfather spoken of as "the patriarch of Cain Hoy." And such I dare say he was., albeit a re~ cent visitor might entertain some doubt whether the place had ever produced, a man. Hut truly there used to be men, who were men every inch of' them, not only on "Wando river, but along creeks and swamps not a few, where 'now a ruined canal, and heaps of crumbling bricks, and clumps or rows of ornamental trees, tell mournfully of death and a blight upon the land. I have always.' felt it a pain that I mever knew my mother. She died when I was barely over two years old. Often and eagerly have I inquired about her: her person, her spirit, her piety, her general bearing; any thing that might help to raise an image of her in my mind. In this way I have learned that she was rather below the medium height of women, delicately formed, of fair com¬ plexion and light hair, with soft laughing blue eyes, gentle but sprightly, affectionate and confid¬ ing, a favorite with her friends, and my father's idol; and that her sweet spirit was enfiobled by a true Christian faith and purity of heart. I am in possession of a letter from my father to my aunt, the late Mrs. Bennett, of Haddrell's Point, in which are related incidents of her final hours thrilling to contemplate. She died when young, and rich in blessings precious to the heart; but she was more than ready to obey the summons, "to be absent AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 27 from, tlie body and present with, the Lord." Her last moments, radiant with the light of heaven before her, were mostly taken np with soothing ex¬ hortations .to her husband, and prayers and bless¬ ings, for her* children. These.were four: Sarah, my beloved sister, who was the eldest,. G-abriel the second, myself the third, and John Singeltary, (whose birth Occasioned -her death,) the fourth. She had had a second daughter, Mary Singeltary, who died! some time before her. My second mother, whose name also was Mary, was a daughter of Samuel Wragg, Esq., of George¬ town ; the same who was the original proprietor of that part of Charleston called Wraggsboro'; and after whose daughters, Judith, Elizabeth, Ann, Charlotte, Mary, and Henrietta, the streets bearing those names were called, He had also two sons, John and Samuel. My aunts (for my aunts they were) Judith . ahd Elizabeth lived to old age, maiden ladies of uncommon- understanding, (parti¬ cularly Judith,) and distinguished 'to a high degree lor ardent piety and gctive benevolence." They were Christian ladies, and Methodists of the very first model. Ann married a wealthy gentleman of the name of Ferguson, and lived in * Charleston, with their estate on Cooper river. They were Episcopalians; and she was' for many years First Lady Commissioner of the Orphan House, which noble institution was much indebted to her, and has becomingly acknowledged it. Charlotte must have died when young, as I have no recollection of 28 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS. her. Henrietta, the youngest of the daughters, married Erasmus Rothmahler, Esq., of an old and honorable family, and a lawyer of high respects, but (unfortunately) an eccentric man. , Of all' my near friends in childhood and youth, after my father and mother, I loved my Aunt Henrietta best; and to this day I remember her with strong affec¬ tion, and I might say admiration, as a pattern of all social excellence. And she too was a thorough Methodist. In what follows I will he understood always to mean my father's second wife, my second mother, by the appellative mother. I knew no other mother, and I should offend the heart that throbs in my ■bosom were I to call her stejvnother. She Was my mother, and in heaven, in the presence of the sainted one who bore me, I will call her mother. Pity bn those poor children who, by their father's marriage, have stepmothers only. My early recol¬ lections mihgle Sweet images of my mother's love and sympathy with all that concerned me, I was liable to attacks of croup on any exposure to damp weather; and so on rainy days I became her house- peeper, carrying a bunch of keys at my side, giving from the pantry breakfast, dinner, and supper, with free use of the barrel of sugar and molasses-candy for my pains—the indulgence, by the way, being itself remedial. By a thousand arts of kind en¬ dearment she attached me to her so closely, that I scarcely felt it a privation to be shut up with her in the house, while my brothers were pursuing their AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 29 sports in the fields. Those days were invaluable to me. Converse with my mother was communion with my guardian angel, while my good sister's blithesome spirit (for she was. always by) contri¬ buted no little to my happiness. My father's second marriage was in- 1793, and shortly afterwards he disposed of his' estate in St. Thomas's Parish, purchased a plantation on the is¬ land between Waccamaw and Black rivers,rand re- moved.his residence to Georgetown. "While his win¬ ter residence had been on Bull Head, in St. Thomas's, he passed his summers at a place, which he called Capernaum4 on -the seashore, nearly opposite Ca- pers's1 Island, in Christ Qhurch .Parish- -He now desired to find Such a seashore place on Waccamaw Heck; and as he did not like to live in town, and his island plantation was a deep -mud-swamp, un¬ suitable for his residence, he was inclined to locate himself permanently bn. the Wacqamaw seashore, A summer or two -were passed at a rented place called La Bruce's, while "for the winter and spring he -resided in' town; and then he purchased a