COL. S S. SCOTT-1880. 
 
THE MOBILIANS 
 
 OR 
 
 TALKS ABOUT THE SOUTH 
 
 Sr Sr'SCOTT, 
 
 Author of Southbooke, etc. 
 
 My native country, thou which so brave spirits hast bred, 
 If there be virtues yet remaining in the earth, 
 Or any good of thine thou bred'st into my birth. 
 Accept it as thine own, whil'st now I sing of thee. 
 Of all thy later brood the unworthiest though I be. 
 
 — Polyolbion. 
 
 Montgomery, Alabama. 
 
 the brown printing co 
 
 1898. 
 
■St 
 
 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1898, by 
 
 S. S. SCOTT, 
 
 In the oflace of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. 
 
 

 TO 
 
 Ex-Governor WILLIAM C. GATES, 
 
 and 
 
 General JOHN W. A. SANFORD 
 
 of Alabama, 
 
 Who have battled ably and bravely for the South 
 in field and forum. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Many of the leading men of Mobile have been ac- 
 customed, during the heated term, frequently to seek 
 rest, recreation and health, by excursions down the 
 bay, and to the outlying gulf coasts in the vicinity. 
 A party of this kind, has been organized on paper into 
 a literary club, under the name of " The Mobilians," 
 by the writer, as a convenient, and, it is hoped, inter- 
 esting, means of presenting to the reader certain 
 sketches and stories illustrative of Southern life and 
 character. It may be well to say here that fiction has 
 been carried but little further in the matter. The men 
 and women of the following pages are real men and 
 women. All the stories are founded in fact, and 
 more, — they are true in their main incidents. There 
 is not one of them, in which occur more departures 
 from exact fact than "Tuskaluza ;" and yet even in that 
 case history has been rather closely followed. With 
 the exception of the little love episode, and the ac- 
 count of the death of the great chief, the narrative 
 hereinafter given, is indeed history, and nothing more. 
 The chronicles of the time contain a meager but in- 
 teresting account of his meeting with De Soto; of the 
 battles of Movile; and of the final destruction of that 
 city — the capital and stronghold of his tribe; but they 
 are silent as to his fate. He was either destroyed; or, 
 he ran away, and left his people to the destructive 
 mercies of the Spaniards. The little of his character, 
 however, that can be gleaned from these writings, 
 joined to a knowledge of Indian character generally, 
 
6 PREFACE. 
 
 forbids the adoption of the latter hypothesis. He was 
 no doubt burned with the hundreds of his braves, who 
 were known to have thus perished in the houses. His 
 end, — after the manner of Indian warriors, who loved 
 to show their hardihood and contempt of death, to their 
 enemies, — has, in the story, simply been transferred 
 from the floor to the roof of his habitation — in other 
 words, has been brought about in an open and speak- 
 ing, instead of a concealed and silent, burning. 
 
 s, s. s. 
 
 Auburn, Ala., April, 1898. 
 
COE'TEN'TS. 
 
 Part I.— Down the Bay 9 
 
 The Club 12 
 
 Lankey's Song 15 
 
 Raphael Semmes 18 
 
 The Club Grounds 29 
 
 Part II.— Nights in Camp 33 
 
 The Waydons 37 
 
 Deertop 43 
 
 Tuskaluza 54 
 
 Part III.— Nights in- Camp 72 
 
 Southern Manhood 73 
 
 Mammy Caesar 87 
 
 Part IV.— Nights in Camp 108 
 
 Johnson J. Hooper 109 
 
 Joseph G. Baldwin 112 
 
 Julia Pleasants 115 
 
 T. Bibb Bradley 115 
 
 Jere . Clemens 117 
 
 Alexander B. Meek 121 
 
 Part V— Day in Camp 129 
 
 Charley Wenker's Adventure 130 
 
 A Southern Storm 136 
 
 Part VI.— The Return 142 
 
 Sissaline Glenthorne 143 
 
 Confederate Soldier's Farewell 157 
 
 Southern Cavaliers 159 
 
 Southern Men, Wives and Daughters 160 
 
 Bright Mobile 163 
 
THE MOBILIANS. 
 
 PART L— DOWN THE BAT. 
 
 THE CLUB — LANKEY's SONO RAPHAEL SEMMES — THE 
 
 CLUB aROUNDS. 
 
 But why of death begin a tale? 
 
 Just now we're living sound and hale, 
 
 Then top and maintop crowd the sail, 
 
 Heave care o'er side 
 And large before enjoyment's gale, 
 
 Let's take the tide. 
 
 — Burns. 
 
 TT was a bright morning in midsummer of the year 
 -■- 1878, that Grey Haverwood, a tall and stalwart young 
 Southerner, hailing from one of the midland counties 
 of Alabama, repaired to the part of the wharf at Mobile, 
 where a certain neat and trim little schooner lay. The 
 sun was just up, and had dusted with gold the feathery 
 tops of the pine trees on the opposite side of the bay, 
 while below them the thick, clustering growth of the 
 bottoms reposed in dark shadow. From the dim re- 
 cesses underneath the drooping eaves of these woods, 
 the small sail-boats, like white-winged waterfowl, ever 
 and anon, darted out and glided hither and thither 
 over the shimmering surface of the beautiful estuary, 
 intent upon the business or pleasure of the day. 
 Under a steady land breeze from the north, the water 
 of the bay, as it was touched by the red beams of the 
 
10 Down the Bay. 
 
 morning, was rippled into smiles and shone like the 
 dusky face of an Indian queen rejoicing in her beauty 
 and in the strength and devotion of her followers. 
 The large ships in the vicinity of the schooner rested 
 quietly upon the water, like grim giants after heavy 
 work. They showed no signs of life, save in the occa- 
 sional song of a deck-swabbing seaman. At intervals, 
 however, above and below the little schooner, the blue 
 smoke curling upward, and the hoarse roar of escaping 
 steam, told that boats had but recently come in, or 
 were preparing to leave their anchorage-ground for 
 other ports. 
 
 About this little schooner all was noisy stir and 
 busy activity. The members of the Mobile club, or, 
 at least many of them, in the scant trim of earnest 
 workmen, were assisting the servants and boat hands 
 in transferring the piles of luggage scattered around, 
 to the deck and hold of the vessel. One of these, 
 Frank Ernley by name, who was stooping over a box, 
 called to Haverwood as he approached: 
 
 "I say, old fellow, lend me a hand here. I can't rest 
 until I see this chest of breakables in a safe place on 
 the schooner. It will never do to leave it to the clumsy 
 fingers of the servants. My wife will not forgive me 
 if any of her well preserved crockery is destroyed. 
 She has the greatest horror of broken sets." 
 
 Haverwood gave the desired assistance ; and the in- 
 dicated work was soon neatly accomplished, evidently 
 much to the relief of Ernley. Said the latter, as the 
 two stood near the mast of the vessel : "You are sure 
 now any way of a plate, knife and fork, and may be a 
 cup and saucer, during our holiday in the woods over 
 yonder. And that is no little matter in my estimation. 
 
Down the Bay. H 
 
 You sometimes hear men say that these things are 
 luxuries in undertakings like present— that when they 
 are off on a frolic they do not want them. Such men 
 are about as wise, as was old Micawber, when on board 
 the Australian ship, he commenced to use, and had his 
 family to use, in drinking, vile tin cups, preparatory to 
 roughing it in the bush. And that sort of talk is of a 
 piece with the poet's silly twaddle about the supreme 
 excellence of love in a cottage. Love in a cottage is a 
 good thing, of course,— love any where is glorious. 
 But if I were one of the parties to be affected, and had 
 a choice in the matter, I should take love in a fine 
 house, with all the necessary appurtenances and con- 
 ditions thereto. This," continued Ernley, looking 
 around and seeing an amused smile playing about the 
 lips of Haverwood, "is very commonplace stuff, I 
 know,— and I know it without the aid of that grin of 
 ridicule, or rather ridiculous grin, with which you are 
 greeting my remarks,— but it is not the less true for 
 all that, my boy !" 
 
 Now all the party are aboard, and everything is 
 ready ; and the little vessel loosed from her moorings, 
 with a shout from friends on shore, and a responsive 
 waving of hats from friends on deck, slowly makes her 
 way between the smaller craft by which she is sur- 
 rounded, to open water, — when, with all sails spread, 
 she dances swiftly and airily to the fine music of the 
 breeze, down the bay. Gulpen, the captain, who, like 
 "Green Jacket" on the Thames, loved his boat "as he 
 did his wife and perhaps a thought better," gave his 
 orders cheerily, which were promptly executed by his 
 little crew. 
 
12 Down the Bay. 
 
 members of the club. 
 
 A few words now with regard to the leading mem- 
 bers of the club, that the clever reader may know ex- 
 actly with whom he is sailing. All of them had gath- 
 ered in knots on the low deck of the schooner. Ernley 
 and Haverwood were standing near the spot, to which 
 they had betaken themselves when they came on board. 
 The former having been the first of the club, to whom 
 attention has been called, deserves the first full and 
 formal introduction. 
 
 Col. Frank Ernley — he received the military title 
 with the position during the great war between the 
 States — was tall, and slender almost to emaciation. 
 He had a pale, cold, intellectual face ; dark eyes of an 
 indefinable color, and a finely shaped head, adorned 
 with chestnut hair, closely cut, and showing the faintest 
 disposition to curl. His clothing was light in hue and 
 texture, loose but well fitting, and scrupulously neat. 
 There was about the whole make-up of the man that 
 air of perfect cleanliness, so rarely to be met with 
 even among those of the rougher sex, who really pos- 
 sess and practice that delectable virtue. TVithout the 
 prestige of wealth, for he had lost all by the accidents 
 of war, and without that of age, for he was compara- 
 tively young in years, and wholly so in his feelings and 
 associations, he was one of the most noted and popular 
 men, in society and at the bar, of a metropolis rich in 
 noted and popular men. 
 
 With Ernley and Haverwood stood McTarney, 
 Crumlyn and Maltman. The first was a lawyer and 
 the last a merchant. McTarney was of medium height. 
 He had brown hair and eyes, with a bright and lively 
 
Down the Bat. 13 
 
 expression of face, and a quick, nervous, but not un- 
 pleasing voice. His person bad taken on a little too 
 much flesh for elegance, but not enough to be called 
 fat, or to interfere with its movements, which were in 
 a high degree active and graceful. His dress, like that 
 of Ernley, was remarkably neat, but unlike that of 
 Ernley, was characterized by exactness of fit and 
 studied precision of arrangement. He was in the 
 prime of life, was a close student and devoted to his 
 profession. As chivalrously courteous as the Black 
 Prince he had a cordial smile and greeting for every 
 acquaintence, and all of these had a good word for 
 him. Maltman was the exact opposite of McTarney 
 in appearance, dress and manner. He was tall, spare 
 and angular, with a hard, bony face, small eyes and 
 dull iron gray hair. His words, — and they were con- 
 stant both in season and out of season, — had the 
 slightest touch of a drawl. There was nothing hollow 
 or unsound about him. The shell was rough but the 
 kernel was good and sweet. He was, in short, a plain 
 and unpretending business man — at once honest and 
 reliable — capable and safe. Edgar Crumlyn, the last 
 member of this little party, was a fine specimen of 
 young Southern manhood. His face, without being 
 strictly handsome, was strongly marked, and beamed 
 with intelligence and good nature. His voice was re- 
 markable for sweetness of tone and clearness of articu- 
 lation. In the careless flow of ordinary conversation, 
 it was not especially noticeable, but in recitation, it 
 was what Tennyson calls "deep chested music." He 
 was as modest as he was gifted, and could be made to 
 blush as easily as a rustic maiden. He was parcel 
 lawyer and much planter, and resided on his, or rather 
 
14 Down the Bay. 
 
 his father's place, a short distance above Mobile, in 
 the Canebrake country. It should be added that he 
 was something of a poet. 
 
 A few paces from these was standing one of the 
 most splendid specimens of manhood that Alabama 
 could exhibit— Judge Frederick Crofton — the literary 
 man "par excellence, of the party. He was of large frame 
 and commanding stature. The expression of his eyes, 
 as seen through the gold-rimmed spectacles, which he 
 constantly wore, was unusually mild and gentle, and 
 his smile was very winning. He wore his hair long, 
 and it fell in gray curls upon his massive shoulders. 
 His scholarship was fine, and his reading extensive. 
 He was somewhere between fifty and sixty years of 
 age — the oldest man among the excursionists — but he 
 was as fresh and as genial as the youngest. Sitting 
 immediately in front of him vv^as Robert Briarsley, a 
 physician. It could readily be seen from the way this 
 gentleman of doubtful age rested upon his chair, that, • 
 in standing, his person which was rather diminutive, 
 was held stiffly, even rigidly, erect. His countenance 
 was pale and thoughtful, with a nose long and pointed, 
 which sought the upper air. The most striking fea- 
 ture of his face, however, was the eye, which was very 
 full, heavy lidded and darkly brilliant. Grouped 
 around Judge Crofton and Briarsley, were the dashing 
 Wilmer Prince — his face dusky, but finely featured, — 
 the youthful Charley Wenker, with his sunny hair 
 thrown carelessly back from a broad and open brow, 
 under which were large blue eyes and cheeks and lips 
 of almost feminine softness and beauty ; and several 
 others — all of whom are worthy of especial notice, — 
 but as their lives do not connect them particularly 
 
Down the Bay. 15 
 
 with the coming incidents of this history, nothing 
 further need be said of them here. 
 
 The five negroes, — the sable body-guard of the ex- 
 cursionists, — had stationed themselves near the prow, 
 as the schooner was making its way toward the centre 
 of the bay, with Lankey at the head. This boy, who 
 was near six feet in height, with great breadth of chest, 
 as the vessel turned and sped on its way like an arrow 
 shot from a bow, in a high and clear voice, fairly 
 yelled — but it was a yell of ringing music — the words 
 of a negro melody — "Down the Bay," — the others join- 
 ing lustily and roundly in the chorus. The whole 
 song, to the group of whites who listened to it, like 
 Tam O'Shanter when he set out on his nocturnal ride, 
 
 "Was glorious, 
 O'er all the ills of life victorious ;" 
 
 for while it was rolling far and wide over the water — 
 now rising — now falling, — now shrilly piping — now 
 broadly swelling, — a various — a many sounding mel- 
 ody, — one could hear nothing else — could absolutely 
 think of nothing else — 
 
 '* Down the Bay. 
 
 '* Farewell you cullud ladies ! 
 
 We luv' you ev^ry one ; 
 We sure you look like di'mun's, 
 
 Black shiniii' in de sun. 
 Farewell, our charmin' Dinah ! 
 
 You's wuff your weight in gold ; 
 Farewell, our laughin' Nancy ! 
 
 Your wuff cannot be told. 
 
16 Down the Bay. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 We's on our way — we's on our way — 
 But hah-yah !— it's not fur long ; 
 
 We's on our way— we's on our way— 
 Jist listen to our song — 
 Down the bay — down the bay. 
 
 " Farewell our Kitty darlin' ! 
 
 Farewell our darlin' Sue ! 
 Farewell our little Vi'let ! 
 
 Farewell to all uv you ! 
 We's sorry 'nuff to leve you ; 
 
 But 'deed we cannot stay ; 
 White frren's dey want our kump'ny, 
 
 A-sailin' down de bay. 
 
 We's on our way — we's on our way- 
 But hah-yah !— it's not fur long ; 
 
 We's on our way— we's on our way- 
 Jist listen to our song — 
 Down de bay — down de bay. 
 
 " We's goin' to do some fishin' — 
 Some fishin' widout fail ; 
 Wi want to ketch de sardine— 
 We want to ketch de whale. 
 And when de 'scurshun's over, 
 
 Your luv' boff warm an' true, 
 Mus' still come down upon us, 
 As ours goes up to you. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 We's on our way— we's on our way- 
 But hah-yah !— it's not fur long ; 
 
 We's on our way— we's on our way- 
 Jist listen to our song — 
 Down de bay— down de bay." 
 
Down the Bay. 17 
 
 "Sing it over again, Lankey," exclaimed Charley 
 Wenker — sing it over again. Keep singing it all the 
 evening. It is just splendid." 
 
 ■ The negroes repeated the song, and did it with an 
 access of vigor and animation. The ground-swell of 
 the chorus especially, rolled away grandly, and yet 
 more grandly, until it finally broke upon the echoing 
 beach in waves of crystal melody. 
 
 "Where did you get that song from, Lankey ?" asked 
 Charley, after he had relieved himself by a deep and 
 protracted respiration. "It seems to have been fixed 
 up ior the occasion." 
 
 "I got up the po'try," with a laugh ;" "Mr. Sangen- 
 boom helped me wid de music; an' Colonel Ernley 
 pervided de sense." 
 
 "Umph ! I can appreciate your and the music man's 
 part of the performance ; but I can't see what Ernley 
 did — I can't find the sense," responded Charley, look- 
 ing around rather maliciously. 
 
 Ernley fixed his eyes upon Charley intently and 
 curiously for a minute or two, but said nothing, for a 
 wonder . 
 
 "Well, I have hushed up Ernley," said the una- 
 bashed Charley ; "but unfortunately, he will not re- 
 main hushed up long. Just look at him now : — there 
 is something in that newspaper, which he is so ner- 
 vously fingering, that he desires to read to us, I am 
 sure." 
 
 "You are right, Charley, for once," replied Ernley. 
 "I do wish to read something. All of you remember 
 that Admiral Semmes died at his home in Mobile 
 during our last excursion — about a year ago. The 
 paper in my hand is 'The Marjlander' — given me this 
 
18 Down the Bay. 
 
 morning by Haverwood, — and contains a sketch of the 
 life and character of the great sea-captain. While the 
 article falls far short of doing justice to the merits of 
 the subject, it has in the reading greatly interested me, 
 and will, I doubt not, interest all of you. I do not 
 know the name of the writer — perhaps Haverwood him- 
 self is the man— though I ought to say that he denies 
 the soft impeachment." Without further preface, 
 Ernley opened the paper and read: 
 
 "RAPHAEL SEMMES. 
 
 "I was standing in the shade of a large live-oak 
 on the Horticultural Fair Grounds at Mobile in the 
 spring of 1876, talking with two notable Alabamians, 
 when I saw a gentleman approaching, whose appear- 
 ance at once attracted my attention. Two children 
 were running, dancing and jumping along at his side, 
 and he now and then paused to point out to them ob- 
 jects of interest around with his cane, which he flour- 
 ished in the operation very much as one accustomed 
 to the weapon, would flourish a sword. Small and 
 compact in person, he held himself perfectly erect, and 
 moved with ease and activity, although apparently 
 carrying the weight of almost three score and ten 
 years. His face was smoothly shaven, except where 
 his lips were shaded by a light moustache and im- 
 perial ; his hair was white and closely cut ; and his 
 eyes under strongly marked brows were sparkling with 
 pleasantry, as he replied to the laughing questions of 
 his youthful companions. There was something about 
 the whole man, — his bearing and manner, the firm- 
 ness of his step, the poise of his head, the expression 
 of his face, — which made it evident to me, that he de- 
 
Down the Bay. 19 
 
 served the respectful consideration accorded him by 
 the little groups of people in his pathway, all of 
 whom moved aside for him to pass, with hats raised 
 on ithe part of the men, and kindly nods and smiles on 
 the part of the women. 'Who is he ?' inquired of one 
 of my companions, as the stranger moved on and was 
 lost in the crowd. 'Eaphael Semmes,' was the reply. 
 That was the first and only time I ever saw this re- 
 markable man — the distinguished ex-admiral of the 
 Confederate States' navy, and ex-brigadier-general of 
 the confederate States' army, for before the close of 
 the great war he held both positions at the same time. 
 "While I observed that Admiral Semmes was dressed 
 with scrupulous care and neatness, I have no distinct 
 recollection of the character of any part of his costume 
 except his hat. It was of beaver or silk, and unusually 
 high in the crown, with a brim, not broad, but wider 
 than was customary in the make-up of such hats. My 
 attention was particularly directed to it, because it 
 seemed to form too large a part of the covering of the 
 man, and evidently had a tendency to dwarf still more 
 the sufficiently dwarfish person of the wearer. But be 
 this as it may — that hat, it should be said right here, 
 had underneath it no dwarfish mind and spirit — on the 
 contrary, it had below it a mind with a breadth of 
 reach, and a vigor of movement, rarely to be met with 
 in big men or little, and a spirit fearless and unresting — 
 ever on. the outlook for chivalrous adventure, and pur- 
 suing it when discovered, with a boldness and activity, 
 proportioned to the number and magnitude of inter- 
 vening difficulties and dangers. And that hat, it should 
 furthermore be said, covered, along with these high 
 and heroic traits, others more modest, but not less 
 
20 Down the Bay. 
 
 sterling, wliicli served to round up a character emi- 
 nently fitting its possessor for the post of a great naval 
 commander, or, indeed for any high governing position 
 among men — honesty, truthfulness, temperance "and 
 kindness of heart. 
 
 "The unresting mental activity and tireless energy, 
 which I have suggested as being bis dominant charac- 
 teristics, left Eaphael Semmes no time nor inclination 
 for play. He perhaps never took a real holiday in his 
 life — one allowing full and complete rest of body and 
 mind. He was appointed a midshipman in the navy 
 by President John Quincy Adams in 1826, when he 
 was seventeen 3^ear3 of age, and he began at once to 
 prepare himself for the weighty duties of his new call- 
 ing. His first instruction in naval tactics, etc., was had 
 at Norfolk, Ya.; and upon examination he passed first 
 in mathematics, and second in seamanship, in a class of 
 forty. In 1832 he went on his opening cruise, and, re- 
 turning in 1834, was granted a furlough. Instead of 
 passing the time of his furlough amid the gayeties of 
 the city, as was the custom of most of the young naval 
 officers when freed for a season from duty, he sat him- 
 self down to the study of the law, not as an amateur, 
 but as one determined to master all of its dry and in- 
 tricate details for the practical purposes of life . With 
 patient and unwearied assiduity he continued at his 
 self-imposed task until he was admitted to the bar. 
 No man could give a stronger proof of unflagging men- 
 tal activity and energy than was here manifested by 
 Semmes, in devoting his first holiday, after long con- 
 finement on shipboard, to the study of a profession, 
 which he never expected to practice, and one too re- 
 quiring for the thorough equipment that he secured* 
 
Down the Bay. 21 
 
 such a vast amount of uninteresting reading and drill- 
 ing. He was a lieutenant in the fleet that co-operated 
 with the American land forces in the attack on Vera 
 Cruz in 1847. After the reduction of that city, and the 
 march of General Scott into the interior, he left the 
 fleet, by which no further fighting could be done, and 
 took service with the army ; and in order that he might 
 have a full share of the fighting in the advance on the 
 city of Mexico, he attached himself to the division of 
 General Worth, one of the most enterprising officers in 
 the American army, and continued with it until the 
 war was over. Subsequently, amid his other duties, 
 time was afforded him — or, rather he took the time, 
 which really belonged to rest, and devoted it to writing 
 out a history of the struggle — forcibly and justly set- 
 ting forth, in two volumes — 'Afloat and Ashore during 
 the Mexican War,' and 'The Campaign of General 
 Scott in the Valley of Mexico' — the operations both by 
 sea and land of the United States forces, with which 
 he had served. After a few years came the great 'war 
 between the States,' with Semmes upon the ocean, in 
 fighting trim again ; and such active and vigorous 
 cruising as was done by him during that war, has never 
 been paralleled in the annals of the world. His ship 
 indeed had the appearing and disappearing power of a 
 veritable sprite of the deep — not here to-day and there 
 tomorrov/, was to be said of it, but here to-day and 
 where tomorrow? Evading with ease the multitude 
 of warships sent out by his enemies to effect his cap- 
 ture, on the one hand, while, on the other, striking 
 their trading vessels in the most unexpected quarters, 
 and destroying them and their cargoes by scores, he, 
 in the short space of but little more than two years, 
 
22 Down the Bat. 
 
 upon an element swarming with foes and without one 
 favoring friend, swept the commerce, which he was or- 
 dered to cripple, almost entirely from the ocean. When 
 no further work could be done by him upon the seas, 
 he hurried across the Atlantic, and made his way, 
 through a Mexican port, into the blockaded Confed- 
 eracy, to strike upon his native land a final blow for 
 freedom, and go down, if need be, amid its wreck, and 
 that of the institutions he loved so well. Soon after 
 he reached Richmond, he was placed in command of 
 the fleet oa the James ; and he was left to destroy it, 
 which he did effectually, when the remnant of Lee's 
 army was driven by overwhelming numbers from its 
 defenses at Petersburg. With the commission of a 
 brigadier-general of the Confederate States' army in 
 his possession, he organized his sailors into a brigade ; 
 and his was the last military force of the Confederacy 
 that made its way in safety from its ill-fated and gal- 
 lant capital. Upon a train improvised by attaching 
 together some old and shattered cars left standing on 
 the railroad grounds near the city and two dilapidated 
 and abandoned locomotives, with his sailor-soldiers as 
 trainmen, engineers and conductors, he steamed away 
 from Richmond, as the Federal army marched in, and 
 carried his brigade to Danville, reaching that place a 
 few minutes before the track in the vicinity was crossed 
 and torn up by Sheridan's hard and pitiless riders. 
 
 "The courage of Semmes was of a high and rare or- 
 der. It was a courage, which, while at times appar- 
 ently akin to recklessness, was really dominated by a 
 judgment cool aad calculating — fully aware always of 
 what it was about, and what was before it. ^That cour- 
 age was nowhere more conspicuously displayed, than 
 
Down the Bay. 23 
 
 in the act, which began his war on the United States' 
 navy and commerce, and the act which ended it — the 
 act which launched the Sumter upon the waters of the 
 Gulf in the face of terrible odds, and the act, which 
 sent the Alabama, in the face of still more terrible 
 odds, to the bottom of the ocean. I will give briefly 
 
 the history of both 
 
 "The Sumter, ready for sea, was lying in the Missis- 
 sippi, at the head of the two main passes into the 
 Gulf, the mouth of each of which was closely guarded 
 by war-vessels of the enemy, headed by the Brooklyn, 
 at the one, and the Powhatan, at the other. On the 
 morning of June 30, 1861, Semmes heard that the 
 Brooklyn had gone in pursuit of a suspected vessel : he 
 immediately obtained a pilot, and made a dash for the 
 open sea. Before reaching the bar, however, he saw 
 the Brooklyn returning. That vessel was much 
 stronger in her armament than the Sumter, and had 
 the advantage also in speed ; but she was about four 
 miles away. Semmes took in the whole situation in a 
 moment, including the direction and strength of the 
 wind. There was a chance, he saw, for him to escape. 
 He determined to attempt it, and if he failed, to fight. 
 Without pause he crossed the bar within reach of the 
 heavy guns of the Brooklyn, which was making every 
 exertion by steam and sail to intercept him. Wishing 
 no doubt to lessen the distance, so as to have a surer 
 mark, the latter did not fir6. The distance, however, 
 after the Sumter got fully out to sea was never les- 
 sened. By skillful management, Semmes "eat" the 
 Brooklyn "out of the wind," which was followed by 
 the furling of her sails. The Sumter, of course, was 
 speedily beyond all danger of capture. It was a piece 
 
24 Down the Bay. 
 
 of splendid daring and splendid seamanship on the 
 part of Semmes, and deserved to succeed. 
 