place some twenty miles from Georgetown, which he called Belle Vue, and at which we lived during the years 1796, '97, and.'98. It was beautifully open to the ocean, having the pro/speet :pleasantly. dotted with clumps of trees in the marshes, (called hammocks,) and points of uncleared woods on the main land. My recollections go back to the year 1795, at La Bruce's seashore, where I killed a glass snake, the image of which is still fresh to my mind; and how, 30 LIFE OF WILLIAM OA PEES. as I broke it to pieces with, a small stick, the "pieces, when broken square off, wormed themselves about as if alive. ■ There, too, I myself had like to have been killed by a vicious horse; and there we had the sport of smoking off the sand-flies. Do not laugh. Prince Albert's boys never had a merrier play. But Bell,e Vue was my childhood's darling home. Here were those spacious old fields, over¬ grown with dog-fennel, which my brother John and myself used* to course with such exquisite glee, mounted on cornstalk horses, with bows and ar¬ rows, when the dog-fentiel served for woods, and a cock-sparrow might be an old buck. Here stood by the side of a purling branch, that grove of tall trees where we found the grape-vine, by which we. used to swing so pleasantly. Here we had our traps for catching birds, and caught them plenti¬ fully ; and the damp days found me with my mother and sister and the little ones, all so happy. And here I got that masterly book for little boys, li Sand- ford and Mertoqwhich, in my mother's hand, proved invaluable to me. And, like Harry and Tommy, .my brothers and I would build little houses wattled of clapboards and small poles, and exult in our fancied manliness and capacity for independ¬ ence. But we were sure to hav*e a, stronger arm and better understanding than our own in all these achievements of ours; and without which it might liave been more than doubtful whether, after all, we should have proved so competent to our under¬ takings. Bless my father! Blessed be God that AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 81 he was my father J "What should Belle Vue, with all its play-places, have been, without his super¬ intendence, who seemed to enter into the spirit of our childish entertainments as if he had been a child himself, while still he neyer seemed below the stature of the noblest man ? But I must tell an anecdotemt two of these early years which savor less of simple, amiable child-, hood. My father was exceeding fond of gardens, and-had* a large* one; and we, his^ons, fond of doing like him, must also have our gardens. A bed was appropriated to each one of us, (Gabriel, myself, and John,) which we subdivided into tiny beds, with narrow walks between, for the cultiva¬ tion of just any thing we pleased. Radishes were our favorite vegetable. I had them in my garden full grown, while John's were but lately up. We were together in our gardens, which touched each other, and John wanted one of my radishes. Un¬ luckily, I was out of humor, and refused him. Unused to this, for"generally we were fond to serve each other, he heeded not my refusal, but plucked a radish. This was an invasion of my.rights, which, in the mood I happened to be in,*T would not per¬ mit-; and so, instead of laughing at it, as at another time I might have done^ I plucked a, handful of his little ones in retaliation—reckoning the equivalent (if I reckoned at all) by bulk. This angered him, and he avenged himself by pulling up a quantity of mine, as if reckoning by number for his com¬ plement. A few minutes,- and the radishes were 32 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS. destroyed, both mine and his, and wo were greatly enraged against each other. At that moment our father, who had been observing us from another part of the garden, interfered; and, as I was the older, addressed himself first to me. The fault, I insisted, was altogether John's, who had no right to pluck my radishes against my will. He (my father) would let no man serve him- so; and' had fought the British for no worse offence. But rcn1 logic could not answer. " I must whip you," saiu. he; ".and take your jacket off." "Whip me, sir, for John's fault ?" " For your own fault, not John's." "I declare, Pa, 'tis all John's fault; and I'll pull off my shirt too, if you say so." " Off with it," was the brief-rejoihder; and oft* it came, when a smart stroke elf a switch across my naked shoulders, (the first I had ever felt,) brought me as by magic to my senses! It was the only stroke of punishment ever inflicted on me by that honored hand. My recollection of incidents of this period of my childhood is vivid enough as to facts, but the order of them, as to time "I cannot so well remember. I date about a year later than the affair of the rad¬ ishes the following story of the top. Both belong to Belle Vue? and must harve happened between .the years 1796 and 1799. My brothers and myself had each obtained a top, which neither of us could spin; and a thought seized me to practice by my¬ self at spinning my top, which, as other boys could do it, I might learn, and by learning it sooner than my brothers, might win some wager of them; (for AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 3& each of us had something for his own of almost every kind of property on the place.) In a short time,I had spun the top, and, elated with my suc¬ cess, ran eagerly to find my brothers, that I might make a' bet. But they \vere abtoad somewhere in the fields, and a \yager must be ventured with my father,, (if possibly lie might be induced to. make, one,) or my betting