 "The Alabama was at Cherbourg coaling when the 
 Kearsarge arrived off the harbor. The two vessels 
 were nearly equal in batteries and men — the advantage 
 being with the latter, — and were apparently equal in 
 their build. Semmes determined to fight. Had he 
 known, however, that the Kearsarge was an iron-clad, 
 which fact was very cleverly, if not very honestly, con- 
 cealed, he would no doubt have managed with his 
 usual seaman-like adroitness to evade an engagement 
 which could hardly fail to prove disastrous to him. 
 On June 19, 1864, he steamed out of the harbor in 
 search of the Kearsarge ; and for more than an hour, 
 after he had come up with her, he presented the un- 
 protected breast of his vessel to the deadly missiles 
 fired from the armored sides of the Kearsarge, upon 
 which his shot and shell could make but little impres- 
 sion. In fact he fought his ship as long as she could 
 swim. Before any measures could be adopted on 
 board the Alabama to save her officers and men she 
 went down, leaving them struggling for life in the en- 
 sanguined waters. The victory was with the Kear- 
 sarge : the glory was with the Alabama. 
 
 *' There is an interesting relic of this fight at the 
 navy-yard of Washington, which shows that while the 
 glory was with the Alabama, the victory came very 
 near being there too. It is a piece of timber cut from 
 a part of the stern of the Kearsarge, in which, close to 
 the water line, is embedded a large unexploded shell. 
 A distinguished member of Congress from Alabama 
 told me a few years ago that he and several others, 
 among whom was an^old Federal Commodore, were 
 
Down the Bat. 25 
 
 looking at this shell, when he asked the latter what 
 would have been the result had the shell exploded. 
 * The Kearsarge,' replied the old sailor emphatically, 
 *would have gone down like a rock, sir;-~Semmes 
 would have whipped the fight.' 
 
 "The daring quality of Semmes' seamanship arose 
 as much from his perfect knowledge of his profession 
 and confidence in himself, as from the total absence of 
 fear in his composition. I will give an incident in 
 point, which may or may not be true. If untrue, I 
 will only remark, that it would have been fact had 
 Semmes been at the place under the circumstances 
 suggested, and had there been any good reason for the 
 action imputed to him : 
 
 "A party of United States naval officers, as the story 
 goes, were standing on the beach at Pensacola, some 
 time between the years 1850 and 1860, when a severe 
 storm came up from the southwest. It was sufficiently 
 strong to induce vessels generally to seek the open 
 sea. About the time it had reached the height of its 
 fury, a war-ship was seen flying with the speed of a 
 falcon before the gale, and making for the narrow en- 
 trance to the harbor. One of the officers said : "There 
 will be a wreck sure, unless Semmes or the devil is in 
 command of that ship and at the helm : — no man can 
 run into this port in such a storm except Semmes.' 
 The ship, according to the story, loas under the control 
 of Semmes; and in a few minutes it was safely riding 
 at anchor in the comparatively untroubled waters of 
 the harbor. 
 
 "Another incident illustrative of the phase of 
 Semmes' character under consideration, and of a na- 
 ture somewhat similar to the one just given, I beg to 
 3 
 
26 Down the Bay. 
 
 relate. It is well authenticated, — in fact, it comes 
 from a near lady-relative of the Admiral, and is sub- 
 stantially as follows : 
 
 "Towards the close of the year 1864, H. N. Caldwell, 
 who was a passenger on a small vessel running between 
 Havana in Cuba and Bagdad, a small place at the 
 mouth of the Rio Grande, said, that just before reach- 
 ing the latter point, the schooner was caught in one of 
 the gales frequent on the Gulf coast at that season of 
 the year, and, under the guidance of its half-drunken 
 captain, soon became unmanageable. There was much 
 confusion and terror among both passengers and crew, 
 when a small man, continued Mr. Caldwell, who had 
 been very retiring and reticent during the entire voy- 
 age, suggested to the captain, in passing, some change 
 that ought to be made in the management of the ship. 
 The captain, under the excitement of liquor and the 
 situation, ripped out an oath, and was evidently on the 
 eve of ordering the speaker to attend to his own busi- 
 ness ; but in looking up and seeing two eyes fixed upon 
 him, with an expression calm, determined and men- 
 acing, he forebore his contemplated rudeness, and, 
 having still wit enough to appreciate the soundness of 
 the suggestion, gave the necessary orders for carrying 
 it into effect, or allowed the stranger to do so. In a 
 few minutes the ship righted, and commenced moving 
 through the angry waters with comparative ease. That 
 unpretending and diminutive traveller, concluded Mr. 
 Caldwell, was Raphael Semmes. 
 
 "But a faint and imperfect sketch of this remark- 
 able man would be here presented, were I to fail of 
 dwelling, at least briefly, upon the refinement, warmth, 
 and generosity of his nature. While he was in com- 
 
Down the Bat. 27 
 
 mand of the Sumter and Alabama, the exercise of these 
 qualities was sometimes difficult because of the cir- 
 cumstances immediately surrounding him, and was 
 often rendered more difficult still by the action of the 
 government and people of the United States towards 
 •himself. And yet in none of these cases, when duly 
 weighed, was he ever found wanting. The ports hav- 
 ing been closed to his prizes, he was, of course, forced 
 to adopt the rule of destroying them; but this stern 
 and imperative duty was always performed in such 
 way as to entail no unnecessary hardship upon the 
 crews and passengers of the captured ships. Indeed, 
 if there were no means of taking care of these unfor- 
 tunate people, without material discomfort, on his own 
 ship, or, no eligible place at which they could be put 
 ashore, he bonded the captured vessel and suffered it 
 to proceed on its voyage. He did this with many 
 prizes— some of them very valuable,— he did it with 
 the Ariel, one of the large steamers of the Yanderbilt 
 line, which he was anxious to destroy. The captain 
 of the Ariel 'pledged name and fame,' that Yanderbilt 
 would satisfy the bond and redeem the ship ; but 
 Semmes knew the old man too well to suppose for an 
 instant he would do anything of the sort : in fact, he 
 knew when he bonded any ship, in order to save crew 
 and passengers from trouble, he was simply giving up, 
 without ransom, ' the lawful captive of his bow and 
 spear.' In the case of the Ariel, and many other cases 
 of ships bonded by Semmes, there were ladies aboard, 
 and he could not bear the idea of having them sub- 
 jected to all the disagreeable incidents of an over- 
 crowded ship of war. In dealing with ladies, during 
 his whole Confederate career upon the ocean, his con- 
 
28 Down the Bay. 
 
 duct was marked by a chivalrous courtesy and tender- 
 ness that speedily relieved them of all fear of mis- 
 treatment. They expected a Bluebeard : they found a 
 Bayard. Nevertheless Semmes' bold and open war 
 upon the commerce of the United States, in the in- 
 terest, and under the orders of his government, thus 
 marked with a clemency not altogether usual in time 
 of war even among civilized nations, was termed by 
 some of the very parties, who experienced the benefit 
 of his kindness, rank piracy, and he, one of the rankest 
 of pirates. In pursuing, however, the line of his in- 
 structions and duty, as a Confederate ofiicer, and tem- 
 pering his actions by such kindness as that duty would 
 allow, he could afford to laugh at such charges, and 
 leave to the common sense of the world th3 vindication 
 of his good name and the purity and loyalty of his 
 motives. 
 
 *'I have already spoken of his books written soon 
 after the Mexican war. He wrote also ' The Cruise of 
 the Sumter and Alabama,' published at New York in 
 1864, and ' Memoirs of Service Afloat During the War 
 between the States,' published at Baltimore in 1869. 
 The preliminary chapters of this last work are devoted 
 to the causes of the war. The constitutional argument 
 in defense of the action of the South is equal, in the 
 grouping and marshalling of its facts, and in the force 
 and accuracy of its deductions, to any paper on the 
 same subject, which has yet been given to the world. 
 The style too of these introductory chapters is digni- 
 fied and forcible ; that of the succeeding chapters, or, 
 those narrating the doings of the Sumter and Alabama, 
 with the account of his final public service after the 
 loss of both ships, is delightfully colloquial. It ex- 
 
Down the Bay. 29 
 
 actly suits the subject matter, being racy, flowing and 
 brilliant. While he is the hero necessarily of all the 
 adventures narrated, he is, in the highest degree, a 
 modest and unpretending hero. The work is, in many 
 respects, one of the most interesting of modern pro- 
 ductions — indeed it is scarcely too much to say, that 
 the 'Memoirs' is one of the most readable books in 
 the English language. Like Caesar, Semmes knew how 
 to fight, and how to tell of his fighting. 
 
 "Eaphael Semmes was born near the city of Balti- 
 more in 1809, but moved to Mobile in 18i2, where he 
 died in 1877. Maryland never gave birth to a nobler 
 boy, and Alabama never buried a nobler man." 
 
 The sprightly little vessel had made rapid headway, 
 while the foregoing sketch was being read and com- 
 mented on. It soon neared the waters of the Gulf, 
 whose heavy ground-swell could both be seen and felt 
 upon the glassy surface of the bay. About noon her 
 prow was turned to the southeast, and, leaving the 
 western coast, a waving line, like a blue thread of smoke 
 in the far distance, as she bore more and more to the 
 east, she finally doubled two wooded points in close 
 proximity, and darting across a broad arm of the roll- 
 ing waters, to another point also embowered in trees, 
 she rounded it, and swinging gracefully into the deep 
 mouth of Bienville Inlet, she was at her place of desti- 
 nation. 
 
 GKOUNDS OF THE CLUB. 
 
 The schooner at once discharged her passengers and 
 cargo, and leaving two boats for fishing and bathing 
 purposes, returned to Mobile. The members of the 
 
30 Down the Bay. 
 
 party were, in the meantime, busily employed, by the 
 aid of the negroes, in pitching their tents and making 
 other necessary preparations for comfort in the woods. 
 Nothing was wanting to the beauty and convenience of 
 the place selected for their temporary habitations. It 
 was some distance from the water's edge, upon the 
 skirt of a level plateau forming the summit of a slight 
 ridge, or, what might be termed a cape of pine woods, 
 which, extending southward, overtopped with its emer- 
 ald crown a wide reach of yellow sand, along whose 
 farthest limit the waves broke in a low and musical 
 murmur. Inland for some distance — indeed, until 
 sight was lost amid the shadows cast by their inter- 
 lacing boughs — rose the columnar stems, tall, smooth, 
 and straight, of the same magnificent trees, spaced 
 with almost the regularity of those in an ordinary fruit 
 orchard, above a vast cushion of amber-colored pine 
 needles, as soft and smooth as velvet. Towards the 
 inlet the slope of the land was gradual and billowy, in 
 the hollows and rounded crests of which were widely 
 scattered clumps of oak, beech, and elm, with an 
 occasional magnolia. The whole surface of this slope 
 was covered with a kind of broad-leaved, vigorous 
 grass, of intense greenness, upon which were content- 
 edly browsing many fat cattle. In a narrow ravine, 
 almost roofed in places by branches and vines, which 
 opened some distance below into the inlet, and whose 
 head broke the level surface of the plateau, was a fine 
 spring of pure water. It was, perhaps, this spring, 
 more than the rare beauty of the situation, or the 
 excellent bathing and fishing facilities afforded by the 
 inlet, which made this spot the favorite resort of these 
 Mobile gentlemen when pic-nicishly, and, it may be 
 
Down the Bay. 31 
 
 added, pickwickishly, inclined. Much labor had been 
 bestowed upon it; but, as the work had been done, 
 under their immediate supervision, and frequently with 
 their direct manual assistance, by the negroes who 
 accompanied them on their annual excursions, it had 
 been well and artistically done, and at but little 
 expense. By digging down the head of the ravine, 
 and deepening the channel below, the opening of the 
 spring was found just above a dark slate-colored rock, 
 which jutted out from the wall about three feet from 
 the floor. Over this the water ran in a thin stream, 
 falling into a basin of white marble — a present from 
 Ernley — overflowed its rim and passed rapidly down 
 the steep descent of the ravine towards the inlet. 
 
 So much for the club-grounds. And now the reader 
 will take, for the day, a last look at the party who 
 have just occupied them. The sun is about to go 
 down ; and at last the tents are not only spread, but 
 every thing is in its place. Lankey assisted, by the 
 other negro boys, is preparing supper. The smoke of 
 their fires can be seen just beyond a silver-skinned 
 beech, which spreads its green branches above an 
 interesting group of well-filled and well-satisfied cattle. 
 The white men are scattered ; some are lying upon the 
 grass, listlessly gazing into the mellowing sky ; some 
 sitting together upon the twisted roots of a giant tree, 
 engaged in an animated talk led by old Maltman ; and 
 others wandering in pairs through the deepening 
 shadows of the great pine forest. And the sun is 
 about to leave them! Before doing so, however, he, 
 for a moment or two, peeps through the embroidered 
 hangings of his couch of feathery cloud, edged with a 
 brightness, and marked with a depth and richness of 
 
32 Down the Bay. 
 
 coloring such as were never displayed by the royal 
 robes of Solomon. His last parting beam sweetly 
 touches the grass upon the open slope, then plays 
 softly with the leaves and branches of the under- 
 growth; anon lovingly rests upon the lofty crests of 
 the giant trees ; ana, finally, when all else is in gray 
 shadow, hangs a glory about a solitary cloud sailing 
 far overhead, which seems a ship freighted with purity 
 on its upward way to celestial shores. 
 
PAET II.— NIGHTS IN CAMP. 
 
 WAYDONS — DEERTOP — TUSKALUZA. 
 
 Star to star vibrates light ; may soul to soul 
 
 Strike through a finer element of her own? 
 
 So from afar, touch as at once? or why 
 
 Tnat night, that moment, when she named his name, 
 
 Did the keen shreik, " Yes, love, yes, Edith, yes," 
 
 Shrill till the comrade of his chambers woke? 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 
 As monumental bronze unchanged his look ; 
 A soul that pity touched, but never shook ; 
 Trained from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier 
 The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook ; 
 Impassive, — fearing but the shame of fear — 
 A stoic of the woods— a man without a tear. 
 
 — Campbell. 
 
 THE days had been beautiful ; and the time had 
 passed pleasantly enough to the party at the inlet. 
 Boating, bathing, fishing and hunting, had been par- 
 ticipated in by all most heartily. Books, of which a 
 limited supply, well selected, had been brought along 
 by Judge Crofton, Ernley and McTarney, and had con- 
 tributed much too to the general enjoyment. Fish by 
 the hundred had been taken, of fine size and flavor ; 
 they formed indeed the principal dish at every meal. 
 The holiday, however, was drawing to a close. It was 
 Tuesday night, and the schooner was expected Thurs- 
 day evening- -sometime between dark and midnight — 
 to take the party back to their homes. Supper was be- 
 ing served in the dining tent, which was simply a huge 
 
34 Nights in Camp. 
 
 fly stretched across the ridge pole, without walls. 
 Torches were blazing around, lighting up the table, 
 and those seated at it, with all the brilliancy of day. 
 On the one side were the grim shadows of the deep 
 woods, heightened by the light, which struggled flick- 
 eringly under the overarching branches, — on the other 
 was the open sky "studded with stars unutterably 
 bright," and the rolling waters of the gulf beating soft 
 music upon the pebbled beach. 
 
 "Are there any settlements near this place?" sud- 
 denly asked Briarsley, in a pause of the conversation. 
 
 "Yes," replied Maltman, "one. It is the home of a 
 widow, Mrs. Merton, and her son — a youth about six- 
 teen years of age. Her husband died last year. There 
 is a road through the pine woods above here, the 
 nearest point of which is scarcely a mile off. Her 
 house stands there in the midst of a small clearing. 
 With that exception there is not a spot of cultivated 
 ground within ten miles of us. The cattle you have 
 seen feeding around here belong to her. She supplies 
 us with that rich milk and butter, which you, indeed 
 all of us, have so much enjoyed." 
 
 "The milk and butter are well enough," said Charley, 
 who was sitting, with rather a doleful expression on 
 his usually bright face, nibbling at a buscuit, and sip- 
 ping his wine ; "but I am awfully tired of the rest of 
 our food. Baked fish — boiled fish — stewed fish — fried 
 fish! I have been reading Beckford to-day, and " 
 
 "Have you?" interjected Ernley. "Pray don't do it 
 any more, please, if it makes you sullen. I see you 
 look like Vathek when he had lost his sweetheart." 
 
 "I have been reading Beckford," continued Charley, 
 ignoring Ernley, "and I find " 
 
Nights in Camp. 35 
 
 "You have told us that before. Why don't you say 
 something new?" quietly observed Ernley. 
 
 "Pish !" exclaimed (Charley ; "don't interrupt. I've 
 been reading Beckford " 
 
 "Is there anything wonderful in that?" asked Ernley. 
 "Don't say it any more — 'please." 
 
 "I've been reading Beckford," said Charley, making 
 his words dash out, as if they were running a race 
 with each other ; "and I find a passage that just suits 
 me. He is speaking of the Dutch. Can't you all see 
 in me what he says he saw in them, 'a flabbiness of 
 complexion and an oysterishness of eye,' produced by 
 the character of my food for the last few days? If I 
 don't change my diet soon, I fear I will have to don 
 their kind of 'galligaskins,' in order 'to tuck up a 
 flouncing tail, and thus cloak the deformity of a dol- 
 phin like termination.' " 
 
 "I supposed the tail was there, Charley ; but from 
 what was visible, I judged it was that of a monkey in- 
 stead of a fish," said Ernley. Charley vouchsafed no 
 reply to this insinuation, but turned in huge disdain to 
 his buscuit and wine. 
 
 "At our meeting here last year," remarked Wilmer 
 Prince, after a pause, "our suppers were frequently 
 enlivened by a song or two, as well as recitations. 
 Can't we have some singing to-night? I want to hear 
 Crumlyn's new song — 'Bright Mobile'." 
 
 "Oh, no !" hastily said Crumlyn. "Let us put that 
 off until we are on our way home. Just before we 
 reach the city will be the best time. The song will be 
 more enjoyed then." 
 
 "Hold on, Crumlyn!" exclaimed Charley quickly — 
 "certainly, Wilmer, certainly — singing by all means ! 
 
36 Nights in Camp. 
 
 We'll have a song from Ernley." He knew that Ern- 
 ley could sing about as well as a baboon could play on 
 the flute. "Silence ! " continued Charley, rapping on 
 the table with his knife, — "silence ! a song from Colo- 
 nel Ernley ! " 
 
 "Hush up, Charley ! don't be foolish, — hush up, and 
 let me speak," said Ernley. "We have been so tired 
 during the two or three nights of our stay here, be- 
 cause of exertions 'on sea and shore,' during the day, 
 that we have not cared to take up the matters of a 
 literary nature, which in all our previous meetings at 
 this place, have largely occupied our attention until 
 bed time. You know that Judge Crofton, Haverwood, 
 Crumlyn and Briarsley all promised, before we separat- 
 ed last year at the close of the excursion, to come pre- 
 pared on this occasion with articles — stories, sketches, 
 or something of the sort — illustrative of certain phases 
 of southern life, — in fact, the Judge engaged to read 
 us a historical tale of Alabama founded on fact, besides 
 other (what shall I say Judge?) scraps and pickings 
 from his literary labors. If I am not greatly mistaken 
 I promised to regale you with a written essay on 
 'Southern Civilization'; and I don't propose to let you 
 miss the pleasure and profit of hearing that, you may 
 be sure. Judge Crofton must read us the historical 
 story to-night. Before he does so, however, I want 
 McTarney to relate the marvellous adventure, if adven- 
 ture it can be called, an outline of which he gave me 
 to-day when we were out hunting." The propositions 
 of Ernley were heartily endorsed; and McTarney open- 
 ed the literary entertainment with the story of 
 
Nights in Camp. 37 
 
 " the waydons. 
 
 '^Twelve or fifteen years ago one of the most inter- 
 esting and lovable families in the whole length of a 
 larpe and charming valley in Middle Alabama, was the 
 Waydons. Their residence was a commodious two- 
 storied frame building, with an ample front veranda, 
 austerely plain, and a lawn that greenly undulated in 
 in its gentle slope to the river's edge, plentifully sup- 
 plied with oaks and hickories of great age and vast 
 size. The fine corn and cotton lands, for some distance 
 around the house, or rather to its rear and on its sides, 
 belonged to the family, which was wealthy, and intel- 
 ligent, but not so refined as to have smoothed away 
 any part of those hearty and genuine homebred man- 
 ners, that, like country air and shade and bloom, are 
 so refreshing to wearied denizens of cities. The old 
 man and old lady— uncle Wilkie and aunt Hilda, as 
 they were called by the neighbors— were another addi- 
 tion of the venerable couple so tenderly and exquis- 
 itely portrayed in 'John Anderson, my Jo, John.' 
 Aunt Hilda especially, with her mild gray eyes, lips 
 that had not lost all their youthful bloom and fullness, 
 and cheeks, which, though slightly furrowed by years', 
 had yet about them much of their early softness and 
 roundness, was indeed like the heroine of the song, a 
 love of an old woman, and what was better still, an old 
 woman of love. They were blessed with two daughters 
 as rosily as luscious as ripened peaches, and two sons, 
 not unlike in soundness and sturdiness, the ancestral 
 oaks among which they had been reared. One of 
 these boys was about twenty-five years of age, while 
 tha other was a year or two younger. There was an- 
 other son, Edwin, the youngest of the group, who had 
 
38 Nights in Camp. 
 
 been seriously injured by a fall during childhood. He 
 was feeble in body and by no means strong in mind. 
 This unfortunate boy was the pet of the whole family. 
 To his mother, however, he was something more than 
 a pet. Weak and afflicted, while the other children 
 were so robust and healthful, and the child, as she 
 fondly termed him, of her old age, she exhibited 
 toward him an anxious tenderness of manner that 
 always ended in a caress, and turned upon him a wist- 
 ful, yearning look, from eyes that ever seemed ready to 
 overflow with tears. Although the brothers and sisters 
 were so careful in supplying his wants, and so watchful 
 in guarding him from harm, she was always uneasy 
 when he was out of her sight. 
 
 " Uncle Wilkie Waydon, whose health had been re- 
 markably good, was one summer prostrated by a severe 
 attack of fever. For some time it was thought he 
 would die ; but finally, by the aid of attentive and 
 careful nursing, his naturally robust constitution threw 
 off the disease — his vital powers, however, had been 
 so nearly exhausted in the hard struggle that his re- 
 storation to perfect health again seemed somewhat 
 doubtful. His physician thought that a change of air 
 and scenery would be beneficial, and recommended for 
 the purpose, a little watering place about twenty miles 
 away. This spring was no fashionable place of resort 
 — no haunt of the pleasure seeker. It was a quiet and 
 sequestered spot among the hills, far from public roads, 
 and was but little known outside of the immediate 
 neighborhood. Several gentlemen had built comforta- 
 ble cabiDS there and improved the grounds, for the use 
 of their own families during the hot months ; and while 
 no summer passed without some of these being occu- 
 
Nights in Camp. 39 
 
 pied, it was rarely that this was the case with all of 
 them. 
 
 " Uncle Wilkie had secured one of the cabins ; but 
 he was not disposed to go to it without Aunt Hilda, 
 and she was not disposed to go without Edwin. For 
 the first time in his life Edwin showed a disinclination 
 to gratify his mother. He said he did not want to go 
 away from home. After trying for some time to change 
 his mind without success, she at last decided to leave 
 him behind and accompany her husband. But she did 
 so with much hesitation and many anxious forebod- 
 ings. 'And yet,' said she to her eldest son, 'why 
 should I fear for Edwin ? He will be at home, and 
 have affectionate brothers and sisters to take care of 
 him. Surely no harm could befall him that would not 
 do so even were I present.' 
 
 " The carriage was packed ; the two large mules, fat 
 and well groomed, were harnessed to it ; and the old 
 couple, after many loving adieus, drove away from the 
 homestead, followed by a wagon loaded with such fur- 
 niture and supplies as they would need during their 
 contemplated absence. Uncle Wilkie was hopeful and 
 talkative ; Aunt Hilda was sad and silent. She strug- 
 gled hard to overcome these despondent feelings, and 
 before the carriage had goae many miles partially suc- 
 ceeded. 'Never fear, wife,' Uncle Wilkie would now 
 and then remark cheerily — 'never fear — the boys and 
 girls are safe and reliable ; they are good children and 
 will attend to Edwin. He'll be all right when we get 
 back home.' 
 
 " In due time they arrived at the humble and modest 
 watering place ; and everthing about their cabin was 
 soon made snug^and comfortable. The spot|was cool 
 
40 Nights in Camp. 
 
 and pleasant ; the water was excellent ; the company, 
 though limited to two or three families, was congenial; 
 and Aunt Hilda, and consequently Uncle Wilkie, be- 
 fore many days had passed, began really to enjoy the 
 situation. The old gentleman's health, too, improved, 
 or he imagined it had done so ; and she, under the in- 
 fluence of this cheering belief, and her many pleasant 
 surroundings, seldom, if ever, brooded over the possi- 
 bility of harm visiting her unfortunate boy at home. 
 
 " It was the seventh night of their stay at the spring, 
 when Uncle Wilkie was awakened by a sort of muffled 
 scream from his wife. His hand touched her cheek as 
 he turned himself over in the bed, — it was as cold as 
 ice. Greatly alarmed, he struck a light and attempted 
 to arouse her. Her eyes were wide open, and had in 
 them a strange, wild, and horrified expression. Her 
 breathing was deep and full, but was now and then 
 interrupted by a quick, spasmodic jerk. After loudly 
 calling her by name, and violently shaking her, and 
 then rubbing her hands, he was about to awaken the 
 servants to send for assistance, when, with a gasp, 
 color returned to her face, the lost light to her fixed 
 and ghastly eyes, and she raised herself up. 
 
 "'O Wilkie!' said she hurriedly, and bursting into 
 tears, 'something dreadful has happened to Edwin. 
 I have just heard him, and his cry was agonizing. 
 *0 mother — mother — mother!' he said, 'why don't you 
 come?' 
 
 "Her husband did his best to allay her apprehen- 
 sions. He told her it was nothing but a dream. But 
 she could not be pacified in that way. 
 
 "'It was no dream,' she answered decidedly and 
 solemnly. ' It was no dream ; I heard him distinctly; 
 
Nights in Camp. 41 
 
 It was his voice. He was in pain, and lie called on 
 me to help him. I must go — I must go to him at 
 once.' 
 
 " The old man saw now that argument and expostu- 
 lation with his wife, under the circumstances, would 
 be useless — that she was terribly moved, and terribly 
 in earnest ; that nothing short of his instant compli- 
 ance with this desire would satisfy her. He, there- 
 fore, said mildly and gently : ' Certainly, my dear. If 
 you wish, we will lose no time, but go home now.' 
 
 "It was about midnight. They at once aroused the 
 servants and commenced making preparations for 
 leaving. In less than two hours their carriage, in the 
 brilliant light of a full moon, was rapidly bearing them 
 in the direction of home. ' Faster — faster, John ! ' was 
 frequently the anxious exclamation of Aunt Hilda to 
 the driver. 'Faster — faster, John! I am needed at 
 home — I am needed at home.' 
 
 " Before the sun was high in the heavens the next 
 morning, the carriage dashed through the grove, which 
 bordered their dwelling on the west ; but, alas ! that 
 house so dear to them, as their home for nearly forty 
 years, and the birthplace of all their children, was 
 found, as they looked out of their carriage-window, a 
 heap of smouldering ashes, above which frowned four 
 ghastly and blackened chimneys. 
 
 "Aunt Hilda, with a moan of intolerable anguish, 
 sank, fainting, upon the floor of the vehicle. In a few 
 minutes the two older sons, with the two daughters 
 and several servants, issued from cottages close by 
 and came to the carriage. While Aunt Hilda, still 
 unconscious, was helped to a bed and left to the gentle 
 and affectionate care of the daughters, the sons told to 
 
42 Nights in Camp. 
 
 the father that they were not awakened by the fire 
 until the whole house was in flames ; and just as they 
 rushed out and saw the roof falling in and the fire burst- 
 ing from almost every window, they heard the cry of 
 Edwin above the roar and from the midst of the 
 flames — *0 mother — mother — mother ! Why don't you 
 come?'" 
 
 There was silence for several seconds after the con- 
 clusion of McTarney's story. At last Charley, turning 
 to him, asked : " Do you think it was a dream ? " 
 
 " I am sure I do not know," answered McTarney. 
 " This life is full of stupendous mysteries ; and the 
 one suggested in my little story is by no means the 
 least of them. It is a mystery, however, that can 
 never be satisfactorily solved in this world." 
 
 "I have no doubt," observed Ernley, "it was a 
 dream. The coincidence, indeed, was certainly won- 
 derful, but " 
 
 *' I don't believe it was all a dream," cut in quickly 
 the sharp tones of Briarsley, who had listened 
 throughout with the greatest interest to McTarney. 
 " That old woman, while asleep, or in a trance, accord- 
 ing to my judgment, really heard her son's voice. Her 
 love for him was so great, that her spirit went out to 
 him that night, or, through the influence of her intense 
 and yearning sympathy in that direction, there was 
 between them at the time a sort of mysterious com- 
 munication, which, like the wire of the telephone, 
 actually conveyed to her the words of his last, wailing 
 cry. Such coincidences occur too frequently to be 
 accidental — to be explained in the usually free and 
 
Nights in Camp. 43 
 
 easy way suggested by Ernley. Permit me to tell you 
 a story, involving one of these remarkable coinci- 
 dences, in which I was an actor myself. It is like the 
 one you have just heard ; and it is unlike it, too, in 
 this: McTarney's story was very sad — mine is the 
 reverse, and will, consequently, leave you in a little 
 better frame of mind for sleeping." And he proceeded 
 to relate a story, which he called 
 
 "DEERTOP ; OR SAVED BY FAITH. 
 
 "No part of the South is more beautiful than East 
 Tennessee. It is a region of heights and hollows — 
 most picturesquely situated and most picturesquely 
 fashioned. The mountains which run through it, by 
 their undulating irregularity, their numberless spurs, 
 their broken precipices, their castellated promontories, 
 and their green rounded capes, possess charms to 
 which it seems nothing could be added, nor taken 
 away, without marring the harmony and exquisite 
 finish of the picture presented; and they embrace in 
 their rugged arms, glens, dells, coves and valleys, 
 whose modest and quiet loveliness is only equalled by 
 the richness of their soil, the healthfulness of their 
 atmosphere, and the sparkling purity of their running 
 waters. 
 
 "Toward the close of a beautiful day in early 
 Autumn of the year 1845, I was riding on horseback 
 through one of the loveliest portions of that lovely 
 region. It was before those mountain-fastnesses had 
 echoed to the shrill scream of the locomotive, as it 
 dashes over its iron track, driving before it, with all 
 the power of steam, the simpler virtues, and drawing 
 in its wake unnecessary wants and luxurious longings, — 
 
44 Nights in Camp. 
 
 thereby changing rough plenty into refined scarcity, 
 and healthy content into feverish excitement and dis- 
 satisfaction. The inhabitants at that time were as 
 truly wealthy and as truly happy, as any in the world; 
 if the means of satisfying every reasonable wish is any 
 evidence of real wealth and real happiness. The par- 
 ticular spot marked by my ride was not far from the 
 place, where the Nollichuckee mingles its glittering 
 waters with those of the Frenchbroad. I was in search 
 of the homestead of old Jack Woolford, a noted moun- 
 taineer in those parts, where I expected to spend a few 
 days for rest before returning to my home in Alabama, 
 and was, I supposed, in less than a half mile of the 
 place. The road, along which I was riding, had left 
 the valley, and was gradually winding its way up the 
 sides of the mountain. It was after nightfall, when, 
 in my ascent, I had reached the face of a cliff, around 
 the centre of which the road passed. Above the road, 
 and partially overhanging it, was the summit — a huge 
 rock, b(3etling, black, and grim, like the brow of Charon. 
 This rock gave the name, as I afterwards learned, of 
 Crowpoint to the peak, of which it was the most con- 
 spicuous and striking feature. 
 
 "Although the last beam of day had disappeared, I 
 scarcely noted the fact, in the flood of light hardly less 
 brilliant than that of the sun, poured through an at- 
 mosphere perfectly transparent, from a full moon, 
 which was soaring up in the eastern heavens. Upon 
 that elevated spot I drew up my horse, to look upon a 
 scene, which in picturesque beauty, I have never seen 
 equalled, and which, in one of its changes, became in- 
 expressibly grand. A deep valley running from west 
 to east, turned abruptly after it had left the spur, up- 
 
Nights in Camp. 45 
 
 on which my horse was standing, to the north, and 
 winding away was lost in the blue of the distance. In 
 the coves, with which it was indented, gleamed clouds 
 of mist, that streaming down the valley, partially veiled 
 the bold faces of the precipices, and encircled with 
 narrow belts the rock ribbed bodies of the isolated 
 peaks,— the whole, when stirred by the soft breeze, 
 which was fitfully blowing, flashed and sparkled in the 
 moonbeams, as if it were thickly sowed with the dust 
 of diamonds. 
 
 "While I paused with mind and eye wholly engross- 
 ed by the beauties, to which I have alluded, a cloud 
 had silently gathered, and before I knew it, had spread 
 in a broad band, reaching nearly to the zenith, over a 
 part of the western sky. A few heavy drops of rain 
 pattered upon the rocks and leaves around me. I look- 
 ed up. The shower, through which I could in places 
 dimly see the heavens beyond, was falling beautifully. 
 The drops were large and were so widely separated, 
 that they looked like falling pearls in the intensely 
 brilliant rays of the unshadowed moon. Just then- 
 springing from a dark peak in the distance, and cir- 
 cling over mountains, glens and precipices, with their 
 drapery of silver mist, until it reached in its descent the 
 bottom of the far-away valley— there appeared a rain- 
 bow, with all the colors marked so distinctly, and yet 
 so sweetly soft, that, with the richness of its acces- 
 sories, it was infinitely fairer than any sunbow, which 
 had ever blessed mortal vision. It seemed really a 
 revelation to earth of some of the beauties of that home 
 of the happy, that is eternal and in the heavens. 
 
 "The shower soon passed off; and with heart elevat- 
 ed by what I had seen, and full of thankfulness, I put 
 
46 Nights in Camp. 
 
 spurs to my horse, and was soon before the house I 
 sought. It was a low, wooden structure, with a super- 
 abundance of roof that had every possible inclination 
 and slope, and that, extending far over the front and 
 and side walls, formed a broad and continuous porch 
 all around, — the gloom of which was relieved by lights 
 cheerily flashing from a multitude of small windows. 
 Mr. Woolford, a giant in stature, with a mass of thick 
 hair perfectly white waving about a bright, ruddy face, 
 gave me a hearty welcome at the gate. The rough 
 wooden arch surmounting this entrance-way, I should 
 not forget to say, was crowned with two immense stag 
 horns, wide-branched and weather-polished, which no 
 doubt had something to do with the singular name of 
 the place — 'Deertop.' 
 
 " 'Here Faith!' said he, 'is a young man, who has 
 come to spend a few weeks with us. This,' continued 
 he, turning to me and presenting his wife, 'is my Faith, 
 Mr. Briarsley ; and I live by Faith in more ways than 
 one. She never fails to take care of anybody com- 
 mitted to her charge ; so you need not fear ; you will 
 be well provided for.' 
 
 "As he looked upon her and spoke, his rugged 
 features were smoothed and refined by the tender ex- 
 pression they took on, and there was even a caress in 
 the rough voice. I thought him when I first saw him 
 a second Christopher North in his sporting jacket, — I 
 now thought him not unlike that same Christopher in 
 one of his purest and happiest moods — in one of his 
 moments of high inspiration. Before he turned to 
 leave us he could not forbear patting her round, deli 
 cate and most comely cheek with his broad palm. The 
 
Nights in^Camp. 47 
 
 tenderness of the act was only equalled by tlie look of 
 fond affection with which it was received. 
 
 " 'His Faith,' as he called his wife, was much younger 
 than himself, — scarcely forty years of age, indeed, with 
 large, lustrous gray eyes, features delicately and cleanly 
 cut, showing, however, amid their softened outlines, 
 marks of a fearless disposition, and much decision of 
 character. It was easy to see that she was a queen in 
 that household, but a gentle one, — for she not only 
 loved her husband, her home, and her children, several 
 of whom — lusty boys and buxom lasses — were around 
 her at the time, but she was proud of them all. 
 
 "Deertop was the supper-house for the passengers of 
 a stage-coach, which ran that road twice a week ; and 
 soon after my arrival, I heard the bugle in the distance, 
 most discordantly blown, announcing the approach of 
 that notable, but now almost obsolete vehicle. I was 
 standing on the porch, when it dashed up and stopped 
 at the gate with a jerk, — the horses covered with foam 
 and dripping with perspiration. On the box was a big, 
 burly fellow, who seemed to be half asleep ; and the 
 driver, who, as I found when he lightly sprang to the 
 ground, was a tall, slender young man, neatly, but 
 rather too showily dressed for travelling. A chubby 
 youth of some sixteen years, occupied the seat imme- 
 diately behind the box, with the bugle in his hand, — 
 he was evidently the one who had been making the 
 music. A merchant from the city of Knoxville and his 
 wife were the two inside passengers ; and as soon as 
 they could alight, he exclaimed to the young man, who 
 still held the reins and whip in his delicately gloved 
 hands : 'Well, Aiken, we have to thank you for getting 
 here so soon. But I hope never to take such a ride 
 
48 Nights in Camp. 
 
 again. Why, you didn't hold in the horses even when 
 the road became dangerously rough and broken ; and 
 my wife has been jolted and bumped and thumped and 
 frightened, in a way that she will remember to the 
 latest day of her life.' The young man carelessly re- 
 plied, that it was a fast ride and rough but perfectly 
 safe ; and he laughed as he threw the reins to the big, 
 burly fellow, who with some difficulty had just de- 
 scended from his seat on the coach. 
 
 "Old man Woolford now came out. He knew the 
 merchant, and greeting him as Mr. McLester, remarked 
 that the coach was about an hour ahead of time. 
 
 " 'Yes,' answered the other. 'These two madcaps 
 got hold of a bottle of apple brandy in some way at the 
 last station ; made the driver, as you may see, more 
 than half drunk; possessed themselves of whip, reins 
 and bugle ; and lo, we are here ! Ah, mischief — mis- 
 chief! — thy name is — college boys! I wonder if a 
 prank of any sort could be imagined that such boys 
 have not practiced. I shall tell- the President of the 
 University when I get to Knoxville to keep an eye on 
 these youngsters. They certainly need watching.' 
 
 "The bell rung; and we were ushered into supper 
 by Mr. Woolford ; and what a supper it was to be sure? 
 T shall never forget that meal, for I had never seen 
 anything like it before. It was supper, dinner and 
 breakfast all in one. Such meals, however, I afterwards 
 learned were by no means rare among the mountains of 
 East Tennessee at that time. The table was long, with 
 wooden benches in the place of chairs. Mrs. Woolford 
 sat at one end, flanked on the right by a huge steaming 
 coffee-pot, and on the left by two immense earthen- 
 ware pitchers filled — the one with sweet, and the other 
 
Nights in Camp. 49 
 
 with churned, milk. Before her was a large dish of 
 fried mountain trout. At the other end, presided over 
 by Mr. Woolford, was a fat and juicy haunch of 
 venison. Down the centre were great pyramids of the 
 richest golden butter ; while on either side, and all 
 about, were light breads and corn breads ; home made 
 cheese and honey ; fried chicken and fried apples ; 
 baked chicken and baked apples ; stewed chicken and 
 stewed apples — thickly interspersed with chicken pies 
 and apple pies. 
 
 "Soon after we had come upon the porch from the 
 supper-room the bugle sounded a call for the passen- 
 gers. ' Twent3"-five cents apiece' answered Mr. Wool- 
 ford to Mr. McLester, who asked his bill ; and to a 
 similar question of the young student, who had offi- 
 ciated as bugleman for the coach, the host replied : 
 *0h, I suppose fifteen cents will pay me for all so 
 little a man as yourself has eaten.' Such a supper 
 and such pay ! Does it not seem wonderful ? The 
 motto with East Tennesseans then was to live and let 
 live ; and they practiced it. 
 
 " I passed many days at this mountain farm house. 
 The hunting of the neighborhood, as well as fishing, 
 was excellent, and the mountain tramps in pursuit of 
 game, with mountain air and water, giving me a 
 splendid appetite for the generous mountain fare, 
 made a new man of me — new both in mind and body. 
 All was indeed well with me ! I did what I had never 
 thought of before in my early life, — I thanked God 
 that I lived in so beautiful a world ! 
 
 "The day before the one I had set for my departure, 
 Mr. Woolford was called by business to a little village 
 about fifteen miles away. He left early telling 
 
50 Nights in Camp. 
 
 his wife he would be back about nightfall, or, at 
 any rate, soon after. I was off the greater part 
 of the day, rambling through the mountains with 
 my gun, and visiting in my walk places whose 
 beauty had especially impressed me on former occa- 
 sions, and which, I thought, I might never see 
 again. It was near sunset when I reached the house. 
 Mr. Woolford had not returned. The day, which had 
 been unusually clear and bright, closed with a sort of 
 haze overspreading the heavens. This before the light 
 breeze continued to thicken, so that the night set in 
 dark and promised to be darker. Soon after supper, 
 being much wearied, I retired to rest. I do not know 
 how long I had been asleep when I was awakened by 
 the sound of voices in the passage before my room. 
 Hastily putting on a part of my clothing, I opened the 
 door to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. There 
 were sitting on a table in the passage two glass lanterns 
 lighted, and Mrs. Woolford was being wrapped up by 
 two of her sons in a heavy blanket. She looked ex- 
 ceedingly pale, and what was equally strange, very 
 nervous. 'Has anything happened?' I asked as I 
 stepped into the little hall. 'No — nothing,' replied the 
 elder son. 'Mother is only frightened because father 
 has not come, and she has determined to go as far as 
 Crowpoint in search of him.' 
 
 " 'Wait a few minutes,' said I, 'until I can finish 
 dressing, and I will go with you.' 
 
 " In a short time we were on the road, lighted by the 
 two lanterns. Crowpoint, though not visible from the 
 house, owing to an abrupt bend in the mountain range, 
 was scarcely a half mile away, as has been previously 
 intimated. A misty rain was falling, and the night was 
 
Nights in Camp. 61 
 
 intensely dark. Without the aid of the lighted lan- 
 terns I don't suppose our eyes would have been of any 
 use to us ; and even with such help, so heavy was the 
 mist or fog, that we had to move with great care and 
 caution. As we plodded slowly along, Mrs. Woolford's 
 anxiety seemed greatly to increase. She told me— her 
 voice broken by many gasps and sobs — that she had 
 gone to bed somewhat anxious about her husband, but 
 not particularly frightened, as she felt that he was able 
 to take care of himself. During the night, however, 
 she had been troubled by a terrible dream. She had 
 seen him in the dark lualk off the road at Croiopoint. 'Oh!' 
 exclaimed she, wringing her hands, 'oh ! that it may 
 have meant nothing— that it may have been only a 
 dream! But I fear— I fear ! My God!' continued she 
 wildly, 'this suspense is awful. Perhaps at this moment 
 he lies crushed upon the rocks at the foot of that ter- 
 rible cliff.' 
 
 "We reached Crowpoint. And there across the 
 
 road, resting upon his haunches, with his head 
 over the outer edge of the road, seemingly looking into 
 the deep gulf below, stood Mr. Woolford's horse. 
 Impulsively we all at once sprang forward ; but before 
 Mrs. Woolford could cry out, or faint, a voice, jolly, but 
 somewhat weak, came up from a point just below the 
 road. ' All right,' it said,— 'all right, old lady !— I am 
 not gone yet. Help me out of this, boys, as soon as 
 you can, for I am monstrous tired.' 
 
 "The horse did not move ; but with body rigid and 
 eyes fixed, stood as he did when we first entered upon 
 the scene. By the help of the lights we soon discov- 
 ered the head of Mr. Woolford just below the edge of 
 the road. His right hand firmly grasped the roughened 
 
52 Nights in Camp. 
 
 point of a rock, while his left, maintaining its hold 
 upon the stout reins of the bridle, accounted for the 
 apparent interest of the horse in what was going on 
 below. Fortunately, too, for Mr. Woolford, a large 
 part of his weight, as he clung to the face of the cliff, 
 was sustained by a narrow ledge upon which his feet 
 were partially resting. 
 
 " There were three men of us, and we were young 
 and vigorous men also, and then we had the assist- 
 ance of the horse that held himself as firm as a rock 
 against the heavy draft made upon him through the 
 bridle ; and yet it was not without much difficulty 
 and exertion that we succeeded in dragging the old 
 gentleman back upon the road. Giving himself a 
 hearty shake, and drawing a long and deep breath, — 
 before even noticiog his wife, who stood near him, 
 with quivering features and outstretched arms, — he 
 said, with deep emotion : 'In the mercy of God my 
 life has been spared. We should give Him the praise 
 and render to Him the thanks. Let us' all pray !" 
 And there, — in the little circle of red light amid the 
 gloom of that mountain peak — was offered up a prayer, 
 which, for the eloquence of sincere feeling, I have 
 never heard equalled. Its sonorous swell gave to 
 every crag around a tongue of grateful acknowledg- 
 ment to God. It reminded me of the thanksgiving of 
 the great prophetess who dwelt under the palm tree 
 between Ramah and Bethel, in Mount Ephraim, upon 
 her triumphant return, from having gone down with 
 Barak, against the hosts of the Cannaanites under 
 Sisera. 
 
 "Then he arose from his knees, and, putting his 
 brawny arms around his wife, said : 'Under the provi- 
 
Nights in Camp. 53 
 
 dence of God you and these dear boys have saved my 
 life. How can I ever repay you ?' 
 
 "I do not deserve any thanks, John,' said she affec- 
 tionately. ' I was working for myself, too. What 
 would life be without you?' 
 
 "But how was it that you came just when you were 
 so much needed?' asked Mr. Woolford, as we picked 
 our way, a happy party, back to the farm house. 'I 
 hadn't quite given myself up for lost. I still had a 
 little hope ; but I could not have held out much 
 longer.' 
 
 " 'Mother,' replied the older son, 'scarcely an hour 
 before we reached you, dreamed that she saw you walk 
 off the precipice; and in a few minutes she had brother 
 and myself ready to attend her in the search. She was 
 as wild as if she had really seen you take the terrible 
 leap, and we could hardly move fast enough to suit her, 
 although we did our best.' 
 
 " *A dream! ' muttered Mr. Woolford musingly, 'and 
 about an hour before!' After a moment's pause 
 he continued: 'I judge that was about the time I 
 stumbled over. I had dismounted at the foot of the 
 ridge, and had worked my way slowly upward, by feel- 
 ing as I could not see, until I reached the top. I sup- 
 posed I was near the middle of the road. It was well 
 my horse, that I was leading, had a better idea of 
 where we were than I had, and braced himself so 
 strongly against me as I took the dangerous step. It 
 was fortunate, too, that the bridle, in my fall, did not 
 slip through my fingers.' Again he paused; and then 
 again he muttered musingly: 'A dream! Truly the 
 ways of Providence are past finding out. A dream — 
 a dream!' 
 
54 Nights in Camp. 
 
 " 'Yes, a dream!' said I laughing, as we reached the 
 house, and were about to separate for the night; 'and 
 you may well wonder, for you are certainly a substan- 
 tial body to be saved by the airy nothingness of a 
 dream.' 
 
 " 'You have not put it exactly right,' answered Mr. 
 Woolford, holding his wife close to him by both hands, 
 and looking her fondly in the eyes, — 'I was saved by 
 Faith!" 
 
 All at the table expressed themselves as being de- 
 lighted with Briarsley's spirited narrative of his youth- 
 ful adventures among the mountains of East Tennes- 
 see. Silence having been obtained, Ernley said: "We 
 are ready now to hear the promised historical tale of 
 Alabama." 
 
 "Well," remarked Judge Crofton, "I am ready too. 
 I fear, however, the story," he continued laughingly, 
 "will not be found worthy of the consideration of so 
 august an assemblage, and," he now spoke seriously, 
 "Iknow it is not worthy of the subject." He went to 
 his trunk and took out a roll of papers. Seating him- 
 self again at the table, he adjusted his spectacles, and 
 seeing by a glance around that all were awake and ex- 
 pectant, he read the following account of 
 
 "tuscaluza; or knight-errantry in the wilderness of 
 
 ALABAMA. 
 
 "It was a lovely and romantic spot on the southern 
 bank of a noble stream.* Oa every side was wide un- 
 broken forest. Between the great trees, the eye in 
 
 *The Tallapoosa. 
 
Nights in Camp. 55 
 
 vision, could wander far over vast sweeping undula- 
 tions of land, producing a short, thick, wiry-looking 
 grass, and destitute of all other undergrowth, except 
 along the banks of a little rivulet, which made its way 
 by broad and easy windings into the large stream close 
 by. This singular and beautiful cleanness of the forest, 
 giving it in some sort the appearence, amid many 
 marks of native wildness, of a smooth and well-kept 
 lawn, was no doubt the result of annual fires. The day 
 was bright; and the sun, which was about midway be- 
 tween its meridian and its setting, made golden the 
 ripples of the lordly river, which moved so silently 
 and with such an expression of resistless power be- 
 tween its heavily wooded banks; but none of its rays, 
 finding an opening through the interlacing branches, 
 reached the place, to which the reader has been invit- 
 ed, and which, it should be said, was not far from the 
 centre of what is now known as eastern Alabama, in the 
 eaily autumn of the year 1540. Down one of the vistas, 
 which gracefully swept into a little sylvan valley, 
 where a short bend of the streamlet before mentioned, 
 brought its sparkling waters, like a miniature lake, to 
 view from the midst of embracing thickets, a herd of 
 deer piloted by a splended stag, had paused to drink. 
 Scarcely, however, had their mouths touched the water, 
 when their leader threw up his antlered-head with a 
 shrill whistle of alarm; and immediately they were 
 bounding away through the gray shadows of the 
 woodland with the speed of the wind. The sudden 
 flight of these fleet rovers of the wilderness was not at 
 all remarkable; for what they saw was something start- 
 lingly new to the place. Here upon the bank of the river 
 just above were they had paused to drink, and moving 
 
56 Nights in Camp. 
 
 about under the trees, were two men clad in complete 
 armor. Their plumed crests and the banderoles of 
 their heavy lances showed hard service, as they ap- 
 peared sadly faded and frayed while fluttering in the 
 light breeze. 
 
 "The two men, whose appearence harmonized so 
 little with their surroundings, were a Spanish knight, 
 Don Francisco de Anasco, and a Spanish man-at-arms, 
 Juan Ortiz. They were followers of Hernando de Soto, 
 the adventurous captain, who, led by bright visions of 
 a high and enthusiastic ambition, introduced the 
 chivalry and knight-errantry of the old world into 
 the wildest heart of the new. Don Francisco was one 
 of the most trusted lieutenants of that renowned chief- 
 tain, a distant relative, and the affianced husband of 
 his niece. Dona Inez de Soto, the reigning belle of Se- 
 ville. His face, which could be seen under the broken 
 plumes of his visorless morion, was handsome, and 
 while his features Joined with his tall and robust form 
 and active movements, denoted youthful vigor, they 
 likewise — especially the full dark eyes, closed lips, 
 strong jaw and prominent nose — indicated courage to 
 meet danger, resolution to battle with it, and fortitude 
 to sustain all its worst evils. Juan Ortiz, who had 
 taken the helmet from his head, and was carrying it in 
 his left hand, while his right grasped a stout Biscayan 
 lance near the point, so that its ashen shaft trailed 
 behind, as the two slowly paced back and forth, had a 
 hard weather beaten face brought by sun and ex:- 
 posure to almost negro-blackness, with a shaggy beard 
 and a bristling suit of coarse dark brown hair. His 
 square frame, heavy-set and compact, and his firm and 
 elastic tread, gave evidence of vast strength and no 
 
Nights in Camp. 57 
 
 ordinary powers of endurance. Connected with the 
 ill-fated exposition of Narvaez into Florida, he had 
 been captured by the Indians, and retained in the ser- 
 vice of one of their chiefs until the march of De Soto 
 from Tampa bay; when by chance he was rescued and 
 attached to the army as interpreter. He was well fit- 
 ted for this important position. Having remained with 
 the Indians of Florida for nearly twelve years, he spoke 
 their language fluently. Understanding too their 
 habits and manners he was of great service to the ex- 
 pidition in the settlement of the many trying, difficult 
 and delicate questions, which were constantly arising 
 with the natives, as the little army moved upon its 
 unknown and perilous way. An invaluable acquisi- 
 tion to the great undertaking of De Soto, and being a 
 gallant soldier as well as a man of pleasant manners 
 and conversation, he was treated by that chieftain with 
 much consideration, and, at the same time, was receiv- 
 ed as a companion by many of the proud young hi- 
 dalgos connected with the army. 
 