tuust be postponed- to another time. Too eag$r to gllow of postponement, the venture was made in ah off-hand manner on the spot. The stake was my heifer against his .saddle- horse that I could spin my top.. "Done," said my father, and I spun the top/ Fantom was mine, and I capered about the room, and would have run to the stable to admire and' caress him, but my father sternly stopped me.' " Honor even among ro'gues," said he, " apd if yon turn gambler, you must do it as. they say, honorably. You 'are not to leave off without giving me a chance to win toy h'orse back/' Another trial, and I lost the hotoe. Another, and another, and .yet -others; and bursting into tears I ran out of the • room, having lost every thing I called my own except a favorite whitd pullet. For three days I bewailed my folly with all the bitter¬ ness of utter' bankruptcy; while my brothers were- unsparing of their gibes,' and my father seemed coolly indifferent-to it all. .At last, finding me sit¬ ting moodily alone, he approached' with his usual good-humor, and said he wanted to make a bargain with me. "A bargain, sir!" said I, "what have I to bargain with ? . You have got all I had from toe. / 2 '■ ' 34 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS. And if I had spoken all that I felt, I might have •added, that he knew it was,wrong to bet, and ought to have whipped me for" offering him a wager, and not to have done as he had dofte. But he insisted that I was quite able to make the bargain he de¬ sired; and when he had constrained me to ask what it was, he told me that all he had won should be restored do me; add should be mine again just as it formerly was, if I would pledge myself never again to bet the value of a pin ; and on, the further condition, that, if ever I did bet, I should forfeit to him whatever1 should be mine at the time of bet¬ ting. Never was a proposition more eagerly em¬ braced; and the final result of this strange inci¬ dent was, .that I became so thoroughly averse from betting as never afterwards to be induced to bet. Long after all fear of the forfeit originally pledged had passed from my mind, and until a better gua¬ ranty was furnished me in the grace of God, I not only hated betting so as never to lay a wager, but hated it to such a degree that I would break off from any company I chanced to be in, the moment it was proposed to play at any game for' money. But it is time for me to take leave of Belle Vue. "When my father purchased it, he did so with an expectation of its proving healthy. It was incon¬ veniently distant from his plantation, and we had' so few neighbors that to get a school he was obliged to employ a teacher at bis own expense. Neverthe¬ less, for the sake of a pleasant and healthy resi¬ dence, with the treasures of the sea at hand, these AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 35 inconveniences were nut deemed considerable. But the fall of the year 1798 proved extreinely sickly to us, and ihy precious little sister Judith died. On this account, mainly, Belle Yue was given up, and for the* yean 1799 we resided in Georgetown. USTot that this change could ha,ve promised exemption from disease, hut that in case of sickness we should there have medical aid. Belle Yue had proved sickly; Georgetown might not b£ more so; and the latter place brought my -father near to his business, my'mother near her sis¬ ters, and. all of us- near the physician. But we were not to suffer less by this removal; for the autumn of 1799 was more fatal to our family than the previous one had been. ■ All of us 'were sick; another younger siste*r (Elizabeth) died; I myself 'escaped death as by miracle; and the fatal blow was struck which deprived my father of one of the .best of wives; and me of my incomparable mother. The following winter my widowed father dismissed his ' overseer, and the plantation became ourhome. Dur¬ ing the year 1800 I was daily put across the river in a small boat with my brothers, and • went, to Mr. Harnett's school in Georgetown.' "We dined with our good aunts, the Misses Wragg, and returned home in the evening as we had come in the morning, a servant always having the boat -in readiness for us at the river-bank, in sight of town. My father seldom went to town, nor, indeed, anywhere else; .and yet my young heart knew not that he was unhappy. The next spring (1801) I was.sent, with my brother 36 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS, Gabriel, to school on Pee-Dee, some thirty -miles from Georgetown, where a Mr. Collina was the teacher; "but, for some sufficient cause, he suddenly left his charge, and after a month or two we re¬ turned home. This period, when the island rice-swamp was my home, introduced me to the use of a gun. .It was before the Northern lakes had been much settled,, on- which bred so many myriads of ducks and wild geese ; -and these migrated to our low country rivers and rice-fields for the winters, in prodigious -num¬ bers. -From my father's river-bank on the "Wacca- maw on one side,-or the -Black river on the othbr, innumerable flocks of them might-at any time be seen; and betteP-flavored birds than Several varie¬ ties of the ducks were, after they had grown fat on the waste rice, I know not. My father taught me the use of the gun with great -care: how to handle it, to load it, to shoot with a true aim, and to keep it in good order; so that before I was twelve years old I believe I was as safe in the use of this dan¬ gerous implement as I have since been, and nearly or quite as good a marksman. I generally shot ducks m the river; observing from a distance at what particular points they were nearest to the land, and then creeping after them behind the river-bank, (that is, the pmbankment raised along the margin of the river for the purpose of keeping off the water'at the 'flood-tide.) A well-trained dog kept close behind me, creeping when he saw me creep, or stopping at a motion of iny hand, and instantly autobiography. 