 "'What thinkest thou now, Juan?' asked Don Fran- 
 cisco; 'will she come? I am tired of waiting.' 
 
 "'I am sure of it,' was the confident reply. 'The 
 one trait that is never wanting in the character of an 
 Indian is gratitude. In no instance has he been known 
 to forget a favor or a kindness. Besides, if I am not 
 mistaken, there is a feeling stronger even than grati- 
 tude urging the girl to come here to-day, — and that is 
 love.' 
 
 "'What dost thou mean?' asked the young knight, 
 stopping short in his walk, and turning to his com- 
 panion. 
 
 5 
 
58 Nights in Camp. 
 
 " *I mean,' answered Ortiz deliberately, 'that she has 
 fallen in love with you.' 
 
 "'Pish!' ejaculated Don Francisco with some im- 
 patience. 'Let that pass — please. Thou art a close 
 observer truly, if thou hast discovered that important 
 secret in two hasty meetings; for I suppose thou 
 hadst never seen her until I chanced to release her 
 from custody at Tallassee a few days ago, and hast 
 seen her but once for a few minutes since, when she 
 gave thee the message that brought us here to-day.' 
 
 *' 'No matter : I think it is as I have said neverthe- 
 less. And I am glad of it rather. It is not a bad thing 
 to have a safe and reliable friend at the dusky court of 
 her father, Tuskaluza — the most powerful and warlike 
 of all the chiefs of this wilderness. You helped the 
 expedition no little, in my opinion, when you prevailed 
 on the Governor not to hold her and her brother as 
 hostages for the good faith of their father. Having 
 come to Tallassee bearing an invitation from Tuskaluza 
 for the army to visit his country, sound policy de- 
 manded that they should be kindly treated. As the 
 soldiers, in obeying orders, surrounded them, and one 
 or two laid their hands roughly upon the girl, I could 
 see that she was much alarmed, and that she watched 
 you in your appeals to the Governor for their release 
 with the greatest solicitude. She really seemed to un- 
 derstand what you were so earnestly saying ; and after 
 you had succeeded, and the order for their release was 
 given, she looked as different in her beauty, as does a 
 morning rose fresh and sparkling with dew, from the 
 same flower after it has been heated by the rays of the 
 midday sun ; and I observed that wherever you moved 
 her eyes followed you with an expression of grateful 
 
Nights in Camp. 59 
 
 affection. But,' continued Ortiz somewhat maliciously, 
 yet hesitatingly and deferentially, — for although the 
 betrothal to Don Francisco of the lovely niece of the 
 Adelantado was generally known throughout the army, 
 the rough soldier was not sure how the haughty Cas- 
 tilian blood of the young cavalier would brook any 
 allusion to it from him, — 'but what will Dona Inez say 
 when she learns that you have a true love out here in 
 the wilderness?' 
 
 "De Anasco displayed neither surprise nor resent- 
 ment at the remark of his companion ; on the contrary, 
 when replying to it he seemed by his absent manner 
 to be partly thinking of something else — perhaps of 
 the many freshly budding charms of the daughter of 
 Tuskaluza. He said: 'I shall give pain, I trust, to 
 Dona Inez no more by my actions here than elsewhere. 
 I am a gentleman, and consequently am as far from 
 doing basely in this wilderness, as when I stand within 
 the brilliant circle surrounding the throne of my sov- 
 ereign.' 
 
 "'Good!' said Ortiz bluntly. 'I wish some of the 
 other leading officers of the expedition felt as you do. 
 "We would then have less trouble with the Indians. At 
 any rate I trust the Governor will not, as he unfortu- 
 nately did at Chiaha, in answer to their unworthy 
 solicitations, endeavor again by force to take Indian 
 women away from home, kindred and country. And 
 then, destroying the crops because the people betook 
 themselves to the woods for protection, was a poor re- 
 turn for all their kindness to us.' 
 
 "The crackling of brush was heard not far away. 
 Ortiz stopped in his walk, and looking in the direction 
 of the sound, exclaimed : 'But here she comes at last 
 to speak for herself.' 
 
60 Nights in Camp. 
 
 " From the cluster of bushes and vines about the 
 place where the little stream emptied into the river 
 the Indian girl emerged, and, with a light and active 
 step, approached the spot occupied by the two 
 Spaniards. She paused before Don Francisco; and 
 with no greeting, unless a bowed head, eyes cast to the 
 ground, and hands crossed upon her bosom, might be 
 considered one, she stood motionless. She was dressed 
 in a robe made of the skins of martens, soft and glossy, 
 reaching nearly to the tops of her richly embroidered 
 moccasins, and gathered at the waist by a girdle of 
 large pearls obtained from the muscles of the smaller 
 streams, securely strung together. Her neck, right 
 arm and shoulder, which were exquisitely moulded, 
 were bare, except where they were concealed by masses 
 of hair, which fell in a shower of ebon blackness about 
 her graceful person. A band made of a kind of net- 
 work of strung pearls holding many brightly colored 
 feathers adorned her head. The rare picturesqueness 
 of her attire was in perfect harmony with the spirited 
 bearing and wild beauty of this dusky-featured maiden 
 of the woods, and helped to make her look, in very 
 truth, an Indian queen. The tones of her voice were 
 soft and mellow, but the flow of her words was now 
 and then broken by long and troubled pauses, as she 
 replied to Don Francisco, who said, upon her ap- 
 proach, that he had gladly waited upon her at the place 
 appointed, and desired to know in what way he could 
 serve her. The interpretation of her answer, as given 
 by Ortiz, was about as follows : 
 
 " 'I wanted to see the young warrior from beyond 
 the great waters once more. I wanted to thank him 
 for his kindness to the Fawn of Movile. I have always 
 
KiGHTS IN^CaMP. 61 
 
 been free. As a captive I would pine away and die. 
 You have saved me from that evil. I am grateful. I 
 will never forget your goodness. I am ready to serve 
 you. Listen ! My father is a great chief. He loves 
 his people. He does not love the pale faces. He 
 thinks you have come for the ruin of his country. 
 War is his delight. While he will open his home to 
 you, around it will be concealed his fiercest warriors. 
 They will be prepared for your destruction. Go not 
 with Tuskaluza. Go back the way you have come. 
 But if you must go with him be cautious. Do not 
 offend him. Let his people alone, and stay not long 
 in his country. And be watchful. He must see that 
 your eyes and ears are open. Then he may let you 
 pass on without trouble. I have spoken. I hope the 
 white warrior's ears are long, and he has heard all my 
 words. Farewell! Farewell!' 
 
 " She sprang impulsively forward, and seizing Don 
 Francisco's hand, pressed it to her brow and bosom, 
 and turning she darted like a bird away through the 
 forest, and was speedily lost to view in the thicket 
 from which she had issued only a few minutes before. 
 
 "'That was quite a hurried and abrupt leave-taking, 
 was it not, Juan ? I am sorry of it, too ; I desired to 
 talk with her further. However, she has given us 
 intelligence upon which we should act. I will carry 
 it at once to De Soto.' 
 
 "These words were uttered by De Anasco as he and 
 Juan proceeded to their horses, which were tethered 
 not far off, amid the drooping lower branches of a 
 huge water oak. He spoke carelessly and coldly, as 
 if he took no other interest in the Indian girl than 
 such as might naturally be called up by the value and 
 
62 Nights in Camp. 
 
 importance of her information. Having reached their 
 chargers, they sprang into their saddles and rode 
 rapidly away, the ringing of their armor being heard 
 for sometime after they had passed out of sight. 
 
 "The next morning De Soto broke up his camp, 
 which was only a few miles from the spot just de- 
 scribed, and lower down on the bank of the same 
 river. He proceeded in a southwesterly direction, 
 through dense forests, across black and tangled 
 ravines, interspersed with vast reaches of cane — the 
 secure lairs of multitudes of wild beasts — to a small 
 village, upon the confines of the territory of Tuskaluza. 
 This village was the place appointed for the meeting 
 of these two great chieftains. 
 
 "Tuskaluza had already arrived, and was waiting. 
 As the Spaniards approached, he was seated upon a 
 pile of cushions, near the crest of a slight eminence, 
 in the midst of a wide circle of his most stalwart 
 braves. His head was protected from the sun by the 
 barred banner of his tribe, which was held above him 
 by the one who bore it in battle. Fierce and powerful 
 in fight, with a skin much darker than that of the 
 ordinary Indian, his name (Tuskaluza, or Black War- 
 rior,) was not inappropriate. A robe of the finest 
 skins yielded by the animals of his country rested 
 upon his shoulders, and fell in easy folds about his 
 person, which, with a plumed head-dress of brilliant 
 colors, and sandals of untanned leather, completed his 
 graceful costume. 
 
 "The great chief was fully equal to the circum- 
 stances by which he was surrounded. Not for a 
 moment did he fail in the stoical dignity of an Indian 
 king. Mute and motionless, he held himself as if he 
 
Nights in Camp. 63 
 
 were lord of all he surveyed. The glance of his bright 
 black eye was proud and high, while the stern and hard 
 repose of his swarthy face was unbroken — betraying not 
 only no surprise at what was so new and remarkable, 
 but not even consciousness of the brilliant array of 
 cavaliers before him, until De Soto, separating himself 
 from his officers, walked into the open space in front 
 of the cushioned throne. Tuskaluza then arose and 
 advanced a few paces. When he stood up, it was dis- 
 covered by the strangers that his form, splendidly 
 developed, approached the gigantic. The person of 
 De Soto seemed dwarfed into insignificance by the 
 side of the massive body of the princely savage. 
 Taking the gauntleted hand extended to him, the 
 chief, with much grace, and yet with a coldness which 
 to De Anasco appeared significant, and in words of 
 more than ordinary Indian brevity and directness, 
 welcomed the Adelantado to the land of the Movilians. 
 Said he : ' Few words are best. It is my way to say 
 little. Your presents came. I value them because a 
 great chief sent them. You can be my brother if you 
 will. But will you? I hope so. If I can help you, 
 speak! and your wishes shall be met. I have done.' 
 
 " De Soto, with the bluntness of a soldier, but with 
 all the refined policy of a thorough courtier, replied as 
 follows : * The words of Tuskaluza are very pleasant. 
 They are good. They have gone to my heart. To be 
 considered his brother is my dearest wish. A king 
 might be proud of the honor, for the fame of Tuska- 
 luza is not confined to this place. I have heard of him 
 wherever I have gone since I landed upon these 
 beautiful shores. Known throughout this great 
 country, he is loved by his friends and feared by his 
 
64 Nights in Camp. 
 
 enemies. I am glad that I have been permitted to see 
 him. Many moons have I traveled for the purpose ; 
 and I have come only to do him and his people good. 
 I wish to get gold — something that he does not want ; 
 and to give him in exchange for it something that he 
 needs. I have here, in further token of my regard for 
 him as a high and mighty chief, such a dress as our 
 kings across the great water wear when they go abroad, 
 or receive their headmen in council. I hope my 
 brother will accept it.' 
 
 "An attendant brought forward the presents and 
 laid them at the feet of the chief. They consisted of 
 many glittering trinkets and a fine suit of scarlet, 
 including mantle, cap and plume. The color was the 
 favorite one of the Indian, and Tuskaluza was, no 
 doubt, pleased, although he exhibited no especial 
 mark of gratification. 
 
 " But a short stay was made by De Soto at this 
 
 village. Placing himself at the head of his army, with 
 Tuskaluza by his side, clad in the gorgeous dress 
 referred to, and mounted upon the largest packhorse 
 of the expedition, whose powers, however, the weight 
 of the huge Indian taxed to the utmost, the Adelantado 
 moved in the direction of Movile. The country 
 through which he passed, though in many localities 
 wild and savage in the extreme, became richer and 
 fairer as he advanced; the settlements were larger 
 and closer together; the land better cultivated, and 
 provisions more abundant. During the march, which 
 continued near a week, he kept Tuskaluza close to his 
 person as security for the peace of the people, who, at 
 times, were swarming all around him like bees, — 
 though he strove to conceal the motive. With all his 
 
Nights in Camp. 65 
 
 care and circumspection, however, lie was unable to 
 deceive the suspicious and wily chief, who readily 
 saw that he was a prisoner, and as readily determined 
 to be revenged. On more than one occasion Tuska- 
 luza dispatched messengers to Movile, for the hospita- 
 ble purpose, he said, of preparing his people to give a 
 a fitting reception to the Spaniards, but which, De 
 Anasco doubted not, meant a bloody reception : and he 
 again and more earnestly besought De Soto to be on 
 his guard. But despite these warnings, although 
 strengthened by so many well-known circumstances, 
 the fearless leader of the expedition left in the camp a 
 few miles from Movile the main body of his troops, 
 under Don Luis de Moscozo, with instructions to 
 follow at the earliest moment, while he pressed for- 
 ward to the city with only two hundred men. 
 
 " Movile stood on the bank of the same magnificent 
 river,^ which De Soto had crossed two or three days 
 before, and down the right bank of which he had since 
 marched his army. It was the capital of Tuskaluza's 
 dominions. That its inhabitants were warlike, and 
 were a people of some ingenuity, seemed evident from 
 the manner in which it was built and fortified. The 
 houses were immense structures, and were so disposed 
 as to form a great central public square, upon which 
 all of them fronted. The place was surrounded by 
 high walls made of the trunks of huge trees, planted 
 on end deeply in the ground, and fastened at top 
 securely and firmly together. These were surmounted 
 by towers, closely and regularly spaced, between which 
 were numerous loopholes for the discharge of arrows 
 and stones. In the midst of some marks of rejoicing, 
 
 *The Alabama. 
 
66 NiaHTS IN Camp. 
 
 not, however, very enthusiastic, the soldiers of De Soto 
 made their way through the eastern gate, and between 
 the houses to the great square. Don Francisco de 
 Anasco, the chief lieutenant present with the little 
 band, was fully on the alert. No welcome on the part 
 of the Indians would have lulled his suspicions for a 
 moment ; the one received only served to increase 
 them. He sent Juan Ortiz to ascertain, if possible, 
 who were in the houses, any one of which was large 
 enough to conceal a thousand men. The interpreter 
 returned almost immediately with information,obtained 
 through a spy or two in his pay, that they were full of 
 warriors, painted, armed and eager for battle. De- 
 Anasco communicated the startling facts to De Soto. 
 Just then Tuskaluza arose from the block upon which 
 he had been seated, and with a haughty inclination of 
 his lofty head to the Adelantado said : 
 
 " This is my home. You are welcome. I am much 
 chief here. I go now. Prisoner no more. You stay 
 here. Move not — I come back soon with other chiefs." 
 
 After this cold and sententious speech, scorning haste 
 as indicating fear, he walked slowly and majestically 
 in the direction of one of the houses. 
 
 "Don Francisco de Anasco sprang forward to stop 
 him ; but two powerful Indians threw themselves in 
 his path. With a sweep of his heavy sword he clove 
 one — a young chief — to the chin ; but before he could 
 release himself from the other, who had grappled him 
 about the waist, Tuskaluza had passed beyond his 
 reach. This struggle brought an avalanche of Indians 
 upon the Spaniards. They poured by hundreds from 
 every doorway — all aroused by the death of one of 
 their headmen to a pitch of absolute frenzy. The 
 
Nights in Camp. 67 
 
 deadly war-whoop was given, and fierce screams and 
 yells rent the air. The fight instantly commenced, 
 and soon became general. The trained soldiers, hold- 
 ing themselves firmly and compactly together, and 
 facing outwardly, opposed, on every side, a solid front 
 of steel to the furious onsets of the Indians, and at 
 the same time, slowly moved toward the gate of the 
 city, by which they had entered. Headed by De Soto, 
 with DeAnasco on his right, they cut their way through 
 the struggling mass of enemies, as a gallant ship 
 cleaves the surging billows of an angry ocean, until 
 they freed themselves from the walls, and were once 
 more in the open country. Among the Indians the 
 slaughter was fearful ; but undismayed by it, they 
 pressed upon the hostile weapons of death with unex- 
 ampled ferocity, — using their heavy clubs upon helmet, 
 buckler and cuirass with such power that the ringing 
 blows could be heard far above the shouts and cries of 
 the combatants. At this juncture the main body of the 
 army, under Moscozo, reached the spot, and, by a 
 determined and vigorous charge, drove the Indiana 
 back into the city, — not, however, until the latter had 
 captured all the baggage and stores of the expedition. 
 Closing the gate, they beat the Spaniards back, by 
 raining upon them from everj^ loophole and tower 
 along the opposing walls, a merciless shower of arrows 
 and stones, when, rushing out again, they renewed the 
 battle with their clubs, but were once more, after a 
 desperate fight and terrible carnage, driven in the 
 enclosure. An assault was now made by the Spaniards 
 upon the walls at many points, and having hewed 
 down the gates and parts of the adjacent walls with 
 their battle-axes, they made openings for the entrance 
 
68 Nights in Camp. 
 
 of the whole force into the city. As they fought their 
 way in 
 
 ' At once there rose so wild a yell, 
 
 As all the fiends from heaven that fell, 
 
 Had pealed the banner-cry of hell,' 
 
 and the rush of the Indians was terrific. With them, 
 it seemed, the battle had just commenced. There was 
 no hesitation — there was no holding back on their part 
 anywhere. Down — down they swept from every 
 quarter ; some vigorously plying their clubs ; some 
 seizing the opposing swords and lances as they were 
 raised to strike ; and others leaping upon the shoulders 
 of their comrades in advance and precipitating them- 
 selves upon the helmeted heads of the enemy, in mad- 
 dened efforts, by sheer weight and momentum, to crush 
 them to the earth. And woe to the Spaniard who fell; 
 for the Indians were instantly piled upon him in such 
 numbers that, wounded or unwounded, there was small 
 chance of his rising again. 
 
 *' The tall form of Tuskaluza could be seen wherever 
 the battle raged hottest and blood flowed thickest, 
 encouraging, cheering, and leading his men. Many a 
 sword was raised to cut him down ; but, in every 
 instance it drank the blood of some devoted follower, 
 who threw himself in the way of the descending 
 weapon to save the life of his beloved chief. But all 
 his heroic exertions were fruitless. The undisciplined 
 valor of naked men, armed with clubs and stones, 
 could make but little impression upon veteran soldiers, 
 sheathed in armor and wielding the deadliest weapons 
 known to warfare. The Indians, their best and bravest 
 having fallen, were driven back on every side; and 
 finally, after a nine hours' struggle, in which nearly 
 
Nights in Camp. 69 
 
 one-half of those, who had so courageously entered 
 into the unequal contest, were slain, the shattered 
 remnant was forced to take shelter in the houses. 
 The victorious Spaniards, infuriated by their .wounds, 
 
 for every one of them was injured — many seriously 
 
 and by the death of eighty-two of their comrades, 
 seized torches to make an end by fire at once of Tuska- 
 luza, his people, and his city. 
 
 " Scattered parties of Indians were still to be seen, 
 hurrying hither and thither between and around the 
 houses, in the effort to escape the vengeance of the 
 pursuing Spaniards, as Don Francisco de Anasco 
 stopped in the midst of the blood and death of the 
 great central square, and leaned heavily upon his 
 sword. He was nearly alone, — but few of his men 
 being within reach,— and he was not only suffering 
 from exhaustion, but from two severe wounds. The 
 pain of both, however, was forgotten in a moment, 
 when he saw a female spring from the largest one of 
 the great buildings on the western side of the square, 
 and speed across the area in the direction of himself. 
 A single glance satisfied him that the maiden was the 
 Fawn of Movile. Scarcely, however, had he time for 
 the thought when from the same house issued Tuska- 
 luza in eager and rapid pursuit. To call to one or two 
 passing soldiers to follow him, and to rush toward the 
 flying girl, was the work of an instant. But before he 
 could pass one-half of the intervening space, as he had 
 to hew his way through a crowd of Indians, who had 
 promptly thrown themselves in his way, she was seized 
 by her father, and borne again into the house from 
 which she had escaped. Having been joined by some 
 of his men, De Anasco had succeeded in scattering the 
 
70 Nights in Camp. 
 
 opposing body of these often beaten but still uncon- 
 quered warriors, when the roaring of the flames 
 announced that the efforts of the Spaniards to fire the 
 several houses had been successful, and the entire 
 city was in a blaze. Though not unused to scenes of 
 atrocity in the Spanish-Indian wars, he looked with 
 horror upon a conclusion so terrible to the bloody 
 work of the day. 
 
 "Just then an opening was made in the roof of the 
 house of Tuskaluza; and through it in full view of all 
 in the square, slowly came the great chief leading his 
 lovely daughter. About that house, as well as all the 
 others, the flames were now madly leaping and roar- 
 ing; and yet within them not a sound was heard. The 
 Indians were evidently determined not to survive 
 their slaughtered brethren and the ruin of their 
 country. Tuskaluza stood erect upon his blazing 
 roof, and holding his daughter by the hand, chant- 
 ed his death-song. The magnificient yet awful picture 
 hushed the shouts of the exultant Spaniards; and the 
 wailing notes, — even the words, — could be heard. *I 
 go,' sang he, * I go from sorrow to joy. I go with my 
 braves to our fathers. I go with them to the happy 
 hunting grounds prepared for us by the Great Spirit. 
 It is well — it is well !' The roof suddenly sank amid 
 a sea of billowy flame; and one of the nobliest of 
 savage heroes and patriots was no more. 
 
 " With the death of Tuskaluza this history 
 
 properly ends. To satisfy, however, those curious 
 readers, who may wish to know exactly what became 
 of De Anasco, it may be well to say, that he continued 
 with De Soto, during his subsequent, and most dis- 
 astrous wanderings in the wilderness; that he was 
 
Nights in Camp. Y1 
 
 present, and assisted at the burial of the chivalrous 
 but unfortunate and ^broken-hearted chieftain in the 
 great Father of Waters; and that he was one of the 
 few, who made their way through terrible hardships 
 and dangers to Mexico. Here for a time he was lost 
 sight of. He certainly, however, got back to his native 
 country; as many of the Spanish court-chronicles, of 
 the year 1544, are filled with glowing accounts of the 
 marriage of Don Francisco de Anasco and the beauti- 
 ful Dona Inez de Soto. It also appears from these 
 veracious and most interesting histories, that he rose 
 high in the favor of Charles Y, — becoming one of the 
 confidential officers of that renowned monarch, both 
 at the court and in the field. But it may well be 
 doubted, whether all the charms of his wife — and she 
 was said to be a pearl of discretion and sweetness, as 
 well as beauty — or the gracious favor of the Emperor, 
 kept him from often thinking in secret, with feelings 
 that the gentle Inez might not have sanctioned, of the 
 sad fate of the artless and lovely Fawn of Movile." 
 
PAKT III— NIGHTS IN CAMP. 
 
 SOUTHERN MANHOOD— MAMMY C^SAR. 
 
 And let me tell you, girl, 
 Howe'er you babble, great deeds cannot die ; 
 They with the sun and moon renew their light 
 Forever, blessing those that look on them. 
 
 — Tennyson's Princess. 
 
 And could my heart's blood give thy wish to thee 
 
 I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts ; 
 
 Thy dying father comes upon my soul 
 
 With that same look, with wiiich he gave thee to me; 
 
 I hold thee in my arms a powerless babe, 
 
 While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty 
 
 Fixed her faint eyes on mine. 
 
 — Coleridge. 
 
 'T^HE servants had barely cleared away the wreck of 
 ■*- the supper, and the dishes, from the table, around 
 which the party in camp were seated, when Charley 
 "Wenker, who had lying before him a package wrapped 
 in blue paper, called loudly for the promised essay 
 from Colonel Ernley. 
 
 *'Yes," said Maltmau, with a sort of groan, "let us 
 have Ernley's discourse. Charley calls it a coming 
 essay ; but I know it is going to be a regular-built 
 speech. If Ernley were to write history, he would, as 
 Macauley says Fox did — write it after the manner of 
 an oration." 
 
 " What have you got there, Charley," asked Ernley, 
 pointing to the bundle. 
 
 " Oh, never mind ! — you go on with your part of the 
 show," replied Charley. 
 
Nights in Camp. 73 
 
 ** Perhaps you wish to submit some of your literary 
 sinnings to the pity of your friends, — if so, I will give 
 way with pleasure. I should dislike to balk you in 
 any thing upon which you had set your heart." 
 
 Charley did not answer, but looked somewhat defi- 
 antly at Ernley, who all the while was straightening 
 out the sheets of the manuscript that he had taken 
 from his pocket. Having arranged it to his satisfac- 
 tion, and premising that the facts and figures therein 
 given, with regard to the war and reconstruction, were 
 gleanings from journals of the day, he read as follows : 
 
 " Justice has never been done the character of the 
 Southern people. Its imperfections have been mag- 
 nified ; and its excellences, in some instances, have 
 been wholly denied, and, in others, but partially and 
 grudgingly admitted. When, however, that character 
 shall have been fully investigated and fairly weighed^ 
 it will be found to combine elements not only of the 
 highest purity, but those even of the highest grandeur. 
 
 "Macaulay has somewhere said substantially that 
 a people, who are a dominant race, have peculiar 
 virtues and peculiar vices, — the virtues and vices of 
 masters as opposed to the virtues and vices of slaves, — 
 that the character of such a people, in one view, is 
 noble and chivalrous, and irresistibly extorts applause ; 
 in another, insolvent and cruel, and imperatively in- 
 vites disapprobation. This statement, though no 
 doubt correct in its general application, is not entirely 
 so, when applied to the white men of the South. 
 With them, indeed, as a class, all the higher virtues 
 peculiar to a superior caste, are found to exist, but 
 
74 Nights in Camp. 
 
 they are associated with none of the darker and more 
 repulsive vices. While these men are 'haughty and 
 imperious, they are brave, truthful and honest. While 
 they are rash and hasty in adopting an opinion and 
 forming a wish, and self-willed in maintaining that 
 opinion and in pursuing the object of that wish, they 
 have, in large measure, not only the generosity, which 
 leads men to relieve the distress, and extenuate the 
 faults, of others, but the sense of justice, which im- 
 pels them to repair every injury, and make amends 
 for every wrong, of which they have themselves been 
 guilty. While, in shunning dishonor as the greatest 
 of earthly evils, they are quick to take offense, and 
 quick to right themselves by the strong hand, they are 
 equally ready to accept with satisfaction every rea- 
 sonable atonement. While they are tenacious of their 
 privileges either real or assumed, and proud of their 
 pure Caucasian blood, they are so tenacious of right, 
 so full of charity, and have withal so intense a self- 
 respect, that oppression and tyranny, which those 
 privileges and that pride of race, have otherwise made 
 somewhat easy, are rendered well-nigh impossible to 
 them. Having at the fireside, woman, who, in every 
 sense of the word, is the light and inspiration of 
 home — woman, who is adorned with every domestic 
 virtue and every christian grace — woman, who has as 
 little thought of stepping beyond the limits of the 
 circle, where she reigns supreme, into the dust and 
 turmoil of man's arena, as she has of arraying herself 
 in his clothing, taking charge of his business, and 
 fighting his battles — woman, who is looked up to, as a 
 sort of superior intelligence, and treated with a lofty 
 courtesy, and a refined tenderness, which, like the 
 
Nights in Camp. 75 
 
 gentle south wind of Shakespeare, breathing upon a 
 bank of violets, both steals and imparts odor, or like 
 that poets mercy which is twice blessed — blessing the 
 one who gives as well as the one who receives — these 
 Southern men have not only those high and princely 
 virtues, which exist in the depths of all noble natures, 
 but along with them, mutually quickening and strength- 
 ening each other, those quiet home virtues so implaca- 
 bly and utterly hostile to immorality in public and in 
 private affairs — in business and in amusements. 
 
 " To show that this estimate of the Southern people 
 is not at all exaggerated, — is not the mere partial 
 opinion of a Southern man, but on the contrary, as far 
 as it goes, is emphatically just and true, — they can 
 point to certain indisputable facts in their history. 
 
 " They can point to the fact, that when their young 
 and able bodied men were taken from home by the 
 demands of a great war, the inferior, then a subject 
 race, guarded well and vigilantly the property and 
 families of the absent warriors, and industriously tilled 
 the soil for the maintenance of all — in truth was an 
 orderly and faithful, as when the means of compelling 
 obedience were abundant; and although, with the 
 coming of peace and the coming of freedom and citi- 
 zenship to the members of that race, the promptings 
 of ignorance and vanity, on the one hand, and the 
 seductions of gilded and specious promises, on the 
 other, led them, or rather a part of them, away from 
 those, whom they had before served, it was only for a 
 time, — they speedily came back to the old support and 
 the old friendship, and to both they have remained 
 resolutely faithful. The volcano, upon which Southern 
 society was so long said to have been resting, and 
 
76 Nights in Camp. 
 
 which, it was alleged, only constant and vigorous press- 
 ure could keep from fearful and destructive eruptions, 
 was found by the would-be-alarmists, upon the removal 
 of the so-called pressure, to be no volcano at all, — 
 instead of the liquid lava-fires of repressed hate below, 
 were seen the limpid waters of unobtrusive gratitude 
 and affection, whose flow subsequent events have only 
 served to deepen and to strengthen. 
 
 "They can point to the fact, that, if among them 
 duelism has not been sufficiently discountenanced, no 
 favor whatever has been shown to socialism, agrarian- 
 ism, communism, — if among them have happened 
 breaches of the peace, the disturbances have seldom 
 been the wide-spread, lasting and disastrous work of 
 mobs, in lawless depredation upon the rights and inter- 
 ests of others, — if among them have occurred murders, 
 there have been but few of those murders, which have 
 super-added to other horrors the atrocious violation 
 of the closest domestic ties, and fewer still, if possi- 
 ble, of those other kinds of crime, which can fitly be 
 characterized only by the epithets of disgustingly 
 mean and desperately wicked. 
 
 " They can point to the fact, that Southern woman 
 has never unsexed herself. The simple-minded Sir 
 Hugh Evans, after peeping under the disguise of the 
 supposed old woman of Brentford, and seeing there 
 the shaggy face of Falstaff says : 'I like not when a 
 woman has a great peard. I spy a great peard under 
 her muffler.' No such beard can be discovered under 
 the muffler of Southern woman. She has never sympa- 
 thized with the woman-rights' movement in other parts 
 of the world. She has never asked the privilege of 
 the ballot-box. She has never attempted to shine as 
 
Nights in Camp. 77 
 
 public lecturer or orator. She has never offered to 
 guide or direct any part of the machinery of govern- 
 ment. She has been rarely the author of crime, and, 
 it may be added, what is almost as much to her honor, 
 as rarely the victim of crime ; and, indeed, never such 
 victim, except where the perpetrator was, not partly, 
 but wholly, a beast. Modesty, and all other true 
 womanly traits, have so hedged her around, and ele- 
 vated her above the ordinary plane of humanity, that 
 it is scarcely an exaggeration to say, — she has been 
 beyond the reach of such evils; vice has shrunk 
 abashed from her presence; calmly and serenely, a 
 very queen, she has walked only amid devoted worship- 
 pers. 
 
 "And finally they can point to the fact, that their 
 public offices, as well as their public places of instruc- 
 tion and amusement, have been strictly devoted to the 
 objects for which they were instituted. While from 
 the latter, whatever might be wanting in a tendency 
 to improve and elevate, has been rigidly excluded ; in 
 the former, every instance of corruption has been fol- 
 lowed by the swift punishment, and, what is almost as 
 much to the purpose, by the disgrace and social ostra- 
 cism of the offender — he has been at once and forever 
 * pilloried on infamy's high stage.' Their halls of legis- 
 lation have been chambers for the making of good 
 laws, and their courts of justice, tribunals for their 
 faithful execution, — neither have ever been marts of 
 bribery nor engines of oppression. Their theatres 
 have been houses for the representation of the legiti- 
 mate drama, — never for the propagation of vice, nor 
 the exhibition of indecency. Their lecture-rooms have 
 been places for sound moral and intellectual instruc- 
 
78 Nights in Camp. 
 
 tion, — never for the poisonous teachings of rabid polit- 
 ical economists, strong, or rather coarse-minded women, 
 literary mountebanks and blatant infidels . And their 
 pulpits have been sacred stands, never public plat- 
 forms,— stands for preaching the word of God ; never 
 platforms Jor^publishing the word of man,— stands for 
 proclaiming salvation, because of a crucified and risen 
 Christj^neverlplatforms for^announcing safety, because 
 of^aMead and buried hell, — stands for enforcing the 
 living^truths of ^Heavenly wisdom ; never platforms for 
 presenting the^effete/dogmas of worldly isms,— stands 
 over^which^it ^may^well be^said, the white wings of 
 angels have rustled in the soft and life-giving atmos- 
 pherejof gospel^prayer and;praise, faith and love ; never 
 platforms from which these celestial messengers have 
 been driven, in fluttering dismay and horror, by the 
 icy breathings of a self-sufficient intellectuality, or the 
 fiery gusts of partisan prejudice and passion. 
 
 "But enough has been said to demonstrate that the 
 Southern people are endowed with the golden virtues, 
 which go to make up a good people. The question 
 now arises, — Have they the iron virtues, which, along 
 with the others, go to make up a truly great people? 
 In other words, have they firmness, fortitude, resolu- 
 tion,— have they enterprise, pluck, energy? These 
 stalwart virtues have been most persistently and clam- 
 orously denied them by the people of other states — 
 inded so persistently and so clamorously, that some 
 faint echoes of the disparaging words have even been 
 heard from Southern hill-tops and mountain-sides. 
 It is true, that a sort of spasmodic resolution and 
 enterprise is, in the midst of these detractions, accorded 
 the Southern people, which is represented, as were the 
 
Nights in Camp. 79 
 
 famous claymore charges of the Scottish Highlanders, 
 under Montrose and Dundee, to be bold, furious and 
 irresistible, but soon at an end — speedily exhausted by 
 its own violence. A glance, however, at the disastrous 
 days of the late war, the still more disastrous days of 
 reconstruction, and the few years of imperfect peace 
 that immediately followed, will show the utter ground- 
 lessness of the aspersion, and, at the same time, excite 
 the wonder of candid men that it has been so long and 
 so pertinaciously maintained, with something of con- 
 tempt for those, who parrot-like, have uttered the cry 
 nearer home. 
 
 1. "The Southern people wanting in firmness — 
 resolution ! What are the facts as given by the history 
 of those days? Let us briefly examine them. Desti- 
 tute of many of the munitions of war, hemmed in by 
 sea and land, with resources scanty in the beginning 
 and every day diminishing, encouraged by but slight 
 hopes of final success at home, and by not even the 
 knowledge of good wishes from abroad, the Southern 
 people steadily faced for four long years of war, a 
 people, among whom were five or six times the fighting 
 men, and twenty or thirty times the available wealth, 
 with the numberless advantages which wealth ever 
 commands, — a people having possession and control 
 of the sword and purse of the Federal Government, — 
 and a people into whose open ports were poured all 
 the while a steadily increasing stream of arms and sol- 
 diers from surrounding nations. The Southern armies 
 aggregating for the first three campaigns, but little 
 more than a half million of men, ill-armed, ill-equipped, 
 ill-fed and ill-clothed, — frequently victorious, some- 
 times beaten back, but always presenting an unbroken 
 
80 Nights in Camp. 
 
 front, — held grimly at bay the vast bodies of Northern 
 soldiery, aggregating for the same period more than 
 two millions of men, bountifully supplied with all the 
 necessaries and conveniences known to civilized war- 
 fare, and armed with weapons of death furnished by 
 the inventive genius of the world. In the closing 
 campaign of the great struggle the effective strength 
 of the Southern armies was so much reduced, and the 
 effective strength of the Northern armies was so much 
 increased, that the hostile arrays stood at about, on an 
 average, one to eight ; and yet the fight went bravely 
 on. And, when the last litHe army of jaded and ragged 
 and starving 'rebels' made their final stand, and looked 
 around upon the broad cordon of foes, which, bristling 
 with bayonets, was slowly and mercilessly tightening 
 about them, they quailed not ; but with ranks closed, 
 and muskets poised, they unflinchingly held their 
 ground — ready for a bloody death, but never for sur- 
 render. That bloody death, it should be added, was 
 only prevented by the great christian heart of their 
 matchless leader, who knew that the inevitable end had 
 come ; and, amid the sobs and groans of the few mis- 
 erable survivors of that grand army, whose prowess 
 shall ever live in history and song, he issued the or- 
 ders, which grounded their guns, sheathed their swords, 
 and folded their flag forever ! The Southern people 
 lacking in resolution! What was this? I repeat the 
 question, — what was this? But even this is not all. 
 These Southern people saw, as is further shown by the 
 history of those days, the upheaval, by which the whole 
 social and civil fabric, that they had so thoughtfully 
 and carefully reared and that they so devotedly loved, 
 was laid in ruins. They saw their fountains of law 
 
Nights in Camp. 81 
 
 and fountains of justice polluted. They saw in their 
 midst ignorance and infamy in power. The saw knaves 
 the keepers of their public purses and the arbiters of 
 their private rights. They saw themselves,— gentle- 
 men proud of their standing and descent— gentlemen, 
 who shrank with a shudder from the faintest touch of 
 aught that suggested degradation,— subordinated to 
 their former slaves, just from the lowest drudgery of 
 the field and the household. Although they saw these 
 and more than these horrors — were subjected to these 
 and more than these indignities ; — and, although the 
 light of hope waxed dim, and the light of happiness 
 was altogether lost amid the surrounding darkness, 
 they, with unbending quietude, bore all these evils for 
 days; for months; for years. The Southern people 
 lacking in firmness — resolution ! Here was an exhibi- 
 tion of the highest firmness! — of a firmness, patient, 
 long-suffering, chivalrous ! — of a resolution unexam- 
 pled in the history of human affiiction and human en- 
 durance ! 
 
 2. "And the Southern people, wanting in enterprise, 
 pluck, energy! Look at the facts as still further given 
 by the history of those days ! The war left the greater 
 part of their country a desert. Piles of ashes and 
 blackened chimney-stacks upon thousands of hill-tops 
 and in thousands of valleys, told where stately man- 
 sions and substantial farm-houses had once stood, and 
 square mile after square mile of unenclosed common 
 in every state, where once had shone fields rich with 
 the yields of cotton and corn. Railroads were broken 
 up ; mills, gin houses and bridges were burned ; stock 
 of all sorts were scattered, and destroyed; and the 
 small remnant of provisions left were being consumed. 
 
82 Nights in Camp. 
 
 But the crowning disaster is yet to be mentioned : — A 
 large part of the youthful vigor and enterprise, by 
 which the foregoing and other losses were mainly to 
 be met and supplied, was sleeping under the bloody 
 sod of numerous battle-grounds. Statistics show that 
 the Southern people lost by the war, at least three- 
 fourths of all their possessions, and at least one-fifth of 
 the men who could be made subject to military duty. 
 But, although thus beaten and impoverished, these 
 Southern people had to face other trials and shoulder 
 other burdens. The spoliations to which they were 
 subjected, by the measures of reconstruction, may be 
 surmised by reference to those, which nine of the 
 Southern States had to bear, — Alabama, Arkansas, 
 Florida, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina, South 
 Carolina and Texas. The public debts in those states 
 in 1868, aggregated about fifty million dollars ; in 1871, 
 about two hundred and fifteen million dollars. In these 
 three years of rule founded on the reconstruction system 
 about one hundred and sixty-five million dollars of debts 
 were piled upon the backs of a people nearly prostrate 
 by the loss of three-fourths of their v/ealth. And the 
 local taxes paid by the people of those states in 1860, 
 when they had four-fourths of that property were only 
 about ten million dollars, — in 1870, vv^hen they had but 
 one-fourth, were about twenty-five million dollars. 
 Does it not seem remarkable that a people could have 
 survived a pressure so terrible? Does it not seem that 
 the spirit would have been crushed and exertion para- 
 lyzed ? Was it so, however, in this instance ? What 
 are the facts ? Sad, but not despairing, wearied but 
 not broken down, tottering and reeling under the load 
 but never falling, the Southern people struggled on, — 
 
Nights in Camp. 83 
 
 now slowly advancing, — now stationary, — now driven 
 back, — ever and anon seeing the gains of one day 
 swept away on the morrow, — but still cheered by such 
 gains, they fought their way during those gloomy days 
 inch by inch, to something of ease and comfort ; until 
 by one supreme effort, they threw off the governments, 
 that had been eating out and wasting their substance, 
 and assumed the management of their own local affairs. 
 They immediately, but steadfastly and deliberately, 
 proceeded to 
 
 'RiDg out the old, ring in the new, 
 Ring out the false, ring in the true.' 
 
 Public credit and the other agencies of public welfare, 
 at once dutifully and faithfully attended the business- 
 walks of Southern officials ; and plenty and happiness 
 once more sat constantly in the light and warmth of 
 Southern fire-sides. The Southern people lacking in 
 enterprise — energy ! Here was an exhibition of the 
 grandest enterprise, — strong, persistent, unfailing, — 
 an energy as brilliantly active, as it was stubbornly 
 enduring, and surmounting obstacles as grave as ever 
 met man in his career upon earth ! — a manhood, indeed, 
 to which the Southern people can poiiit with satisfac- 
 tion throughout all the ages, and which should ever be 
 regarded by the unconquerable white blood of the 
 world with sentiments of pride and admiration. 
 
 "A few words now, in conclusion, with regard to a 
 phrase, by no means delectable in signification, how- 
 ever much so in sound, which has lately been intro- 
 duced into this country by some who have failed to ap- 
 preciate the character of the Southern people. That 
 phrase is made up of only three little words, but, in 
 
84 Nights in Camp. 
 
 their collocation, they are weighty words— The New 
 South ! Many in our midst, who have been so indus- 
 triously ringing the changes upon the phrase, are per- 
 haps scarcely aware of the meaning attached to it by 
 the originator and his immediate followers. They 
 want, let it be understood, a new South ! — not the old 
 South improved, but a new South ! — not the old struc- 
 ture strengthened, where it may have been weakened, 
 and repaired where it may have been damaged, but a 
 new structure — new in foundation, new in fashion, and 
 new in material ! — not the old habits, manners and cus- 
 toms, not the old ideas in social, political and business 
 matters, with such improvement as would result from 
 natural growth, quickened and enriched, but new 
 habits, manners and customs, new ideas in social, 
 political and business matters, — in short, the substitu- 
 tion of Northern civilization for Southern civiliza- 
 tion ! The hopes of these pseudo-reformers can never 
 be realized; but if they could be and were realized, no 
 greater misfortune, no greater disaster, could befall the 
 whole country. North as well as South, in the loss, if in 
 nothing else, of the old Southern conservatism, and the 
 old Southern statesmanship. But let it be repeated : 
 These hopes can never be realized. The old South is 
 not dead yet ; nor, as has been made plain by previous 
 remarks, does she intend to die, or suffer herself to be 
 destroyed. 
 
 "The revocation of the Edict of Nantes brought 
 thousands of Huguenots to England, — she profited by 
 their inventive talents ; the elevation of William, Prince 
 of Orange, to the throne, brought thousands of Dutch- 
 men to England, — she profited by their industry ; the 
 union with Scotland brought thousands of Scotchmen 
 
Nights in Camp. 85 
 
 to England, — she profited by tlieir thrift; the organ- 
 ization of the East India Company brought the 
 Orient to the feet of England, — she profited by its 
 wealth ; — but she was old England still ! — the ground- 
 work of her national character was the same ; and her 
 institutions, amid all advancement and progress, were 
 the legitimate outgrowth of principles implanted in her 
 bosom, before they were digested into form, and wrung 
 by the iron hands of the old barons from the tyrannical 
 grasp of the unprincipled John. So the South will 
 welcome and profit by Northern industries and North- 
 ern capital. And though, by the help of these, she 
 will become stronger and more prosperous, and be 
 arrayed in a newer and richer dress, she will be at 
 heart the old South still ! — In her great manufactures 
 brightened and invigorated by her yet greater agricul- 
 ture, she will be the old South ! — In her respect for 
 law and order ; in her love of official and individual 
 integrit}^ ; in her detestation of all her meanness and 
 baseness, — she will be the old South ! In her hostility 
 to rings and monopolies — to every species of corporate 
 greed and oppression; in her hatred of nepotism, 
 rationalism, socialism, communism, and all sorts of 
 mobism ; in her reverence for honor ; in her reverence 
 for woman ; in her reverence for religion, — she will be 
 the old South ! Indeed in all the elements of a splendid 
 manhood, — a manhood that loves light rather than 
 darkness, because its deeds are not evil, — a manhood 
 ever ready to. labor and to wait — to do and to suffer, — 
 she will be the old South — the old South — forever and 
 forever !" 
 
86 Nights in Camp. 
 
 "Well and bravely done, Ernlej," shouted the en- 
 thu'siastic C3harley. "That 'Southern Manhood' ora- 
 tion suits me exactly. It is splendid. In proof of 
 that, look at Maltman! He was fast asleep last night 
 in the midst of the adventures of Tuskaluza, — but he 
 is wide awake now, — in fact he didn't bat an eye from 
 the beginning to the ending of your * speech.' While, 
 however, I endorse all of its main points, I very much 
 fear that the 'Old South,' of whose permanence the 
 wish to you is, perhaps, father to the thought, is about 
 done-for, or, at any rate, is being done-for. The progres- 
 sive 'new' will likely be found too much for the con- 
 servative ' old.' Before the year 1900, those of us who 
 are living will very probably see that many of those 
 old-time Southern virtues, of which you so eloquently 
 speak in your peroration, will have 'evanished amid 
 the storm' — of immigration. 
 
 "Now," continued Charle}^ who talked so rapidly 
 that no one could put in a word, " I have a companion- 
 piece to the one that has just been given." Taking up 
 his bundle and unrolling it, " I want to read a sketch 
 or tale, written by a friend, which exhibits one of the 
 most delightful phases of the old Southern life, — of 
 which but the wreck now remains, — and which in a 
 few years, say, by the aforesaid A. D. 1900, will be 
 simply a memory." 
 
 "Charley!" exclaimed Haverwood, suddenly and 
 warningly, who, perhaps, knew what was coming from 
 the color of the paper in which the ma^nuscript had 
 been wrapped, — "Charley, you are not going to read 
 that stuff?" 
 
 " I most assuredly am," answered Charley, decidedly. 
 "I would like to know why I shouldn't? — it belongs 
 
Nights in Camp. 87 
 
 to me, and besides — But permit me first to tell you all 
 how I got it. I was in Montgomeiy, a month or so 
 ago ; and while there, of course, I passed most of my 
 time in Haverwood's office. Sitting there one morn- 
 ing when his mail was brought, I heard him give vent 
 to an energetic ' pish ! ' as he opened and took from a 
 large envelope a roll of manuscript. He remarked to 
 me, after a while, that he had sent, a few weeks before, 
 
 an article to the C Magazine, and ' that,' continued 
 
 he, tossing a note over to me, 'is the result of it.' I 
 read the note, which was from the assistant editor. 
 It said simply that the article was well written, and 
 then went on : * but it just misses the literary touch 
 which would make a story of this character desirable 
 for us.' Haverwood also allowed me to read the story 
 (he subsequently gave it to me); and, while I am no 
 critic, I must say that I know when incidents of 
 plantation life are truthfully described, and when 
 those incidents are worthy of preservation ; and feel- 
 ing that both are met in this story of 'Mammy Caesar,' 
 I have decided to read it to you — Mr. Haverwood's 
 wishes to the contrary notwithstanding. So here 
 goes:" 
 
 " Mammy C^sar. 
 
 " three episodes in the life of an alabama negro 
 soon after the war. 
 
 "The 'great house,' in Virginia-negro parlance, 
 stood on the hill. The cabin nestled in a cosy nook 
 not far from its foot. The one, slate-colored, many- 
 roomed, and low-roofed, with brown chimneys piercing 
 every angle above, and vine-clad verandas enwreathing 
 
88 Nights in Camp. 
 
 every angle below, amid thickets of evergreens and 
 flowering shrubs, about which, on either side from the 
 huge arched gateway on the lane, swept broad grav- 
 elled carriage-roads, fringed with stately oaks, showed 
 a comfortable planter's home in Alabama, not far from 
 the beautiful waters of the Warrior Eiver, during the 
 latter part of May, 1870. The other, an ordinary cabin 
 built of hewed logs, well chinked and whitewashed, 
 with a rough porch in front, beautified by a few vines 
 curling up the posts, and trailing from the eaves, 
 showed a comfortable negro's home in the same 
 locality and at the same time. In the one was domi- 
 ciled |Colonel Eodman Breck, his family and niece, — 
 in the other an old darkey known by the rather singu- 
 lar name of ' Mammy Caesar.' With the one these 
 sketches have but little to do, — but, as with the other 
 they will be found to have much, a few words more 
 of description will not be considered out of place. 
 
 "This cabin was the counterpart of many others 
 which were to be seen scattered over the plantation, 
 except that in situation it was slightly more pictur- 
 esque ; and besides, it had the advantage of two glass 
 windows in front, and a brick chimney through the 
 centre, while the others had only openings for win- 
 dows, flanked by wooden shutters on the sides, and 
 stick and dirt chimneys at the ends. A gigantic oak 
 grew immediately in its rear, so closely indeed as to 
 give the small structure the appearance of resting 
 securely against its sturdy trunk, while its wide- 
 branching arms were thrown protectingly over the 
 moss-covered roof before it. Another large oak shaded 
 the path, which connected the cabin through the level 
 patch of greensward with the lane, — on the opposite 
 
Nights in Camp. 89 
 
 side of which stretched out, as far as the eye could 
 reach, a heavy belt of pine forest. Within a stone's 
 throw of the door, and directly at the base of the hill, 
 over a rocky ledge that jutted from its side, gushed a 
 fine spring, the stream from which, as it made its way 
 over a pebbly bed down the slope, could be heard but 
 not seen through the thickly interlacing bushes on its 
 banks. 
 
 "Just at the moment of inviting the reader's atten- 
 tion to this quiet spot, Mammy Caesar was on the porch 
 with a book in his hand, into which he now and then 
 peered intently, through the iron-rimmed spectacles 
 perched upon his broad, flat nose. His grizzled hair 
 and wrinkled face said as plainly as any words could 
 do, that he was far past sixty years of age ; but his 
 light and active movements, as he shifted his position 
 from one side of the porch to the other, under no doubt 
 the puzzling impatience generated by the abstruse 
 character of his studies, indicated as unmistakably 
 that he had still within him much of the vim and vital- 
 ity of youth, and, it may be, a little of its ordinary 
 quickness ana irascibility of temper too.^ 
 
 " As he took his place for about the third time at 
 the angle of the porch next the hall on the hill, and 
 leaning against the post, gazed long and anxiously up 
 and down, and down and up the pathway, that, passing 
 by the spring, wandered with many wide curves be- 
 tween the two homes, — ' linked sweetness long drawn 
 out,' — for it was a veritable lazily-winding path of 
 roses, — he muttered : ' Now I does wish Miss Elvie 
 would come 'long — I does fur sho'. It's Sat'day 
 ev'nin', an' de summon mus' be fixt up. I wonner if 
 she done forgit ole Caesar, an' his preachin' trubbles?' 
 
90 Nights in Camp. 
 
 " He heard a merry laugh away up the side of the 
 hill ; and suddenly out of a clump of evergreens and 
 roses he saw his Miss Elvie coming. All the impatient 
 twitchings at once disappeared from old Caesar's 
 features, and left nothing there but the expression of 
 an affection as calm and beautiful as any that ever 
 lighted up the face of a father for his child. In the 
 meantime the little girl came on with her companion — 
 a boy. She was not more than twelve years of age, 
 and, inexpressibly light and airy in her movements, 
 she fluttered along the pathway in her dress of pink 
 muslin, like a butterfly or humming-bird after the 
 flowers on either side. Her blue eyes flashed out the 
 light of a sunny temperament, and her rosy lips gave 
 forth its music, as she laughed and talked with the 
 youth at her side, while her golden curls — her hat was 
 in her hand — danced in time to every note, by 
 the rapidly shifting motion of her willowy person. 
 The boy was three or four years older, and more than 
 a head taller than the little fairy beside him ; dark of 
 complexion, with brown hair and eyes. The expression 
 of his face was serious and thoughtful ; and his manli- 
 ness and refinement were strikingly and attractively 
 displayed in the watchful care, with which he assisted 
 his lovely companion over rough obstructions, that 
 now and then presented themselves in the steeper 
 places down the slope of the hill. 
 
 "*We must stop awhile,' said she, checking the rip- 
 pling laugh, with which she had greeted some previous 
 remark of the boy, — ' we must stop awhile, before going 
 among the pines yonder, at Mammy Caesar's cabin 
 down there. I help him every Saturday evening in his 
 Bible lesson. He is waiting for me now.' 
 