37 on the firing of the gun springing, into the water and fetching out the game.. So abundant were they, and easy to he shot, that I Aould not fire.at inferior kinds, hut only at the large gray duck, the mallard or English duck, the bullneck, or the deli¬ cious little teal; which last was the least common, and was 'most esteemed, though not more than a third as large as the hlack on gray duck, Or half as large as the mallard. But farewell to the island and its game, after only one incident of imminent peril to me. It was some time in the .summer of 1800 that, as we were •sittipg in the piazza overlooking the fields, we were startled at seeing the whole gang of negroes, nien and women, running as for Jife towards the house. My father, my brother Gabriel and myself ran out to know, the cause, and thought we fkeard the fore¬ most ones crying out, "A deer, a deer!" My father took his gun in haste, thinking that a deer chased by hunters on the Waccamaw side of the river had swum across it, and was making for the Un¬ cleared swamp just in our rear, and that he would run probably on the western side of the settlement, where he might get a shot at him. On the eastern side was the barnyard, and mill for pounding rice; and to prevent his going that way, and to increase the chances for a shot on the other, he bade my brother and me to run in- that direction with the dogs. How, for the special security of the barnyard, there was a much higher embankment thrown up 38 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS. around it than around other parts of the settlement, so that we could hot see over it what might he run¬ ning in the fields beyond. "With the dogs, then, we made all speed to the barnyard, entered it, were running across it, and "at the very point of rising on the farther bank, there met us on the top of it, and just opposite the point we had reached, a great bear. Petrified with horror, we could not, at first, move a peg. The dogs had better command of their legs, and, except Dash, (the dog that fetched the ducks,) they ran away.at the top of their speed. 0, that frightful bear!- He' growled, raised his bristles^, champed with his teeth, bent his body like a bow, all before we could do any thing more than stare at hipi. But Dash delivered us. Quick as was the retreat of the rest, was his, advance upon the frightful fob; and it seemed to be his bark that relaxed our nerves and enabled us to run. We had not so much as a stick in our hands. Dash seized the bear just by the tail, and obliged him to give him his attention. Bruin shook him off and made at us; but again Dash had him by the hinder parts. And thus it was between them several minute^, till my father, learning his mistake, came running, and tffe whole plantation with him, to the rescue. Negroes are famous for their noisiness when ex¬ cited ; but did ever the same number make such a noise as those then did, as entering .the barnyard they saw the danger we • were in ? At any rate, they scared that bear nQ less than they gave us AUTOBIOGEAPtfY. 39 courage, and lie made away as fast as he could, and hid himself under the mjdl." He was made bacon of afterwards, and I ate some of it. In September, 1801, my brother Gabriel and my¬ self were' sent to Dr.' Roberts's academy,' near Statesburg, ,in Sumter District, and we're boarded with a Mrs. Jefferson. And this I reckon an im¬ portant epoch 'in my life. Hitherto, whether in Georgetown, at Belle Vue, or at the island planta¬ tion, 1 had been accustomed to all the endearments of home, gweet home; a home where all my wants were anticipated,'and not only every comfort was at hand, but the ministries of tender love were ever active for my happiness. The death of my mother was a sore affliction; but -my sister (then just grown) became to me sister and mother both, and what ,was there lacking to me ? Truly, nothing. But how different was it with me now, boarding a hundred miles away with Mrs. Jefferson. To what purpose had my heart been cultivated, when there ■was no one to sympathize with me, and whom I might love ? That I slept on a mattress on the floor, with sheets of osnaburgs, and that my fare consisted of middling bacon and corn-bread, was a secondary matter.- I felt a"burden, of want of another kind, "tholigh this also' seemed severe. True, my brother Gabriel was with me, but where were my father, my sister, my brother John, and my younger brother and sistersy Samuel, Mary, and Henrietta ? Could my one brother be all these to me? Of necessity I sought to be loved by my 40 LIFE OF "WILLIAM OAPEES. hostess,* and plied every art in my power to induce it, but to no purpose. ITor could I love her any more than I could make her love me. She- did, indeed, once compliment me as the best of her boarders; but the very term boarders, in the cold, long-drawn utterance she gave it, told me that she did not love me* And then when she picked the thorn' out of my foot with a coarse needle,- she did it so roughly, never pitying me nor" seeming to know that she was putting me to pain, though the blood* trickled * from the wound. The case Was hopeless, and I was 'forced to retire within myself to supply'as I-might the want, the broad waste want of home. And