Nights in Camp. 91 
 
 " 'Why do you call him Mammy Caesar?' 
 " 'Don't yon know?' replied Elvie,— 'but, of course, 
 you don't. It has been a long — long time since you 
 were last here to see Uncle Kodman ; and besides, 
 your mammy is no doubt a woman, and you conse- 
 quently think my mammy ought to be a woman too. 
 But mine, although a man, is just as kind and gentle, 
 and just as loving, as if he was a woman. In truth, he 
 is as good to me as your mammy is to you — better per- 
 haps. He was raised up with papa ; and he followed 
 him to the war; and he nursed him through his long 
 sickness caused by that awful wound at Gettysburg. 
 It is said' — she dropped her voice to a whisper, as she 
 fixed her eyes wide open and round upon those of the 
 boy, expressive of a sort of grateful wonder, — 'that he 
 carried papa off the field on his shoulders, in the midst 
 of the battle, when the shot and shell were hissing and 
 bursting all around. Four years ago when papa died,' 
 continued she, her eyes filling with tears, ' from the 
 effects of the wound which never healed, hf^ was rest- 
 ing in Mammy Caesar's arms, and he told him never to 
 desert his family. Mamma, you know, did not remain 
 long behind papa. When she was dying she singled 
 out Mammy Caesar of all at her bedside, and asked him 
 to hold up her head. He stooped and raised it on the 
 pillow. Her very last words were, — 'Caesar, watch 
 over my little girl.' And truly has he stood by the 
 promise he made to both. Yes, he certainly has done 
 his part toward taking care of me.' With a smile, as 
 she thought of his devoted attendance for so many 
 years, she continued more brightly, — ' He has been my 
 daily shadow ever since the summer of 1866 : — ' a black 
 shadow,' you say. Master Frank!' — making a moue at 
 
92 Nights in Camp. 
 
 him, whicli was so rosy and sweet, that the boy who 
 would have given the pony that he prized above all his 
 earthly possessions, for the privilege of kissing it but 
 once, — ' true, a black shadow, but a constant and faith- 
 ful one — dear, good, ugly, foolish and loving old Mammy 
 Caesar ! Now, don't he deserve the name I have given 
 him?' 
 
 "Leaving the boy at the spring, who slowly followed 
 her, she ran to the old man, as he sprang from the 
 porch to meet her, and took him gently by the hand, 
 exclaiming : 'Here I am at last, Mammy Caesar, — and 
 I have brought Cousin Frank to see you too !' 
 
 " 'Yes, here you is, an' I's more'n glad to see you. 
 I's alius glad to see you; but when I's in trubble, I's 
 more'n glad to see you. An' 'low me. Miss Elvie, jist 
 to hint in 'dition, dat yo' Cousin Frank is welcum 'long 
 wid you — mighty welcum.' 
 
 "'Well, what is the trouble now. Mammy Caesar?' 
 asked his little friend. 
 
 " 'Tomorrer I 'spec' to preach on de parrybul uv de 
 Good Samarrytin, an' I want you to tell me all 'bout 
 him. You say las' week you bin studyin' de lesson uv 
 de Good Samarrytin in yo' Sund'y school. You can 
 gimme den all de pints uv de case, to de full — to de 
 full,' repeated he emphatically. 
 
 " The little teacher took the Bible — old Caesar had 
 his finger at the place, — and, in a low, sweet voice, 
 read the parable, and then lifting up her eyes to the 
 old man's eager face, she explained to him all that it 
 was intended to illustrate. It is to be doubted if any 
 one could have so filled old Caesar's soul with the 
 loving spirit of the story, which fell from the lips of 
 Him, who was the incarnation of love, as was done by 
 
KiGHTS IN Camp. 93 
 
 this little girl, in her simple and childish but earnest 
 words. 
 
 " 'Den if I unnerstan' you, an' I 'spec' I do, de sum 
 uv de whole subjec' is jist dis : yo' nabur is not only 
 de one, who live close to you, but de one who live fur 
 off — in fac' ev'ry one dat you run up ag'inst; an' you 
 do de part uv a good nabur, when you is a Samarrytin 
 to a pusson, whedder you knows him or not, or, 
 whedder you likes him or not.' 
 
 " 'Yes, and you must be willing to help him, whether 
 he can help you or not. Let me make it plainer. You 
 help Uncle Eodman : he can help you back, — there is 
 some good in that, but not so much. You help me 
 too, though I am not able to do anything for you : 
 there is a heap of good in thai' 
 
 " 'You do nuffin' fur me. Miss Elvie ! — you do nuffin' 
 fur me!' exclaimed the old negro impulsively. 'Mars 
 Eodman 'commodit me wid meat and close — dey is de 
 cumfuts uv de body — you freshes me wid de cumfuts 
 uv de soul' — and he laid his hand upon the rich, clus- 
 tering curls of the shapely head, with an expression of 
 fondness, almost of adoration indeed, which lit up his 
 dusky face, as the sun in setting does a heavy cloud- 
 bank in the western sky. 'You comes to me like de 
 light 'fru dat crack dar,' — pointing to a stream of sun- 
 shine, which had made its way through an opening in 
 the roof of the porch — 'De light from yo' presence 
 goes right 'fru an' 'fru dis ole body, an' keeps me bright 
 day in an' day out, wid no trubble uv darkness what- 
 sumever, tills you comes to see me agin. You's de 
 very life uv dis ole nigger sho'.' 
 
 "'You's a-gwine, you tells me,' continued Mammy 
 Caesar, as, after a pause, the boy and girl started down 
 
94 Nights in Camp. 
 
 the path to his gate, hand in hand, — 'You's a-gwine to 
 walk to de river fru de pines. It's a nice walk 'long 
 do big road to de night-fishin' hole. Don't stray off de 
 road, — an' come back soon. I's not 'zackly 'fraid fur 
 Miss Elvie to take dat walk, 'dough summut lonesum', 
 wid you by her side, Mars. Frank! You's 'mos' a man 
 now, an' I reckin you kin take care uv her. But I's 
 sorter jubous 'bout it, — an' I ivill be 'fraid, I tells you 
 boff, an' mighty 'fraid at dat, if you stays down dar 
 long. A half-hour. Miss Elvie — free-quarters enny 
 way — plenty long 'nuff — plenty long fur sich an ev'nin' 
 walk. You mus' git back by dat time, or you'll fin' ole 
 Caesar a comin' to look for you.' 
 
 "The boy and the girl had passed through the little 
 gate, crossed the lane, and had entered the shadows 
 cast by the great pines, before the old negro had con- 
 cluded his anxious and somewhat inconsistent admoni- 
 tions. Whether old Csesar was exactly afraid or not, 
 the children had scarcely disappeared, before he had 
 locked the door of his cabin, and, with his big stick 
 under his arm, was slowly walking in the same direc- 
 tion under the pines." 
 
 *'EP. SECOND. 
 
 "The next Saturday morning after the event just re- 
 corded, Mammy Caesar, with Ephraim Jones, a colored 
 brother, was on his way to Mount Zion Chapel to at- 
 tend to a matter of business connected with the ser- 
 vices which were to be held there the following day. 
 The low, roughly-boarded church-building, with a 
 shingled cupola or belfry that looked exactly like a 
 beehive, stood in a little grove somewhat back from 
 the main road, about a mile from Caesar's cabin. The 
 
Nights in Camp. 95 
 
 two men — one the preacher and the other a deacon of 
 Mount Zion Chapel— were much annoyed, perhaps 
 slightly angered, to find, when they reached the place, 
 that four of the younger members of their charge, — 
 Peter Downs, Bill Trigg, Eben Short and Crip Lane, — 
 were playing a game of marbles upon the hard, 
 smooth and well shaded area immediately in front 
 of the building. The two church officials said nothing 
 however, as they moved towards the open door ; but 
 old Caesar could not resist the temptation of walking 
 briskly through the ring, and brushing the marbles 
 to the right and left, with his huge feet as he passed, 
 just as Peter Downs sent his marble, a very large 
 and brightly painted one, rapidly rolling over the 
 exact spot where Mammy Caesar's brogans were com- 
 mitting such havoc. Unfortunately the owner of the 
 brogans, in the innocent pastime of kicking the mar- 
 bles about, was not paying much attention to the 
 security of his footing; and happening, as he 
 made what he intended for his final and most 
 destructive gyration, to step full upon the 
 one that was rolling as aforesaid, his heels flew 
 up, and he measured his length, by no means deliber- 
 ately, upon the hard ground. The severity of the fall 
 not only disturbed the serenity of the old preacher's 
 back and head, but that of his temper as well, — it has 
 already been suggested that he was somewhat im- 
 patient and irascible, — for he arose with an ejaculation, 
 which, while perhaps not altogether unnatural, under 
 the circumstances, was wholly unnecessary and most 
 decidedly unclerical. With the slightly coercive words 
 he administered a heavily coercive cuff to the ears of 
 the offending young man, which sent him spinning 
 
96 Nights in Camp. 
 
 around like a top, and only did not knock him down, 
 because of his being caught and held up by his com- 
 panions. In the midst of the little storm thus raised, 
 old Caesar and the deacon entered the church. When 
 they came out after having transacted the business 
 that brought them there, they learned from the talk of 
 some of the by-standers — the indignant marble-players 
 had disappeared — that it was the intention of the 
 latter to bring the whole matter before the membership 
 of Mount Zion Chapel in the meeting to be held on 
 the following day. So Csesar was suddenly put in 
 possession of a piece of information, which, to say the 
 best of it, was by no means pleasant to him as a 
 preacher, and furnished him food for much anxious 
 thought and investigation during the balance of the 
 day and night. 
 
 "After he reached home, he consulted his Bible long 
 and closely ; — but it was a noteworthy circumstance 
 that he did not consult his little Bible-teacher, with 
 regard to certain passages of Scripture, which he care- 
 fully marked by turning down the leaves, and which, 
 it should be said here, he had determined to use in his 
 defence, and as he fondly hoped, to the confusion of 
 his enemies. Perhaps he thought that he understood 
 these passages well enough without explanation; or, 
 perhaps he thought, an explanation might interfere 
 with his using them at all, — that it was better for him 
 to use them wrongfully not knowing it, than not to use 
 them were it shown him they had no bearing upon his 
 case. He did not say, "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis 
 folly to be wise;" but it is possible he thought some- 
 thing like it. At any rate, as before said, whether mis- 
 led in such manner or not, he failed to seek informa- 
 
Nights in Camp. 97 
 
 tion from his Miss Elvie, as was his custom when in- 
 tending to make public use of his Bible-studies. 
 
 "Eleven of the clock next morning found Mammy 
 Csesar at his post in the pulpit of Mount Zion Chapel. 
 It was observed that his face was well shaven even to 
 slickness ; that his somewhat threadbare black suit was 
 scrupulously clean; that his standing collar was high 
 and bright ; and that his white cravat was broad and 
 stiff, — in fact, that there was a neatness — a starchiness 
 so to speak — about the make-up of the man, and an as- 
 sumption of austere dignity, which went far beyond — and 
 that is saying a great deal — anything ever witnessed of 
 him before in his pulpit. He evidently felt that a good, 
 not to say a formidable impression at the beginning 
 was half the battle in the coming case. The house 
 was filled to overflowing. All the members for miles 
 around, — and most of the negroes above babyhood in 
 the vicinity were members, — had turned out to witness 
 and participate in the strange event of a preacher 
 being tried by his congregation for swearing. 
 
 " 'My dear congregashun,' — said Mammy Caesar, after 
 the opening hymn had been sung, — *de summon fur 
 to-day is pos'poned. Dar is anuther an' a sort uv mis- 
 agreeable bizness on han'. Yo' preacher have bin tole 
 dat some uv de boy-members uv dis church has 
 *nounced dat dey is gwine to persent him befo' you at 
 dis hour fur de 'fence uv swarrin'*' A pause. 'What's 
 you got to say to dat, Bru'r Peter Downs?'— suddenly 
 asked old Caesar, turning and looking severely at that 
 young man, who was seated with the other marble- 
 players on one of the forward benches. — 'What's you 
 got to say to dat ? — for to use some languidge dat I 
 once heard frum Mars. Eodman Breck, you's de head 
 an' frunt uv dis 'fendin'. I pause fur yo' reply.' 
 
98 Nights in Camp. 
 
 "The young negro at this curt summons arose 
 evidently fully prepared for the struggle, and preferred 
 his charge. He did it without any bravado — indeed he 
 did it rather quietly and modestly. The words used 
 by the preacher, as stated by the boy, if they did not 
 amount exactly to swearing, were closely akin to it. 
 They were at any rate very ugly ; and that fact, joined 
 to the manner of the complainant in giving his testi- 
 mony, made upon many of the congregation, especially 
 the younger members, an impression not altogether 
 favorable to Mammy Caesar. This impression deep- 
 ened as the same story was told by the other boys, — 
 with the addition of the heavy slap, — all of which was 
 confirmed by the statement of one of the leaders of the 
 church, deacon Ephraim Jones, who was Mammy 
 Caesar's companion on the occasion. It should be 
 added that, in reply to questions of old Caesar, there 
 appeared to be some doubt on the part of the deacon, as 
 to the words, — 'I swear.' The deacon seemed to think 
 the expression was — 'I swow.' — It was admitted by all 
 that the Lord's name was not used ; and that the offen- 
 sive words were directed at Peter Downs alone. 
 
 " Mammy Caesar saw that he would have to make a big 
 effort, not especially to free himself from any immedi- 
 ate trouble because of the charge, for he had no fear 
 as to that, but to prevent subsequent ill effects. All 
 doubts, if he had ever entertained any, with regard to 
 using his selected passages from the Scriptures, van- 
 ished 'like the snow-flake in the river.' He rose slowly 
 from his seat, and drawing himself up to his fall height 
 of over six feet, and swelling out his ample chest to its 
 greatest dimensions, he cast his eyes with gravity, 
 even sternness, all over his congregation, — in fact he 
 
Nights in Camp. 99 
 
 looked, as he uttered his first words, like a king address- 
 ing his subjects. Peter Downs and his marble-play- 
 ing cmf Teres were observed to cower beneath the 
 severity of his countenance when in the course of his 
 remarks it was turned fully on them. 
 
 " * I have jist a word or two to say fur de puppos' 
 uv wipin out dis charge. In de fo'mos' place, when I 
 got up frum dat groun', which my head struck fus' wid 
 a bang dat flew de fire out'n boff my eyes, I was dat 
 flabberc^egasted,— it's a long word, but you all un- 
 nerstan' its meanin,' — I was dat flabberdegasted, dat 
 I dunno' what I said. Howsumever you bin tole de 
 words 'tributed to me by dese boys an' deacon Jones. 
 When you takes dem words an' turn 'em all roun', you 
 won't fin' de Lord's name in 'em once — no nary time ; 
 an' den dars no one sho' dat I use de words — ' I swar.' 
 In fac', deacon Jones radder declines to de noshun uv 
 dem words bein' — 'I swow'. Now, my fren's, every one 
 uv you knows beyon' de slimmest shadder of a doubt, 
 dat 'swowin' widout de Lord's name, aint 'swarrin'. 
 So I says to you, an' I says to Peter Downs, an' I's 
 sho' you'll 'gree wid me, dat it would bin bettermos' 
 fur him to do like his name-sake, de great desciple 
 who, when he was sinnin', let the cock do de crowin', 
 dan fur him to do de sinnin' an de crowin' boff.' Here 
 a deep hum of approbation satisfied the preacher that 
 he had made a strong point. 'What I means to 
 'lustrate is dis : in de place uv fotchin' up dis charge 
 agin yo' preacher fur words dat could hardly be helped 
 under de circumstances pernounced befo' you by dese 
 witnesses, Peter Downs, should have 'pologized to you 
 fur dirtyin' de back uv yo' preacher an' dirtyin' yo* 
 church-groun's, by de crime uv marvel-playin'. What 
 
100 Nights in Camp. 
 
 mo', my fren's, is necessary to be said towards de full 
 'lucidashun an' reposement uv dis case?' Old Caesar 
 was so proud of the sonorous swell of the words with 
 which he had rounded up his statement, that he re- 
 peated them with additional animation and emphasis, — 
 • What mo' is necessary to be said tode full 'lucidashun 
 an' reposement uv dis case.' There w^as a flutter 
 throughout the congregation, as old Caesar, with the 
 words, 'I's done — got no mo' to say on de subjec',' 
 took his seat with calm dignity. It was evident in a 
 moment that the trial would end in the triumphant 
 acquittal of the preacher, and the utter discoinfitare of 
 Peter Downs and his associates. 
 
 " Deacon Ephraim Jones at once took the floor, and 
 moved substantially that the pastor of Mount Ziou 
 Chapel be exonerated from all blame in the matter 
 under consideration, and that the members of the 
 church had full confidence in him both as man and 
 preacher. The deacon himself put the motion, and it 
 was carried overwhelmingly. 
 
 "For several minutes after the motion had been 
 acted on there was profound quiet in the church. The 
 congregation sat with eyes reverently and expectantly, 
 fastened on the preacher, who rigidly erect in his chair, 
 returned the look with what Malvolio has termed *an 
 austere regard of controL' At length he slowly arose 
 and said : 
 
 " 'As all de congregashun rose to dar feet in 'sponse 
 to de 'firmative uv de motion, 'cep' de young bru'rs, 
 who made de charge, de verdic' by which yo' preacher 
 has bin 'zonerated may be 'sidered synonymous — wid- 
 out one single an' solitary vote agin it. But, my fr'en's, 
 de bizness uv de day is not fully fru yit. I's got a 
 
Nights in Camp. 101 
 
 *ditement to bring befo' clis meetin'. I's gwine to see 
 now what's to be done wid dese bojs who's tried to 
 sep'rate de shppperd frum his flock, an de flock frum 
 its shepperd. No proof am required to show dat dese 
 boys was plajin' marvels, an' plajin' em on de church 
 groun'. Dat's bin fully amplified befo' you.' Turn- 
 ing to the deacon, he continued : * Bru'r Jones ! — I 
 tole you, an' Bru'r Dick Smith, an Sis'r Kiziah Wilkins 
 to bring yo' Bibles here dis morniu'. You may be 
 sorter slow in readin', but yon can spell your way fru 
 de tex. I ax you all to turn to de fifth chapter an de 
 eighth verse uv de book of Ecclesiastes, an' I bequests 
 Sis'r Keziah, as she can read de mos' clearest, to let us 
 know what's put down dar.' Sister Keziah read : 'If 
 thou seest the oppression of the poor and violent per- 
 verting of judgment and justice in a province, marvel 
 
 not ' 'Pause right dar, Sis'r Keziah,' ejaculated 
 
 Mammy Caesar — ' Pause right dar ! — Marvel not ! — 
 dem's de words ! — Murder not ! — it means do no 
 murder. Marvel not !— it means play no marvels. 'In 
 a province, where de poor is oppressed, an' judgment 
 an' justice, perverted, as it's bin done atde South, ever 
 since de war, play no marvels ! I 'spec' dat game is 
 speshally pernounced ag'inst, 'cause de folks in dem 
 days jist knowed dat game by itse'f, an' no mo'. Dey 
 didn't unnerstan seven-up, chuck-a-luck, crack-loo, 
 base-ball, an' sich like games, as has de mainest hole 
 on dis ginerashun. I could pint, my fr'en's, to more'n 
 one tex in de Bible, dat tells yo in de same way to 
 marvel not, but de one jist read by Sis'r Keziah is 
 'nuff — it lays over de whole groun' like a quilt over de 
 bed.' 
 
 "As soon as Mammy Caesar sat down, Deacon Jones 
 was on his feet again. 'I moves,' exclaimed he, 'dat de 
 
102 Nights in Camp. 
 
 errin' bru'rs — Peter Downs, Billy Trigg, Eben Short 
 and Crip Lane — be 'spelled frum dis church.' Old 
 Caesar, however, whose face had suddenly taken on 
 rather an anxious expression, beckoned to the deacon, 
 who went at once to the pulpit. The former whispered 
 a few words. — The latter thereupon returned to his 
 seat, and modified his motion, so as to provide for the 
 expulsion of the boys, if the preacher, under all the 
 circumstances, thought it to the interest of the church. 
 The truth is, Mammy Caesar, for the last few minutes, 
 had been turning over in his mind what his little-Bible 
 teacher had said to him, some days before, about the 
 Good Samaritan, and the whole current of his thoughts 
 and feelings had changed, — all wrath had melted away 
 like night-mists before the risen sun ; — and besides, as 
 he looked over the congregation he saw that it was in 
 sympathy with him, — so that his wounded self-love did 
 not require for its cure such a violent remedy, as the 
 absolute expulsion of the offending members. He had 
 for these reasons suggested to the deacon the modifi- 
 cation of his motion. He put it to the meeting, and it 
 was adopted with a unanimity similar to that which 
 had marked the first. 'It is lef ' to me,' he said, in con- 
 clusion, 'to'termine what shall be done wid de culprics 
 in dis case. My 'cision is, dat dey may remain in de 
 church on probashun' an' when dey's shown de fruits 
 an' de meats uv repentance, dey can be took back in full 
 fellership agin; — an' I will say to dem now, dat de 
 very fus' step fur dem to take in de right d'recshun, 
 will be to pay Bru'r Ephraim Jones de twenty-five 
 cents each uv 'em owe de church for las' month, an' de 
 twenty-five cents fur month befo' las', an' which 
 oughter bin paid when due, but wasn't. An' may the 
 
Nights in Camp. 103 
 
 Lord have mussy on dar souls ! De congregashun will 
 now rise to dar feet, an' be dismissed.' 
 
 "EP. THIRD. 
 
 "A little more than five years have passed since at- 
 tention was first directed to Mammy Caesar, as he stood 
 in the little rustic porch of his cabin at the foot of the 
 hill. It is now called to him again, and for the last 
 time, as he stands, one bright summer's evening of the 
 year, 1875, in the same place. The hall and cabin, and 
 the grounds around them, present the same old aspect 
 of comfort and cheerfulness. The five years, however, 
 have wrought a great change in old Caesar. Standing 
 before the door of the cabin, his bent form, snow- 
 white hair, and deeply wrinkled face, show that the 
 years, though few, have made a very old man of him 
 indeed; and, as he moves across the floor, his stooping 
 person supported by a long cane, and his tottering 
 footsteps, indicate not only age but decrepitude. He 
 has just walked to the end of the porch next to the 
 hall on the hill, and, with his open hand shading his 
 dim eyes, is gazing along the pathway winding between 
 the bushes with the same eager expectancy, which was 
 to be observed in his case, when first introduced to 
 the reader on exactly the same spot. The anxious look 
 is followed by a smile that lights up most pleasantly 
 his withered features, as he notes two persons slowly 
 descending the slope, who, indeed, it should be said, 
 are the same two that met his gaze on the former oc- 
 casion. Not as little boy and girl do they come now, 
 of course, but as young man and young woman ; — the 
 one tall, and though slender, yet displaying by his 
 erect figure and active step, full chest and well poised 
 
104 Nights in Camp. 
 
 head, no little physical vigor, while the broadly rounded 
 chin, closed lips and massive jaw, joined with the grave 
 and steady lij];ht of two wide-open brown eyes beneath 
 a slightly jutting brow, indicate no less distinctly con- 
 siderable mental and moral power; — the other, small, 
 light and airy, as she glides along the pathway, with 
 her faultless face brightened by the action of a pure 
 mind and heart, suggests, in her person and movement, 
 some one of the sweet and well rounded little poems 
 of a master-artist — every line a grace and every thought 
 an inspiration. They meet old Caesar with as much 
 cordiality — on the part of the young lady with as much 
 affection indeed — as marked the meeting previously 
 recorded, but with a touch of seriousness, even sad- 
 ness, of which at the former one there was no trace. 
 Mammy Csesar spoke first. 
 
 " *So you's come back agin. Miss Elvie, to de ole 
 home. It's bin mighty lonesum' fur de free years you 
 stay away at de coUidge. An' Mars. Frank, 'dough he 
 now live down in Mobile, hear uv yo' return an' gits 
 here mos' as quick as you does. Dars a heap in dat; 
 an' ole Caesar unnerstan' it all. But,' turning to the 
 young man with a significant look, and speaking with 
 an earnestness that amounted to an entreaty, — 'you 
 mus' not take her 'way frum here, no matter what hap- 
 pens. If you does ole Caesar have to go too, — yes, 
 ole Caesar have to go too, Mars. Frank — don't forgit 
 dat! Whar she is dar mus' he be also, while life las'.' 
 
 *'"I done miss you all dese years, Miss Elvie — 
 more'n I can tell, — miss you in a heap uv ways ; prin- 
 cip'ly I's needed yo' light to shine on de Bible fur me. 
 Yo' Aunt up dar — she 'splain knotty p'ints fur e 
 when I go to her, an' what she say alius done me good ; 
 
Nights in Camp. IO5 
 
 but she couldn't do fur me like jou. I dun'no', con- 
 tinued he musingly, and pulling at one of his ears,—' I 
 dun'no, but it seem like dar was light wantin' 
 somewhar.' 
 
 " ' But, ah, Mammy Caesar ! '—replied the young lady 
 smiling up at him archly, ' it seems that you did not 
 always care for the light of which you speak even when 
 it was in reach of you. You remember that when you 
 had the trouble in your church with the marble-players 
 you did not seek my help. In fact', continued she 
 shaking her head at him, ' I believe you dodged me, for 
 I came to see you as usual the Saturday evening before 
 the trial, and you were not to be found. One of the 
 little negro girls told me she thought you were in your 
 cabin with the door locked.' 
 
 " 'Well,' said old Caesar with a faint smile, *dat whole 
 thing was sorter funny, an' I didn'fc think I was sich a 
 fool. But', after a pause in which his face saddened, 
 'it was mighty sinful in me to 'low ignorance to put 
 sich a 'terpretation upon de bressed words uv Scriptur' 
 when knollidge was so close by, an' could bin had fur 
 de askin'. De bes' part uv de matter,— an' while dat 
 is no perfec' consolashun, it make me sorter easier in 
 my min,'— was dat no.speshal harm come frum my 
 foolishness. But dat was de Lord's doin's— dat was 
 de Lord's doin's. I bress an' praise Him for His good- 
 ness. An' I's prayed Him time an' agin to forgive me 
 fur my sin uv persum'shun, an' I's sho' He's done it.' 
 " 'But, Miss Elvie, I's got somethiog more 'portant 
 to say dan what 'cerns dis ole darkey d'reckly. You 
 an' Mars. Frank here, I's bin tole, is gwiue to git 
 married.'- He spoke these words slowly, tremblingly 
 and impressively.-'Dat's a mightv solium step. 
 