yet she was a very good woman. But every day was improving my bodily health and strength. And though I fed on little else than corn-bread, (for I could not brook the middliiig bacon,) I was far mor6 active and growing faster, than ever before. !My boarding-house stood on the main, road between Statesburg and Camden, just three miles from the former place, and touching the road. T.he academy was a mile and a half from it, on the summit of a hill; and this distance was my daily walk to and from school. The mid¬ day recess was passed at the schoolhouse, to which we carried Our .dinner- of' corn-bread and bacon in a large tin bucket. And for dinner, my usual practice was "to throw away the bacon, and repair to a neighboring spring of. cold pure water, with a pone of bread, and there substituting my hand or AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 41 a hiqkory leaf for a cup, make my meal, right frugally at least., At first I could not possibly make the walk to school without resting by .the way; and even to ascend the hill Qn which the schoolhouse stood put me out of breath; hut it was not long before X could even run the whole distance. The truth was, that up to this period I had been but a puny child; frequently sick, .some¬ times extremely ill; and bnt for this great change must probably have grown up, if at all, too delicate of constitution for laborious life. .1 a in. so fully of this persuasion,. as to regard it' providential that my father's business would not 'allow of his accom¬ panying ps on our way up, and we were committed to tlje care of a onesided friend of his to be entered at the academy and suitably .boarded. Mr. Camp¬ bell could, but our father pould pot have subjected us to the extreme privations of such a boarding- house as ours, and the exposure of so .long a walk in all kinds of weather: 'privations and ex¬ posures, nevertheless, for which 'I have long since known no regret, but, on the .contrary, have felt thankful. And here both nature and gratitude require me to introduce the name- of my father's only brother, Captain George Sinclair Capers, my most" kind and truly honored unclfe. Some years previously to this time he'had removed from St. James's,. Santee, to Sumter District, and Ipcated himself in what was called Humbert's Settlement, ;some eight or nine miles from our academy; 'and our Saturdays 42 LIFE* OP WILLIAM CAPERS.. and Sundays were usually passed with. him. His practice was to send horses for us every Friday evening, and send us hack again on Monday morn¬ ing. Nature, how true is n'ature! and a child's heart is nature's own. I could love .nothing he- longing to my hoarding-house, and had no play- places there; no, not one; unless a wide-spreading oak should he called a'play-place, to which I used to withdraw myself and sit among the houghs for. hours together in moody reveries of home. * But I loved the vqry horse that carried me to my uncle's door; and' there every thing interested me. I was loved, ahd was so', far happy. ^ Abotit the close of the year 1801, my father ex¬ changed his island plantation for one on Wacca- maw river, adjoining the estate of John Tucker, Esq.; tired, I suppose, of living in a swamp, where his very dwelling-house had to he protected from the overflowing tides hy embankments. Home was thus again transferred to AYaccamaw, though it was not long to he continued so. The Christmas holidays of 1802, 1803, and 1804, were all I enjoyed of it; the first with boundless satisfac¬ tion ; and the second and third only less so because of the absence of my sister, now married in Sum¬ ter District: if I might not also suppose that with less of innocency there is "usually less of the pure zest of pleasure at fourteen than eleven. I have gone over, thus hastily, that period of my life which of all others interests me most. Can it he peculiar to myself that at my time of life I AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 43 should delight greatly in recollections-of my child¬ hood ; 'reenacting, as it were, the scenes and pas¬ times of the little boy—my own childhood's fond amusements—for the entertainment of my gray hairs ? A few years ago I found'a habit of indulg¬ ing such fancies growing on me to such a degree that I thought it proper to restrain myself; and yet to some extent "it may not prove amiss, but .even wholesome. I love my childhood for its inno¬ cence,. its harmless gayety, its simple gladsome pastimes, its gushipg sympathies, its treasures of affection, its unsuspecting confidence, its joyous- ness, its happy world of home. I love it because it was artless and without guile or guilt, free from the curse and blight of carking care, uncorrupted, trustful, self-sati'sfied. In a word, I love it for its naturalness, and because I was happy- ill it. Bless¬ ings on the memory of my honored parents that it was so! And I say now, let the children be children. Let thein have their plays in their own way, and choose them for themselves." We only ' -spoil it by interfering. And I say more: away with all sickly sentimentalism, and' the cruelty of unnatural constraint. What a deprivation it would have been to me at Belle Yue to have'been refused my traps becaus.e it was cruel to catch the" birds! But I had my traps, and never dreamed of any cruelty in the matter. My father made the first one for me, and taught me how to make them, and how to set them, and td choose proper places for them. But he never made a cage for me, 'nor did 44 LIFE OF ,W I E L IA M CAPERS, I ever want him to make one. God had given mo the birds to eat, if I could catch them; but "not to shut them up in cages where they could do me no good. No artificial cases of conscience were made for me. I loved the birds. >1 loved- to see their pretty feathers, and to hear them sing; but I loved to taste of their flesh still better. And I might do so. as inoffensively as a cat, for any thing I was taught. The use gave the measure of right in the case. f Such as I could not eat I would not catch. And I hate this day the mawkish philosophy which gives to the birds, the sympathy due to the child¬ ren. Let the children be free and active. Let them have .a mind and will. And let them have a parent's gentle, faithful guidance : neither the ilb jfidging weakness which is ever teasing them with interjections that uhean nothing; nor the false re¬ finement which, while it must have the birds go free to carol in the groves, makes caged birds of the little children; nor the tyranny of constraining them out of all their simple gleeful nature to be¬ have like old people. My father married a third wife early in the year 1803, and began to spend his summers in the neighborhood of Bradford's Springs, in Sumter .District. Som6 time before this, my boarding- house at school had been changed from-the place before mentioned ,to that of my preceptor, hard by the academy. This was a decided improvement; for Mr. Roberts not only furnished better fare, but was himself a. man for one to love and honor. AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 45 « The summers of 1803, 1804, and 1805, were passed pleasantly enough, while the Saturdays and Sun¬ days were spent at our new summer home, with delightful visits to my honored uncle and beloved sister,( then Mrs. Guerry. A summer' residence near Bradford's Springs was well enough; but my father was too activd to be> content at such, a dis¬ tance from his plantation, and without any positive employment to- occiipy his time. This change for the summer, therefore, led to a much more im¬ portant one, which, as things turned out, proved highly detrimental on "the scofe of property. In 1805 he was induced to sell his plantation on Waccamaw river, and purchase a cotton plantation on the, Wateree, near Statesburg. He sold also his summer .place the following year, and pur¬ chased a seat for permanent residence on the Hills, some five or silx; miles from the Wateree plantation, and just three and a half miles from Statesburg, on the road to Darlington. I do not' remember the price, and cannot judge of .its sufficiency, for the "Waccamaw place; but the price given for the place purchased in its stead wa's certainly low enough. He gave for. it six thousand dollars. And this must have been low4; for when five years after¬ wards he judged it prudent to sell it, and remove to a less valuable place in. the Black- river .portion of, the District, it brought him eleven thousand .dollars. And when the payment of the last instal¬ ment of this sum was refused, on the pretext that some particular portion of the land deemed better 46 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS. than the.rest had fallen short of the quantity sup¬ posed, Mr. MeLauchlan, the next neighbor, and a responsible man, said on his oath in court that he believed it to be worth twenty thousand dollars. This was after the elose of the war, and the price of cotton had risen very much; but eleven thou¬ sand dollars * was the price stipulated during the war, when the price of cotton was at its lowest. And yet my father made a sad bargain in purchas¬ ing it for that much smaller sum of six thousand dollars, as this purchase involved the sale of his rice lands, and the transfer of his planting interest from rice to cotton, just at the point of time when the value of a rice crop was1 to be doubled, and that_ of a cotton crop reduced to almost nothing. Never¬ theless, God's hand was in it for good. My mother's dying prayers had .not yet been answered; nor might they have'*been on "Waccamaw without'a miraclq. Her daughter was now a mother, and'he? sons were fast growing up without knowing her God in the light of her faith, or being concerned so to know Him. I was continued with Dr. Roberts till Decem¬ ber, 1805, when I was admitted into the South Carolina College. This Dr. John M. Roberts was a minister of the Daptist Church; a most estim¬ able man and a good scholar, but .an imperfect teacher. In Latin his text-books were Corderius, Erasmus, Cornelius Nepos, Csesar, Sallust, Virgil, Cicero's Orations, and Horace's Odes and Art of Doetry. ' These I had read, and could translate AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 47 after a fashion, b.ut had little knowledge of the analysis of what was translated. Iti recitation, our too easy instructor seemed to he more apprehen¬ sive of detecting the deficiency of his. pupils, than we were .of being exposed. His manner Was that of one who might,not expect us to know"what we ought to have known; and asking us only ques¬ tions as to -ppints of obvious construction, he reserved to himself the'parsing of all difficult pas=- sages. Of Greek, I had read -the Gospel by St. John, and one ,or two of the Epistles, and perhaps a third part of Xenophon's Cyropedia. And With only this exceeding lame preparation, • I was to enter the Sophomore cl&ss. It was little better than preposterous ; .and so did I rely oh my teacher's judgment, and so did X>r. ^Taxcy, the President of the college, rely on it, or on his representations of pie, that with no higher 'pretensions I actually was admitted Sophomore. Dr. Maxcy did indeed tell me' that my examination, had not been satisfactory, and