106 Nights in Camp. 
 
 Lemme talk wid you boff a little 'bout it. Miss Elvie, 
 you's my chile ! — You was made my cliile by yo' 
 paren's a-tellin' me in dar las' words to take care uv 
 you. An' I done it while you was at home here to 
 de bes' uv my 'bility. You never lef dese groun's by 
 yo'se'f durin' all dem young years uv yo's, dat ole 
 Csesar was not alius in sight of you. Now I hasn't 
 long to stay here, — no, de ole nigger's co'se is almos' 
 run, — an' I wants to be able to tell yo' pa an' yo' ma, 
 when I meets 'em up yonder, dat I's done my whole 
 duty by de little one dey 'trusted to me. You know, 
 Miss Elvie, an' you too. Mars. Frank, what de Scriptur 
 say 'bout marryin'. When it's a right marri'dge, it 
 make uv de man an' de woman one pusson. It say,' — 
 here he took from his pocket his old, well-rubbed, 
 leather-bound Bible, and putting on his spectacles, 
 turned to the chapter from which he wished to read. — 
 * It say : 'And they twain shall be one flesh ; so then 
 they are no more* twain but one flesh.' — Now I's never 
 marri'd, 'cause I's never yit seed de woman wid whom 
 I could be one flesh. It was jist unpossible fur me to 
 fin' her. My darlin' chile !' — continued he after 
 another pause, and laying one trembling hand upon 
 the young woman's head, and the other on Frank's 
 shoulder,— 'does you — does boff uv you — know an' feel 
 dat you can become one — dat you can give up bein' two 
 pussons, as fur as each uv you is 'cerned, an' one 
 towards de udder, an' be de same in all de 'senshalities 
 uvlife?' He looked for a moment into the faces of 
 the two young people, whose eyes, fixed upon each 
 other, expressed a depth of love and tenderness as 
 strong as existence itself, and said slowly : ' I's satis- 
 fied. — I sees when you is j'ined in wedlock, you will be 
 
Nights in Camp. . 107 
 
 no mo' twain ; but dat de beauty an' de sweetness uv 
 de one, an' de strength an' de honor uv de udder, will 
 be combined — ' malgamated — into de single an' perfec' 
 marri'dge liv de Bible. I bress de Lord dat my work 
 here is now done ; an' I's ready — yes I's more'n willin' — 
 to go when de summons comes ! Amen ! ' 
 
 " He had preached the last sermon and prayed the 
 last prayer, of any especial interest, to the reader of 
 these imperfect sketches. With the closing words, 
 tremulously and most feelingly uttered, there fell 
 upon the little party a peace that was more than rest- 
 ful — it was holy — for it came from Heaven ! The two 
 young people soon after thoughtfully retraced their 
 steps along the hillside path to the hall ; and as they 
 disappeared among the clustering branches and flowers, 
 the old negro feebly hobbled into his cabin, and gently, 
 noiselessly shut the door." 
 
PAET lY.— NIGHTS IN CAMP. 
 
 JUDGE CKOFTON DISCOUKSES ABOUT JOHNSON J. HOOPER, 
 JOSEPH G. BALDWIN, JEREMIAH CLEMENS, ALEXANDER 
 B. MEEK, ETC. 
 
 " Ah, sir !" turning to Lovel, '* Monkbarns wad wile the bird 
 aff the tree wi' the tales he tells about the folk lang syne." 
 
 — The Antiquary. 
 
 The excursion was drawing to a close. The last 
 night in camp had perhaps been reached. No particu- 
 lar programme having been arranged for the occasion, 
 several of the party headed by Ernley, crowded around 
 Judge Crofton, who was seated after supper, reading 
 Meek's poems, by a blazing pine torch near the centre 
 of the eating-tent, and insisted upon his giving them 
 some of his personal recollections of leading literary 
 men of Alabama, with whom he had been thrown in 
 intimate association. The Judge was, as usual, in a 
 complying mood. 
 
 *' There are not many Alabama books," said Judge 
 Crofton, as he lit his pipe, and settled himself back 
 comfortably in his chair, — " indeed, when considered, 
 in connection with the flood of books, with which this 
 country has been overwhelmed during the last dozen 
 or so years, there are not many Southern books. But 
 few people at the South, — hardly one in Alabama, — 
 have, for that time, or any other time, made literature, 
 or rather the writing of books, a business. And they 
 have not done so, because the people of the South have 
 
Nights in Camp. 109 
 
 heretofore cared more for eminence in statesmanship 
 than for eminence in general literature — more for 
 speech-making, than for book-making; — and besides* 
 they have lacked large cities holding extensive 
 establishments for the publication of books and 
 periodicals — great centres, in a word, of literary en- 
 couragement and criticism. The few Alabama authors, 
 whom I have known, wrote merely for pastime — wrote, 
 in fact, when they had nothing else to do. As they, 
 however, by their occasional and unpremeditated ven- 
 tures into the domain of letters, achieved a reputation 
 that the South should not willingly let die, — I am glad, 
 my friends, to take advantage of this opportunity to 
 talk of them to you. I shall only notice the few — all 
 of whom are now dead — that were associated with me, 
 at some time or other, on terms as nearly approaching 
 intimacy as could well exist between a young man, 
 such as I was then, and men of mature age. I will 
 begin what I have to say about these writers, with 
 
 "JOHNSON J. HOOPEE. 
 
 " There is scarcely a name in the annals of the state, 
 that is mentioned so frequently and so kindly — at least 
 among the gray-beards of to-day at the South— as that 
 of Johnson J. Hooper, or 'Jonse Hooper,' as he was 
 familiarly called by his friends, that is, by everybody 
 who knew him. I do not suppose he had an enemy in 
 the world. I first met Hooper in Montgomery in 
 1857; — I had met 'Simon Suggs' before, or rather his 
 portrait, and liking it, was prepared to like the man 
 who had painted it. Hooper was then the editor of the 
 Montgomery Mail ; and he appeared to me, at the time, 
 as being singularly unfitted for the sort of warfare into 
 
110 Nights in Camp. 
 
 which such a position necessarily plunged its occu- 
 pant — he was so frail in body, and so mild and gentle 
 in manner, and so quiet and kind in face. But I soon 
 found out that in a rough and tumble political fight, he 
 always 'held his own,' — could give and take hard 
 knocks, although he never violated the proprieties of 
 his responsible post. While as a financier he was 
 loose and careless of management, as an editor he was 
 prudent and cautious and far-seeing. I remember an 
 incident, which was somewhat illustrative of the last 
 named traits. 
 
 " A night or two after Fort Sumter was fired on by 
 order of the Confederate Government, there was a large 
 gathering of the people in front of the Montgomery 
 Exchange, and several speeches were made. Among 
 the speeches was one by General L. P. Walker — a man 
 than whom there was none better nor purer in the 
 state — containing some big sounding words about the 
 war not being allowed to close until the Confederate 
 flag should wave in triumph over Faneuil Hall. Walker 
 intended the words for clap-trap — only a something to 
 warm up the Southern heart. He never dreamed that 
 they would go all over the United States, and be used 
 to fire the Northern heart. Hooper, however, knew 
 that such would be the effect of the words, coming as 
 they did, from the mouth of the Confederate Secretary 
 of War. He was standing at the time immediately in 
 front of and facing me, and I never saw a wilder and 
 more startled expression upon the features of mortal 
 man than was painted upon his face, as the words rang 
 out clear and shrill upon the evening air. I could read 
 the expression without the aid of any explanation from 
 his lips, which I may say, However, I subsequently got 
 
Nights in Camp. Ill 
 
 from him in full. Bufc even he never supposed, nor 
 could any man in that vast crowd have supposed, that 
 after the war was over, and peace had again smiled 
 upon the country, an orator at a great national celebra- 
 tion would make the words the ground-work of an 
 argument to show that the South in the war was seek- 
 ing not its liberties alone, but along with them the 
 conquest of the North ! 
 
 "I shall not discuss 'Simon Suggs' at present. I 
 have never seen the book since I first read it in the 
 days of my boyhood, and am consequently unable to 
 speak of it as it deserves. I can say, however, that I 
 then thought it a treasury of that rich and rare humor 
 peculiar to the great Southwest in the ' brave days of 
 old,' — a book, in short, abounding in pithy sayings and 
 striking situations, which charmed as much by their 
 naturalness, as by the fun and frolic with which they 
 were attended, — and that my face wore a broad smile 
 during its perusal from the opening to the closing 
 chapter. I wish some adventurous publisher would 
 issue another edition of the book. It is worth a 
 * baker's dozen' of most of the so-called works of 
 humor that are annually thrown from the American 
 press. 
 
 "Hooper was elected to the Secretaryship of the 
 Confederate Provisional Congress in 1861, and accom- 
 panied the body to Eichmond, when that city became 
 the seat of the Confederate Government. He died 
 there in 1862, having gradually failed in health from 
 the time of his removal. When he died there was not 
 one of his old associates at the Confederate Capital, 
 nor in this state, who did not feel that a great source 
 of his pleasure in this life had been suddenly and for- 
 
112 Nights in Camp. 
 
 ever withdrawn. This is high tribute, but I am sure, 
 without the approving nod of mj old friend, Maltman 
 over there, that it is fully and richly deserved." 
 
 "The name of Johnson J. Hooper," said Judge 
 Crofton after a pause, "suggests that of a kindred 
 spirit, who, about the same time, by a single book, 
 secured a prominent place in the literary history of 
 the state. Like Hooper he was a humorist — his 
 humor, however, was more delicate and subtle than 
 that of the author of 'Simon Suggs,' and his general 
 character was firmer and more robust. I allude to 
 
 "JOSEPH G. BALDWIN. 
 
 "To speak of Baldwin," continued Judge Crofton, "I 
 shall have to violate the rule, laid down at the outset, 
 as governing my selection of subjects for remark : — I 
 did not know him. He had come into the state from 
 Virginia while I was a child, and left it for the Pacific 
 coast when I was off at school. But although I did 
 not know him, I do know his book — 'Flush Times of 
 Alabama and Mississippi' — well and intimately, and 
 am glad that I know it. 
 
 "The modest little volume is made up of about two 
 dozen sketches with regard to life, manners and char- 
 acter during the half-crazy financial era in the history 
 of the two states, when shin-planters were the only 
 currency of the people. Most of these sketches are 
 marked by rich traces of the broadest humor, abun- 
 dantly intermixed with large grains of homely wisdom ; 
 and much sound philosophy and many practical sug- 
 gestions as to the uses and abuses of human life, form 
 the body of the more serious and highly finished 
 papers. Some parts of the book, too, give evidence of 
 
Nights in Camp. 113 
 
 a profound knowledge of the complicated and intricate 
 workings of tlie human heart, and a grace and power 
 of portraying human character, even down to all its 
 minutest traits, that is very striking. This is especially 
 noticeable in his remarks upon 'Hon. Francis Strother,' 
 and those upon 'Sargent S. Prentiss,' especially the 
 former. The Strother sketch, indeed, in the respect 
 suggested, is emphatically excellent. I knew the sub- 
 ject of it well— Hon. Francis S. Lyon — served with 
 him in the legislature, and in the last constitutional 
 convention of the state — and I have no hesitation in 
 saying, that so delicate and exact is Baldwin's touch 
 in the work of presenting the inner man of this dis- 
 tinguished Alabamian, I should have known at once 
 who sat for the picture, even had no part of his name 
 been given, and had the graphic description of his 
 person been omitted. 
 
 "There are a few old lawyers still left in West Ala- 
 bama, who practiced at the bar with Joseph G. Baldwin 
 and who enjoyed with him intimate social relations. 
 To hear them talk of the man is a treat — a repast 'fit 
 for the gods.' Notably among these is Col. M. L. 
 Stansel, of Pickens. 
 
 "I cannot mention the name of this gentleman here, 
 whom I have known well since 1857, and with whom I 
 have served so frequently in public assemblages, with- 
 out stopping to say a word or two about him. Col. 
 Stansel lives at Carrollton, in Pickens county, and has 
 lived there or in the vicinity for about a half century — 
 having been only eight years of age when his 
 father removed to the county from Georgia. He is not 
 what is called a brilliant man, he is something better — 
 a sound man. His mind is clear, logical and vigorous, 
 
114 Nights in Camp. 
 
 and his heart is alive to every generous and unselfish 
 impulse. Pickens county knows the value of the man 
 and his services, and has shown her appreciation of 
 both by thrusting upon him office after office, frequently 
 in the face of his earnest protest. And there is no 
 weakening in the favor of tliafc county for Col. Stansel 
 — no abatement in the vigor and number of her calls 
 upon him for service — because of his age. Under- 
 standing that experience as well as worth is desired in 
 a public servant, and that old age, unaccompanied by 
 mental or physical decay — which is the case with CoL 
 Stansel — is rather an advantage than otherwise in such 
 servants, that county has him in office now, and will no 
 doubt keep him in office, as long as he will permit it. 
 
 "But I have said it is extremely pleasant to hear 
 Col. Stansel and the few remaining friends of 'Joe 
 Baldwin' in West Alabama talk of him and his acts 
 while a resident of Sumter county — of the spicy and 
 brilliant manner in which he managed his cases in 
 court — of his innocent and genial humor — of his in- 
 exhaustible fund of anecdote, the point of much of 
 which was directed at himself — of his modesty and 
 generosity — of his love of truth and fair dealing. I 
 have never heard one of these old gentlemen speak of 
 Baldwin, that I have not felt that his removal from 
 Alabama was a calamity to the state. The life of such 
 a man was a sort of blessing to every one with whom 
 he came in contact. Note how Thomas J. Wetmore, of 
 Dallas, who was for some time his law partner, puts it. 
 Speaking of Baldwin, he said : 'Oh, for an hour's talk 
 with some man like him, wearing his humanity as he 
 used to wear it, with his hat about to turn a back sum- 
 mersault from his head, with his forehead growing 
 
Nights in Camp. 115 
 
 broader, and his eyes sparkling brighter, as he ad- 
 vanced in anecdote, till he was shut out from vision by 
 the tears his mirth created, and we were compelled to 
 feel that there was at least one great and good man in 
 the world who could be funny.' 
 
 "Baldwin's rise to eminence at the bar of San Fran- 
 cisco was rapid and brilliant. He was elected to the 
 Supreme bench of California by a vote of the whole 
 people of the state, before he had been there many 
 years ; and in that high office he won the respect and 
 esteem of all who were acquainted with the manner in 
 which he discharged its responsible duties. He, how- 
 ever, preferred practicing at the bar to sitting on the 
 bench, and, consequently, after a year or two, gave up 
 the position to which he had been elevated. He died 
 soon after the close of the late war between the states, 
 in the prime of life and the full meridian of his useful- 
 ness — being at the time only about fifty-five years of 
 age. He was well known throughout California, and 
 the people of the state almost as a unit mourned his 
 loss to the country and humanity." 
 
 " Beautiful Huntsville," continued Judge Crofton 
 after relighting his pipe, " with its beautiful surround- 
 ings, has given to the world several literary celebrities 
 — at least they were celebrities for awhile ; and the 
 productions, that made them so, foreshadowed a bril- 
 liant and lasting fame to each. The most noted among 
 these were Hon. Jeremiah Clemens, and 
 
 "MISS JULIA PLEASANTS AND T. BIBB BRADLEY." 
 
 " I shall, in speaking of Miss Pleasants, along with 
 Bradley, violate my rule again. While I knew Bradley 
 well, I did not know Miss Pleasants except by sight. 
 
116 Nights in Camp. 
 
 I returned to Huntsville, after a five years' absence, 
 about the time she married Mr. Creswell, of Louisiana, 
 and removed to that state. She was tall and slender, 
 with a placid, classic face, and quiet, unassuming man- 
 ners. She and Bradley were cousins, and they to- 
 gether, in the fifties, published a volume of verse under 
 the title of ' Apheila and other poems.' The book con- 
 tained some pieces of considerable merit. ' The Evil 
 Days,' written by Miss Pleasants, was one of these. 
 Four lines of another poem by her have remained with 
 me ever since my first reading of the volume — a sort 
 of haunting memory, as the opening stanza of ' Cum- 
 nor Hair was said to have been for Sir Walter Scott : 
 
 ' The fairy minstrel flowers 
 
 Render through the leafy gloom, 
 
 Low responses to the birds 
 In a chorus of perfume.' 
 
 * A^pheila,' the leading poem of the volume, written 
 by Bradley, is a strong production — full of grim 
 thoughts and gloomy images, that are calculated to 
 affect one like a nightmare. It was unfortunate for its 
 popularity, that, resembling ' The Eaven' in the line 
 of thought, it should have been written in the same 
 measure. Comparison between it and that remarkable 
 production was the inevitable result — a disastrous 
 comparison for * Apheila.' Justice has consequently 
 never been done to Bradley's poem either by critics or 
 the general reader. Mrs. Creswell, from her adopted 
 home amid magnolias and surrounded by semi-tropical 
 singing birds, has now and then given to the world 
 snatches of song as bright and fragrant as the blooms 
 of the one, and as sweet and airy as the notes of the 
 other. It is to be regretted that the strains from her 
 
Nights in Camp. 117 
 
 strictly Southern lyre are so seldom heard and are of 
 such brief continuance. Bradley was a child of genius, 
 with many promising probabilities— all of which were 
 nipped in the bud. He died young— a man of disap- 
 pointments. He unfortunately had expensive habits, 
 which, linked with that most unmeet of all yoke- 
 fellows for such habits, poverty, deadened aspiration 
 and paralyzed effort." 
 
 " I have hurried through with what I had to say 
 about Mrs. Creswell and Bradley, in order to devote 
 more time to the other member of the Huntsville lit- 
 erary triad mentioned above — 
 
 " HON. JEREMIAH CLEMENS. 
 
 " Jere. Clemens, as he was accustomed to write his 
 own name, was one of the most remarkable men that 
 the South ever produced. He was lawyer, soldier, pol- 
 itician, and author. He never became great as a lawyer, 
 for he allowed soldiering and politics to interfere too 
 much with the exacting demands of the legal pro- 
 fession. As a soldier he never had an opportunity of 
 particularly distinguishing himself, but all his acts, 
 during his military career, gave abundant evidence of 
 high military capacity. He was never successful as a 
 politiciaQ, although he, at one time, was elected to the 
 United States Senate— because he leaned strongly 
 toward Federalism — and yet, strange to say, he had no 
 love for the " head and fron<-" of Federalism in this 
 country, Alexander Hamilton. His speeches, however, 
 while he was in the United States Senate, were models 
 of oratorical skill of the persuasive order. Smooth 
 and gentle in their limpid flow, and as ornate and fin- 
 
118 Nights in Camp. 
 
 ished as some of the celebrated essays of the Edin- 
 burgh Review. 
 
 "Before taking him up as a writer I desire to make 
 some slight and hurried references to him as a man. 
 I cannot introduce what I desire to say on this subject 
 better than by the statement, that, Colonel Clemens 
 never truly sympathized with the South in her des- 
 perate struggles against the aggressions of the North 
 upon her interests — aggressions which President 
 Pierce, himself a New Eagland man, in his celebrated 
 Kansas-Nebraska message, and they were just as 
 heavy and continuous after that stormy executive term 
 as before, — pronounced to be such, that, if they had 
 occurred between foreign powers, would have been 
 just cause for war. During the Federal occupancy of 
 Huntsville, he gave full expression to the intensity of 
 his unionistic sentiments by deserting the South, and 
 publishing a pamphlet within the enemy's lines, reflect- 
 ing severely upon her people. But I will not dwell 
 upon this dark spot in his history. He is dead ; and 
 the South is not disposed to listen to harsh condemna- 
 tion of that failing with the many other mistakes of 
 this wayward child of genius ; on the contrary, it is 
 willing to leave them all to that Sapreme Judgment, 
 which, based upon those springs of action unknown to 
 man, is unerring in its wisdom and justice. 
 
 '' Colonal Clemens was an even tempered and 
 genial man ; and although fully conscious of his won- 
 derful powers, was perfectly simple and unpretending 
 in his manners. He was indeed one of the most ap- 
 proachable of all the brilliant men I ever met. And 
 his friends — generally from the great mass of the 
 people — were devoted to him ; this was conspicuously 
 
Nights in Camp. 119 
 
 true of the young among them. He was so free and 
 easy with them, entered so heartily into their sports 
 and pleasures, was so ready always to do them a kind- 
 ness, even in those little matters so irksome and worry- 
 ing generally to men of his standing, that when he was 
 on the street, he was frequently the centre of a crowd 
 of youthful supporters ; followers, admirers and imita- 
 tors. I will give an instance illustrative of what I 
 have just said, and by the way, it will include one of 
 Clemens' nearest approaches to humor. 
 
 " A number of the boys of Huntsville decided once to 
 have a sort of ' speaking-bee.' Each one was to select his 
 own subject, and discuss it to the best of his ability. 
 A church was to be secured for the exercises, and it 
 was supposed that the people generally would turn out 
 to enjoy the eloquence with which they were sure to 
 be regaled. One of the boys— I will call him Joe- 
 wishing to create a sensation by his speech, and dis- 
 trusting his ability to fix up one that would have such 
 effect, got a smart young man of his acquaintance to 
 prepare the speech for him. Joe liked the speech 
 very much when it was read to him by his smart 
 friend, but concluded that it would be prudent to sub- 
 mit it to Colonel Clemens for revision and correction. 
 He did so. Colonel Clemens seated himself in the 
 shade of an awning on the street, and, pencil in hand 
 to make the necessary corrections, carefully read the 
 speech from beginning to end. When he had finished, 
 he gravely folded up the paper, and handed it back 
 with the quiet remark, 'Joe, I can't correct that speech. 
 When I wrote it, I did my level best.' 
 
 " Colonel Clemens had a wonderful memory. It was 
 this memory that not only prompted, but caused him, 
 
120 Nights in Camp. 
 
 to write out almost all the speeches lie ever made. I 
 have heard it often said, in fact I believe I have heard 
 him say so himself, that he could write a speech and 
 never look over it after it was written, and yet he could 
 make the speech on a subsequent day exactly as it was 
 prepared, without the change of a single word. 
 
 "Clemens, like Richardson of Sir Charles-Gradison- 
 fame, was an old man before he began to write books. 
 Within a few years he wrote three volumes — the inter- 
 vals indeed between their publications were brief — and 
 then he stopped. Although he lived several years 
 after issuing the last of the three, he never wrote 
 another, at least none other was ever given to the press. 
 These novels, 'Bernard Lile,' 'Mustang Gray' and 
 ' The Rivals,' were not of an elevating tendency. The 
 heroes of the two first were desperate and bloody 
 minded men, but not, I think — for it has been nearly 
 a half-century since I read them — without some heroic 
 traits of character. The last — in its main incidents 
 being a history of the rivalry between Aaron Burr and 
 Alexander Hamilton — was an attempt to make a sort 
 of angel of the former and a demon of the latter 
 Colonel Clemens, in his leanings towards Burr, was 
 perhaps as far from the line of exact fairness, on the 
 one side, as some writers, in their leanings towards 
 Hamilton, were on the other. Impartial history is 
 now pretty well agreed that Burr was about as much 
 sinned against as sinning, that both he and Hamilton 
 were men of rare ability and great ambition, and that, 
 while neither was bad, as opposing narratives have 
 sought to make them appear. Burr was perhaps the 
 better man of the two. In him the heart dominated 
 
Nights in Camp. 121 
 
 the intellect— in Hamilton the intellect dominated the 
 heart. 
 
 " No evidence of humor and but little of a dramatic 
 faculty is to be discovered in these novels. Their 
 chief charm is the style, which is as luminous as a 
 sunbeam, and as gentle and graceful in its flow as a 
 meadow stream, and as musical as the song of its 
 waters among the pebbles." 
 
 "But of all Alabama writers whom I have ever 
 known, the one that suited me best, was the author of 
 this book," slowly and emphatically remarked Judge 
 Crofton, showing the volume of Meek's poems, which 
 he was reading when the party called on him for a 
 talk, and which he had continued to hold in his hand. 
 It was in 1859 that I first met 
 
 ALEXANDEK B. MEEK. 
 
 At that time he was a member of the Legislature 
 from Mobile, and I, from one of the northern counties 
 of the state. He was elected Speaker of the House at 
 this session; and a better, at least a kinder and more 
 considerate presiding officer no body of men ever had, 
 nor one more anxious to do justice by all, while ex- 
 tending to the younger members every parliamentary 
 indulgence in his power. I got to know him well, and 
 loved him, for he was a very lovable man, and besides, 
 I received many legislative favors and much legislative 
 encouragement from him before the close of this, and 
 a subsequent session called by Gov. A. B. Moore just 
 before the state seceded from the Union. 
 
 "In all my association with Judge Meek, I never saw 
 him evince the least worry and annoyance even when 
 9 
 
122 Nights in Camp. 
 
 surrounded by impatient wranglers, and when the most 
 perplexing and complicated questions were being pre- 
 sented to him for settlement. He was a good, but not 
 a remarkable talker — in fact he was not fond of talking. 
 What he said was always well said and to the point ; 
 but the chief charm of his conversation lay in the 
 smile that so frequently lighted up his face, and the 
 kindly feeling which suggested and directed his words. 
 It would be hard for me to believe that his face ever 
 wore a harsh expression or that a harsh sentence ever 
 fell from his lips. 
 
 " My last service with Judge Meek in a public way 
 was on the committee which was sent from Montgom- 
 ery in 1861 to meet the President of the Confederate 
 States at West Point, and welcome him to Alabama 
 soil. I pause here to say a few words about that 
 committee. Along with Meek and myself were the 
 brilliant Bullock, who was the chairman, the broad- 
 minded Morgan and Watts, the chivalrous Clanton, 
 the enterprising Charles T. Pollard, the genial J. C. B. 
 Mitchell, and others whose names I can not now recall. 
 Bullock met the President with a speech which was a 
 masterpiece ; of course, Mr. Davis' reply was just what 
 it ought to have been. Meek made a speech at 
 Opelika, where the train, in returning, was stopped by 
 an enthusiastic crowd. That was the last speech I 
 ever heard from him. My business soon took me 
 West, and we never met again. He died soon after 
 the war at Columbus, Miss., to which place he had 
 removed but a short time before. 
 