did not justify my admission, and that he would prefer to have me enter college as Freshman. But I was out for Sophomore; and Sophomore it was, sadly to my cost. * For to. say nothing ' of. geometry, and other studies, in which !my class¬ mates were ahead of me*; and even overlooking my deficiency in Latin," of which I knew little more than barely to turn it into English, what pos¬ sibly might' I do with the Greek? Homer was the text-book, when I knew not much' of the grammar of the language-; and that little only as it was 48 LIFE OF WILLIAM OAPERS. required for St. John and Xenoplion; and when I had not the remotest idea of the change of form wrought.by the dialects in the language of Homer; and the class having read the hook once,, and some of^them twice-through, a hundred lines were given us for a lesson; and when, above all, I was so proud of heart as to be fully determined to hide if possible my ignorance, and ask instruction of no one. -The very difficulties in my way were Hid¬ den. from me, so that it sometimes cost me an hour's diligent search to find the indicative present of a single verb, changed, I knew not how, nor from what, by some unknown dialect. Pride is always folly, and in this instance it y^as madness. But I reasoned thus: Though I cannot get the present lesson, yet the getting pf what I -can will contri¬ bute something towards the next, and that towards the next, until I shall have got able to accomplish all that is required of me. But tiie madness of my folly was the obstinacy with which I exacted of myself, in-'Such circumstances, the labor of plodding through my task, if at all, without assist¬ ance, This I would not have, because I could not get it without a betrayal of my ignorance. My whole time, and much more than tny whole time, was therefore -devoted to study; which I relaxed not for any fatigue from the hour- of three o'clock in the morning to eleven at night—allowing my¬ self but four hours in bed, and not a moment for any recreation. At three in the morning I sat down to Homer, Schrevelius, and the Greek gram- AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 49 mar, till prayers at six; after which .came the dreaded, recitation. My other studies employed me till five P. M., bating-only meals and Recita¬ tions.* At five o'clock prayers and supper inter¬ rupted me; and then till eleven, when I went to bed, I resumed the heartless task of Homer and his dialects. Twenty hours out of twenty-four spent in this manner soon worked mischief to my nerves. The little time.I was in bed, I could not sleep for nightmarep I-grew pale and tremulous, had in¬ cessant headache^ and should probably have driven myself to death, but for an incident which brought ■my great and^good friend, Dr. Maxcy, to my rescue. I fold him all, and his noble nature seemed to yearn over me. I must desist from study; return home for the summer; (it wng fhen'May, 1806;) and re¬ turning in November, join the'class which he at first recommended for me. I felt both the wisdom of his advice and the goodness which dictated it, and acted accordingly. But extreme was the mor¬ tification I experienced in ■ having to abandon the achievement I had undertaken of equalling my superior's, and' give up the struggle for a standing in the class of wfiieh Harper,'.Evans, Miller, Reed, and others like them, were members. I purpose in these recollections to give you what I remember of myself faithfully, though some things, and especially at this period, may not now have my approval. If was early summer in 1806. X was at home; at the place called "Woodland, late¬ ly purchased for a residence, on the Hills above 50 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS. Statesburg. And interdicted close stu,dy,' I was to recover strength and spirits by free exercise of any kind. And a scheme struck me for. improving thisr time towards my advancement in future life. Sum¬ ter District then, as now, was divided into two elec¬ tion districts, Cleremont and Clarendon. Clere- mont was mine: of which the-population for the' most part belonged to Salem and Black river, and were at that "period averse from the people of the Hills, as being too aristocratic. At Bradford's Springs, I would have been on the stronger side, but our present residence put me in the minority portion of the district; and the scheme referred to was for the purpose of Overcoming this disadvan¬ tage. For already I was looking with downright ambition .(perhaps I should ^ay vanity) to enter the Legislature as soon as I should be ,of age ; and if I might accomplish this, I would deem it an equivalent for being retarded in my progress through college. My plan was this: There" was a popular academy kept at that time on Black river by a brother of my late preceptor; and while I had reason to -believe that. I was favorably known to him, many Of his larger pupils had become ac¬ quainted with me during my visits to my uncle, and attending church in that quarter. How, then, I proposed to visit this academy, and to make friends of those youngsters, and of their friends through them. I would propose instituting a de¬ bating society, to meet once a month, or oftener, with honorary members of the men of influence in AUTOBIOGRAPHY. tl that quarter; taking care to provide for an oration on the 4th of July by One of the members. ' It was successfully managed. . An election' to the presi¬ dency of the society was declined, for the alleged reason thaf .the Office ought to die held, in connec¬ tion with'tTie'school, and I was rather young to be a presidtefrj^but more, in fact, because I preferred figuring asVa-debater, and deemed it politic to ap¬ pear deferential. But no -modesty of youth, or deference .to*older boys, was suffered to prevent my acceptance-pf the appointment as orator for the 4th of July, which I would endeavor to sustain to the best of my poor abilities,'and hoping for all due allowance for my youth. I know not how long the society lasted; .but I know that I counted that 4th of July for a day- The oration was long enough, and sufficiently spiced with yo'uthful patriotism, the Black river boys, the pride of the country, and alb that., And besides having the whole country aroUnd to hear me, there was' a great dinner; and at the dinner just such a sort of toast as it tickled my vanity to hear. Another -story of very different impoft, and yet somewhat connected in its origin with the preced¬ ing, belongs to this summer of 1806. Towards the latter end of the summer, a camp-meeting was held in Rembert's-settlement,, where the people were mostly Methodists; and my uncle and family at¬ tending it, made, it convenient for me also to attend. Of course this would be agreeable; for although I was not prepared to use it for the proper spiritual 52 LIFE 01 WILLIAM CAPERS. purposes of such, a meeting, and yet had too high a sense of propriety to go to such a place for the pprpose of electioneering, still, as my youth must protect me from any imputation of had motives, it might he well enough to go just Us -a friend among friends, and to make .more friends. Of this camp- meeting my recollections Ure about as distinct as of most I have attended of later years. The num¬ ber of people occupying tents was much greater than it had been at two previous .meetings of the same kind, in 1802 and 1803, in that neighborhood; both of which I had attended with my uncle's fami¬ ly, and at which .wagons and awnings made of coverlets and • blankets were mostly relied % on, in place of tents. The tents too, (of this meeting in 1806,) though much smaller and less commodious than in later years, were larger and better than at the former meetings. But still, at.*the tents as well as at the wagons of the camp, there was very little cooking done, but every one fed on cold provisions, or at least cold meats. Compared to those first two camp-meetings, this, one differed also in the more important respects of management and the phases of the work of God. At the first, one, (1802,) particularly, (which was held on McGirt's branch, below the point where the Statesburg and Darlington road crosses it,) I recollect little that looked' like management. There ^were two stands for preaching, at a distance of about two hundred yards npart'; and .sometimes there was preaching at one, sqinetimes at the other, and sometimes at both AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 53 simultaneously. This "was evidently a "bad arrange¬ ment ; for I remembe'r. seeing the people running hastilyfrom one place to the other, as some sudden gush^ of feeling venting itself aloud,, and perhaps with strange bodily exercises, called their attention off. As to the times' of preaching, I think there were not1 any stated hours, but it was left to cir¬ cumstances; sometimes oftener* sometimes more seldom. The whole, camp was called up, by blow¬ ing,a horn, at the/break of day; before sunrise it was blown again; and I doubt if after that there were any regular hours for the services of the meeting. But "what was most remarkable both at this camp-meeting and the following one, a year afterwards, (1803)) as distinguishing them from the present meeting of 1806, and mueh'more from later camp-meetings, was the strange and unaccountable bodily exercises which prevailed, there. In some instances, persons who were not. before known to be at all religious, or under any particular concern about' it, would suddenly fall to the ground, and become strangely convulsed with -what was called the jerks; the head and neck, and sometimes the body also, moving backwards and forwards with spasmodic violence, and so rapidly that the plaited hair of a woman's head' might be heafd to crack. This exercise Was not peculiar tQ feeble persons, nor to either sex, but, on the contrary, was most frequent to the strong and athletic, whether man or woman. I never knew it among children,' nor 54 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAPERS. very old persons. In other cases,' persons falling down would appear senseless, and almost lifeless, for hours together; lying motionless at full length on the ground, and almost as pale as corpses. And then there was the jumping exercise, which some¬ times approximated dancing; in which ' several persons might be seen standing" perfectly erect, and springing upward without seeming to bend a joint of their bodies. Such exercises were scarcely, if at all, present among the same people at the camp- meeting .of 1806. And yet this camp-meeting was not less remarkable than the former Ones, and veiy much more so than any I have attended in later years, for the suddenness with which sinners of every description were awakened, qnd the over¬ whelming force of their convictions; bearing them instantly down to their knees, if not to the ground, crying for mercy. At this Ineeting I became clear¬ ly convinced that there was an actual, veritable power of God's grace in persons then before me, and who were known to .me, by which they were brought to repentance and a neW life; and that with respect to the latter, (a state of regeneration and grace,) the evidence of their possessing it was as full and satisfactory as it was that they had been brought to