 " The most ambitious poetic effort of Meek was * Red 
 Eagle,' a romantic rhyming story in three cantos, after 
 the manner of Sir Walter Scott, and not unworthy of a 
 place by the side of the ' Bridal of Triermain' and his 
 
Nights in Camp. 123 
 
 other shorter narrative poems. The interest of this 
 poem centres in Weatherford, or ' Red Eagle,' an Indian 
 remarkable for his physical graces, courage and elo- 
 quence. He was the chief leader of the Muscogees or 
 Creeks in the war of 1813, which opened with the 
 bloody massacre at and around Fort Mims, near 
 Mobile, and closed with the overthrow of the Creek 
 nation at the battle of the Horseshoe. In this work 
 Meek started out with the octo-syllabic measure, so 
 well adapted to the recital of heroic adventure, but 
 unfortunately dropped it, now and then, for a measure 
 slower and heavier. In spite of this defect, it may, 
 however, be said that ' Bed Eagle ' is, beyond all ques- 
 tion, the finest production of the kind which the Gulf 
 States have yet given to the world, and will, when the 
 South shall turn her attention to the literature in 
 which her peculiar history and characteristics are set 
 forth, not only be highly regarded, but lastingly as 
 well as affectionately cherished. The descriptive pas- 
 sages are especially fine. The butchery at the fort is 
 so managed that much which is repulsive is passed 
 over, while full justice is done to all that is calculated 
 to excite indignation and horror. The picture of Ala- 
 bama woods in mid-summer is so life-like and graphic 
 as to cause, I am sure, in the reading, the denizens of 
 the cities at that season to long for a day to rest in 
 their cool and shady recesses, or to stray along their 
 sylvan avenues, or to lose themselves in the intricacies 
 of their tangled and vine-embowered thickets. "Well 
 says Meek : 
 
 *No lovelier land the Prophet viewed. 
 When on the saored mount he stood, 
 And saw below, transcendant shine, 
 The streams and groves of.Palestine.' 
 
124 Nights in Camp. 
 
 " The song of tlie heroine, who had enough of white 
 and Indian blood in her veins to bring about that 
 happy union of the dark and bright in the female face 
 which Byron so loved to paint — a true child of the 
 forest and the south — is probably the best thing in 
 the poem, and is certainly one of the most delightful 
 lyrics that this country has yet produced. I will 
 quote it : 
 
 'The blue bird is whistling in Hillibee grove, — 
 
 Terra-re ! Terra-re ! 
 His mate is repeating the tale of his love, — 
 Terra-re ! 
 
 But never that song, 
 
 As its notes float along. 
 So sw^eet and so soft in its raptures can be 
 As thy low whispered words, young chieftain, to me. 
 
 'Deep down in the dell is a clear crystal stream, 
 
 Terra-re ! Terra-re ! 
 Where scattered like stars, the white pebbles gleam. 
 Terra-re ! 
 
 But deep in my breast 
 
 Sweet thoughts are at rest, 
 No eye but my own in their beauty shall see ; 
 They are dreams, happy dreams, young chieftain of thee. 
 
 'The honey-bud blooms when the springtime is green, 
 Terra-re I Terra-re ! 
 
 And the fawn with the roe on the hill-top is seen, 
 Terra-re ! 
 But 'tis spring all the year 
 When my loved one is near. 
 
 And his smiles are the bright beaming blossoms to me, . 
 
 Oh! to rove o'er the hill top, young chieftain, with thee.' 
 
 " But Meek's fame as a poet rests chiefly upon his 
 short poems — 'Land of the South,' 'Homes of Ala- 
 bama,' 'Mocking Bird,' 'Charge at Balaklava,' etc. 
 
Nights in Camp. 1^5 
 
 Many of his shorter poems are lyrics, and were set to 
 music. When I first went to Montgomery, in 1857, 
 before I had ever met him, one of his :iongs was all the 
 rage with the young folks there, and every piano, it 
 seemed, was constantly ringing with it. It was called 
 'The Bose of Alabama.' I can recall but a single 
 stanza : 
 
 'I loved in boyhood's sunny time, 
 When life was like a minstrel's rhyme, 
 And cloudless as my native clime, 
 The Rose of Alabama.' 
 
 " With regard to the 'Charge at Balaklava,' I will 
 merely state that I read it as a boy in an English 
 paper over the signature of Alexander Smith, the 
 author of the 'Life Drama.' I, at the time, fully agreed 
 with the editor of the paper in his comments on the 
 poem, when he said that the 'Charge of the Light 
 Brigade,' by Tennyson, was a failure, and that English- 
 men would thank Mr. Smith for a poem that did full 
 justice to the subject. My opinion, I should say, of 
 Tennyson's poem has changed since that day. Al- 
 though I still think that the lines, as they 'thunder' 
 along, like the horsemen in the charge, now and then 
 * blunder' like the order which set them a-going, I do 
 not now regard them as a failure by any means, but a 
 most decided success. Meek's poem is a splendid 
 one — must, of necessity, be a splendid one — or it would 
 most certainly have been consigned to oblivion by the 
 comparison thus provoked between it and the ringing 
 ode of the poet laureate. 
 
 "Oliver Wendell Holmes states somewhere substan- 
 stantially, that it was the use of a certain little personal 
 pronoun in the fourth line of 'America,' by Smith, that 
 
126 Nights in Camp. 
 
 made the song a success — had that line read, * Land 
 where my fathers died,' instead of ' Land where our 
 fathers died,' the poem would have been admired for 
 its other merits, but, as it would, in that case, have 
 failed to make a common patriotic brotherhood of the 
 American people, it could not have fully reached the 
 great American heart. It may, in like manner, be said, 
 that the change of a little epithet in Meek's *Land of 
 the South' would have seriously marred its beauty 
 and'lessened its popularity. The epithet 'imperial' 
 is singularly apt and felicitous — it accords so com- 
 pletely with the idea of the people of the South as to 
 the character of their native country — ' Land of the 
 South — imperial -land' — that the line may well be 
 pronounced perfect in thought and music, and gives a 
 charm to the whole poem. ' The Homes of Alabama' 
 is another of Meek's songs that appeals irresistibly to 
 Southern sympathies. It portrays Alabama homes, as 
 they were before the war. Just listen to the opening 
 stanza : 
 
 'The homes of Alabama, 
 
 How beautiful they rise, 
 Throughout her queenly forest realm, 
 * Beneath her smiling skies ! 
 The richest odors fill the breeze, 
 
 Her valleys teem with wealth, 
 And the homes of Alabama 
 
 Are the rosy homes of health . ' 
 
 "With our knowledge of such homes, past and pres- 
 ent, we can easily read between Meek's lines, that the 
 homes to which he refers were full of everything cal- 
 culated to make life a blessing to family, to neighbor- 
 hood, and State, and were presided over by a grand 
 old race of men and matrons — all of whom are now 
 
Nights in Camp. 127 
 
 gone — yes, gone forever ! — and with them the joys of 
 which they were at once the guides and the inspira- 
 tion. The two last named songs of Meek will live as 
 long as elevated and chivalrous feeling shall find an 
 abiding place in the Southern heart. 
 
 " Meek's lines to the ' Mocking Bird ' have been very 
 highly and justly commended. The poem, indeed, is 
 beautifully wrought throughout, and is as full of 
 melody as the little songster to which it is addressed; 
 but there is one to the same bird, written by a man all 
 of whose thoughts and feelings, like those of Meek, 
 were intensely Southern, although he was born in New 
 England, which I think as good. Equal to Meek's, it 
 is, of course, better than Rodman Drake's — better 
 than any other poem addressed to that bird; and their 
 name is legion. The measure, it is true, in movement 
 is rather too stately for the subject — rather too much 
 like the music to which our great-great-grandmothers 
 used to dance, dressed out in laced stomachers, ex- 
 panded farthingales and high-heeled pantoufles, but 
 the rhythmical flow of the lines throughout is delight- 
 ful. The writer, I should say, not only resembled 
 Meek in temperament, but equally so in other respects 
 — had the same commanding" person — nearly six feet 
 and a half in height, and over two hundred pounds in 
 weight — the same genial and pleasing countenance — 
 the same dignified and courtly manners — and the same 
 love to, and attraction for, his friends. For these 
 reasons, I shall close by giving a stanza from the 
 'Address to the Mocking Bird,' by Gen. Albert Pike : 
 
 *Ha ! What a burst was that ! the aeolian strain 
 
 Goes floating through the tangled passages 
 Of the lone woods — and now it comes again — 
 
128 Nights in Camp. 
 
 A multitudinous melody — like a rain 
 Of glossy music under echoing trees, 
 
 Over a ringing lake ; it wraps the soul 
 With a bright harmony of happiness — 
 
 Even as a gem is w^rapped, when round it roll 
 The waves of brilliant flame — till we become, 
 
 Even with the excess of our pleasure dumb, 
 And pant like some swift runner clinging to the goal.' 
 
 Judge Crofton closed his book, knocked^the ashes out 
 of his pipe, and arose from his seat. Maltman gave 
 vent to a loud snore in endorsement of — the blessed- 
 ness of sleep. Charley Wenker, however, was wide 
 awake. He said: "Judge, I like your talk — I like 
 the beginning, middle, and ending — especially the 
 ending." 
 
PAET V— DAY IN CAMP. 
 
 Chabley Wenker's Adventure— Southern Storm. 
 
 What's the matter ? Have we devils here ? * * * 
 Mercy ! mercy ! This is a devil and no monster. 
 
 — Shakspeare. 
 
 Oh night, 
 And storm and darkness, ye are wondrous strong! 
 
 — Byron. 
 
 The last day at the Inlet !— And it opened beautifully. 
 Indeed it bade fair to be especially fine for bathing 
 and fishing, in which sports all the party were engaged 
 when their movements next fell under the observation 
 of the faithful writer of this delectable chronicle. 
 There had been a heavy shower during the previous 
 night; and the foliage was yet wet and dripping. The 
 atmosphere was cool and bracing,— the more so, as the 
 sky was completely overcast by a rippled mass of 
 hard-looking, white clouds, which were moving slowly 
 —almost imperceptibly. Their motion, however, was 
 not so easy, or uniform, as to prevent narrow and 
 irregular rifts from being occasionally made, through 
 which appeared patches of the heavens beautifully 
 blue, and sparkling gleams of sunshine, all the more 
 delightful, because of the unexpected suddenness of 
 their coming, the shortness of their stay, and the flash- 
 ing brilliancy of their track across the placid surface 
 of the waters. 
 
130 Day in Camp. 
 
 CHARLEY WENKER's ADVENTURE. 
 
 Crumlyn, Briarsley, McTarney, Charley Wenker, 
 and two or three others were bathing near the mouth 
 of the inlet. At the point selected by them for the 
 purpose, a wide sand-bar extended some distance from 
 the eastern shore, dividing, on that side, the waters of 
 the inlet from those of the Gulf, especially at ebb-tide. 
 In the larger boat Judge Crofton and Wilmer Prince 
 were fishing in the inlet, a few hundred yards above 
 the bathing party. They were assisted by three of the 
 negroes. Having devoted themselves to the nets, they 
 had soon covered the bottom of their boat with fine 
 fish. The other boat was occupied by Ernley and 
 Haverwood, with Lankey and his brother Ned at the 
 oars. These, — or rather the two whites, — as the boat, 
 moving along the western side of the little estuary, 
 now and then paused where the bank shelved, and 
 where the deep pools, made by sharp indentations in 
 the shore-line, rested quiet and cool under the drooping 
 branches of wide-armed trees, — were fishing with rods 
 and lines. They had caught several large trout. 
 
 "What are you going to do now, Haverwood?" 
 asked Ernley, somewhat querulously, as the other 
 having dropped his pole, and rummaged awhile in the 
 chest of the boat, produced a hatchet and nails. 
 
 "I am going to fasten down this seat," was the reply. 
 "It is loose, and once or twice has come very near 
 emptying me into the bottom of the boat." 
 
 "Why don't you sit still then?" — Seeing, however, 
 that Haverwood persisted in the design of nailing down 
 the unruly seat, Ernley continued somewhat sardoni- 
 cally : "Make haste and be done with your knocking. 
 As a fishing companion you are as bad as Wenker — 
 
Day in Camp. 131 
 
 make as much noise as he does, and pay as little atten- 
 tion to the business in hand. You have caused me to 
 lose the king of all fish hereabouts, I am sure. His 
 bite was absolutely royal." 
 
 Haverwood did his nailing, threw the hatchet into 
 the forward part of the boat, and then resumed his 
 rod, with a light laugh, saying calmly : "Ernley you 
 certainly love the sound of your own voice. I can ac- 
 count for much of your talk in no other way." 
 
 "Do I? — and can't you? "answered Ernley meekly. 
 "Ha! Look at that!" exclaimed he, as after a short and 
 sharp struggle, he threw into the boat a four pound 
 pompano, the most delicately flavored and highly 
 prized of all Gulf fish. Holding it up, he continued 
 elatedly: "Now, isn't that a daisy? or rather isn't it a 
 japonica? You perceive my talk was not so unneces- 
 sary and purposeless after all." 
 
 "Yes, yes, — I acknowledge my error — my rank in- 
 justice," hastily observed Haverwood. "But," turning 
 and looking toward the Gulf, "yonder comes some of 
 the bathers. Do you see those two heads bobbing 
 about in the water just below the other boat? They 
 have swam a considerable distance, and must be tired, 
 I should think." 
 
 "Well, I hope they are wearied enough to stop at 
 the other boat," responded Ernley. "They are not 
 wanted here." After a pause, — "One of them has done 
 so; the other, however, passes by, and comes this 
 way. Who is the wretch, Haverwood? Your eyes are 
 better than mine." 
 
 "I can't tell with certainty; but I think Charley is 
 the man." 
 
 "Neptune forbid! I take back what I said to you in 
 
132 Day in Camp. 
 
 my impatience just now. As a fellow fisherman you 
 are certainly bad — execrable I may say ; yet you are a 
 great improvement on Charley. In my deliberate 
 opinion he is the worst on earth. If that is he, we had 
 just as well pull up, and go back to camp." 
 
 The swimmer drew near; and throwing back his wet 
 locks by a vigorous shake of the head, the bright, 
 laughing face of Charley appeared sure enough. He 
 reached the boat, and drew himself up by his hands, 
 resting his chin between them on its edge, so as to inspect 
 the fish lying in the bottom. He appeared surprised 
 when he saw the pompano. If he was surprised, there 
 was no indication of such feeling in his words. Tumb- 
 ling into the boat, and gathering himself up, he said : 
 "Do you call this fishing? I am addressing myself to 
 you, Ernley! — to you. Haver wood!" — neither of whom 
 had spoken to him or looked at him. "I say, do you 
 call this fishing? Only about a dozen fish ! — not large 
 either, — and one poor pompano! And you have been 
 at it for hours! If I couldn't have done better by my- 
 self in half the time, I would forswear angling. As 
 fishermen you are failures. Take up your rods, — go 
 home, — I discharge you." 
 
 Ernley and Haverwood neither spoke nor moved. 
 Their eyes, and with them every thought and feeling, 
 seemed concentrated and fixed on the little circle of 
 water in which floated their lines. 
 
 "Did you hear me?" 
 
 Still no answer — no motion on the part of the fish- 
 ermen! The black faces of Lankey and his companion 
 took on broad grins; — continuing rapidly to widen, 
 these toothsome smiles broke, after a moment or two, 
 into loud guffaws. 
 
Day in Camp. 
 
 133 
 
 " So ho '" said Charley—" you want to get rid of me, 
 I see I don't wonder at it. Such work as you are 
 doing will not bear the scrutiny of a master. All 
 rieht' I'll leave you. Here comes a log just in time 
 to bear me away. Goodbye!" While speaking the 
 last words, he sprang upon the trunk o a decaying 
 tree, armed with several huge, lance-like branches to 
 one of which he clung, and floated with the rapidly 
 receding tide down the inlet. ^ 
 
 Haverwood and Ernley fished for some time longer, 
 diligently, and in silence. They captured a few more 
 choice fish, but to Ernley's great disgust, not another 
 pompano The former arose from his seat, and said : 
 " Let's go to the camp, Ernley ! I see the other boat 
 is on its way, and close to the landing-place." Here 
 Haverwood^stooped, and gazing intently over the water 
 toward the open sea, exclaimed hurriedly: "Charley 
 and his log must have passed considerably to the right 
 of the bathing party. He is drifting out into the Gulf, 
 and is a mere speck in the distance." ,., , 
 
 '' What !" exclaimed Ernley, springing to his leet- 
 "Charley is guilty of a great many strange and unwise 
 freaks • but that is an action rather too singular and 
 foolish even for him. Something must be wrong. My 
 God 1 what can it be ?-The daring, headstrong, ungov- 
 ernable child! Take to your oars, boys," he shouted 
 excitedly to Lankey and Ned,-" Take to your oars, 
 and lay the boat alongside of him in a minute,-m 
 a minute!" he repeated with clenched hands and 
 
 blanched face. . , 
 
 But it was evident that many-many minutes would 
 be required to make the run. And to Charley in the 
 meantime — what ? 
 
134 Bay in Camp. 
 
 The trim little boat, under the management of the 
 two trained and powerful Africans, swung around from 
 the bank, like a thing of life, and heading down the 
 inlet, shot, almost with the speed of a ball from a rifle, 
 over the smooth surface of the water. It flew past the 
 other boat, which had reached the landing, — Crofton 
 and Prince standing motionless, evidently startled, and 
 watching the race with interest and surprise. It dashed 
 by the long reach of sand, upon which the bathers 
 were crowded together, who no doubt having seen 
 Charley, as he passed in the distance, had some idea 
 of the meaning of the desperate chase, although they 
 may not have altogether appreciated the necessity for 
 it, — Wenker even then not being so far from the shore, 
 as to make an attempt to reach it, by swimming, a haz- 
 ardous feat for one so expert in that art, as he was 
 known to be. And now the boat is rushing with undi- 
 minished swiftness over the waters of the Gulf. On 
 board not a word up to this time had been spoken. 
 Ernley had placed himself in the prow, and had uncon- 
 sciously taken up the hatchet, which Haver wood had 
 thrown there, and, tightly grasping it, knelt, with body 
 bent and eyes fixed upon Charley. Haverwood was 
 close to him. They were near enough now to see 
 Wenker distinctly. He was in a crouching position on 
 the log ; and more than once, by the violent movements 
 of his body and arms, he seemed to be engaged in a 
 fierce struggle with some unseen foe. 
 
 "Pull, boys! Pull for your lives ! Something be- 
 side the tide has been moving that log. Pull, for God's 
 sake, pull !" shouted Ernley, his eyes wet, and his lips 
 trembling. 
 
 The boat fairly leaped forward at every quick stroke 
 
Day in Camp. 135 
 
 of tlie oars, winch, at the same time in the grasp of 
 the stalwart negroes, sprung and quivered like reeds. 
 Closer and closer it came to the struggling and writh- 
 ing Charley,— who had looked up once, and hailed it, — 
 faintly, and yet with a touch of the ringing music of 
 the old rollicking voice. 
 
 " See," said Haverwood, " those dark bands about his 
 legs and body." 
 
 " Yes," answered Ernley, catching his breath, and 
 speaking scarcely above a whisper, "he is in the 
 clutches of a devil-fish." 
 
 With a well directed blow of the hatchet, as the boat 
 touched the log, one of the tentacles of the monster 
 was severed, the slimy leathery end of which was 
 caught by Lankey, and tossed into the boat. The 
 hatchet was left buried in the wood of the limb, around 
 which and the leg of Charley the antenna was en- 
 twined. As the octopus let go his hold, and dropped 
 to the bottom of the Gulf, the log whirled sharply 
 around, nearly upsetting the boat, into which, at the 
 same moment, Haverwood and Ernley drew the well- 
 nigh exhausted Charley. 
 
 After a long pause, as the boat was rowed to the 
 shore,— the minds and hearts of the little party being 
 full to overflowing with shudders and thankfulness,— 
 Ernley, with an emotion, which lightness of tone and 
 words were powerless to hide, for tears were in his 
 eyes and on his cheeks, said: "Charley, old fellow, 
 don't do that any more ! Hardheadedness is your dis- 
 tinguishing characteristic. It has thrown you into the 
 grasp of one devil,— you were barely saved. Get rid 
 of it ; or it will eventually throw you into the grasp of 
 the other, from which there is no salvation. Take 
 
136 Day in Camp. 
 
 these words to your heart, my boy, — take them to your 
 heart!" Growing somewhat calmer, Ernley after 
 awhile picked up the fragment of the tentacle secured 
 by Lankey, and remarked : " I have seen several large 
 devil-fish, — one that measured full twenty feet from tip 
 to tip of its fin-like wings, or wing-like fins, but none 
 of its antennae were as thick, and consequently as long, 
 as the one from which this was cut. Your devil must 
 have been a monster, indeed, Charley !" 
 
 A SOUTHERN STORM. 
 
 The afternoon of the day that witnessed Charley's 
 dangerous adventure, was widely different from the 
 cool and bracing morning. It set in hot and sultry. 
 And the heat and sultriness increased as the day wore 
 on. The atmosphere was thick and hazy, as well as 
 stagnant and burning ; and the sun, when it could be 
 seen, looked like a vast globular mass of blood, in a sky 
 that presented a strange and ominous appearance. 
 None of the usual pastimes, or pleasure-seeking labors, 
 were engaged in by any of tlie party in the camp. 
 Every one, as lightly robed as decency would allow, 
 was either lying upon the grass in the deepest shade 
 of the woods close by, or was uneasily moving about 
 in the apparently fruitless effort to find a comfortable 
 spot. Even towards the end of the afternoon, there 
 was no change for the better; on the contrary, in the 
 darkness, which gradually settled down upon the earth, 
 like a sort of gray twiliglit, the more weird and un- 
 natural because the red sun could still be faintly seen 
 above the horizon, the heat and sultriness had become 
 so great to every one whether in the woods or wander- 
 ing about the tents, as to be well-nigh intollerable. 
 
Day in Camp. 137 
 
 The minutes in their sluggish passage, seemed 
 lengthened into hours. Still not a whisper of a com- 
 ing breeze ! — still not a quivering leaf on the surround- 
 ing trees, nor a ripple upon the sombre face of the 
 Gulf! — still thick, heavy and fiery remained the move- 
 less air ! The birds had sought their secret coverts ; 
 the cattle had gone into the closest recesses of the 
 glen; and the insects were housed and hushed. Neither 
 above nor below was there a sound, as the dim sun 
 finally sank into a crimson-dyed, murderous-looking 
 cloudbank resting upon the western waters. The lips 
 of all the party, — even those of the almost irrepressible 
 Charley, — were closed and silent, as they, having come 
 together on the high ground near the tents, gazed 
 anxiously at that setting. 
 
 "Boys!" — The painful spell was broken at the sound 
 of that cool and unimpassioned voice, — "boys !" slowly 
 said Ernley, deliberately scanning the heavens, — "we 
 are going to have a storm. Look at that cloud!" — 
 continued he, pointing over the water. " See how 
 rapidly it swells and darkens, and how its advance- 
 guard of vapor rolls and tosses!" 
 
 "You are right," said Prince, "and we ought to be 
 up and doing. We have no time to spare. It will 
 take our best to prepare for its coming. And here, 
 Ernley, is the first shot from that 'advanced guard' of 
 yours, as a puff of wind, the first that had been felt 
 during the afternoon, lifted his hat from his head, and 
 whirled it away among the bushes. 
 
 All went immediately to work — adjusting the can- 
 vass, tightening the ropes, and driving more securely 
 in the ground the pins of the tents ; packing away 
 
 clothes, bedding, and other articles of domestic use ; 
 10 
 
138 Day in Camp. 
 
 closing up boxes ; and locking chests and trunks. 
 While they were thus engaged, clouds had over-spread 
 the sky, and were dashing against each other in fierce 
 and angry confusion. The wind too had risen, and 
 was blowing in heavy, fitful gusts, — swaying the pine- 
 tops to and fro, and drawing from them their pecu- 
 liarly mournful and dreary monotone. The party 
 waited in breathless suspense for what was to follow, 
 as the gale commenced to blow more steadily, and 
 stronger and yet stronger, while the evening grew 
 darker and yet darker. 
 
 " What do you think of the prospect, Lankey ? " 
 asked Ernley, as the negroes like a flock of sheep, 
 came crowding up to the camp from the cooking 
 ground. 
 
 " It's bad, sar, mighty bad. Ev'ry one uv you, Mars. 
 Ernley, ought to be a cryin' an' a wailin', an' a prayin'." 
 And then giving expression to the ready belief of the 
 negro in the immediate end of all things, when he is 
 alarmed by unusual appearances in the heavens, he 
 continued : " I believe the day uv judgment's come at 
 las'. — We's a lost an' ruined people — that's what we 
 is." 
 
 "You don't know that we are not praying, Lankey," 
 said Charley — "Crying and wailing can't help us." 
 
 " Well, you 'pear to take it all monstrous easy any 
 how. You don't seem to 'preciate de orful situation." 
 
 " We are in rather an exposed ' situation ' to meet a 
 storm, — we 'appreciate' that," observed Prince, while 
 he and several others were clustered around the differ- 
 ent tents in an effort to hold the fluttering structures to 
 their positions. 
 
 "That is so," replied Judge Crofton grasping the 
 
Day in Camp. 139 
 
 pole of a tent, " but perhaps we are better off than we 
 would be in a house." 
 
 " Where is Haverwood ? " asked McTarney seizing 
 another tent pole. 
 
 " Here," was the reply from the outermost tent, — 
 " here, trying, as you are doing, to keep a prancing 
 habitation from running away. 
 
 " And Briarsley ? " 
 
 " Helping Haverwood." 
 
 " Hold fast, boys ! " exclaimed Judge Crofton as a 
 blast came madly tearing up the beach, and almost 
 capsized the tents in its furious passage. 
 
 "A blow just a little stronger than that," slowly 
 drawled out old Maltman, "and away goes all our 
 shelters." 
 
 "These blows," said Ernley calmly, "are nothing 
 compared with what is coming. You had just as well 
 let the tents alone. They are bound to go ; and it will 
 be a mercy if we don't go with them." 
 
 The howling of the wind soon became fearful, — fol- 
 lowed now and then by a sudden hush, which was more 
 fearful still. Hitherto, however, it had blown straightly 
 and directly from the southwest. But now quick undu- 
 lations, sweeping gyrations, and abrupt choppings,in its 
 frantic course, could be observed. Suddenly the whole 
 face of the Gulf was lit up by a red electric glare, and 
 a heavy rumbling noise, like that of an earthquake, 
 was heard far over the waters. Looking in that direc- 
 tion, the party in camp saw the waves furiously dashing 
 and leaping before the fiery breath of the approaching 
 tempest. 
 
 "Down — down ! every one of you to a bush," shouted 
 Haverwood. 
 
140 Day in Camp. 
 
 "Yes," exclaimed Maltman, seizing a shrub, aud flat- 
 tening himself upon the ground, "and with your heads 
 to the wind." 
 
 Closer and closer came the bounding and surging 
 mass of lurid cloud imprisoned in the whirling wind, — 
 closer and closer, it came, with all the appearance and 
 spirit of a raging demon ! — redder and redder gleamed 
 its monstrous front!— louder and louder sounded its 
 mighty voice ! — and, with a power, that dashed every 
 obstacle, as the merest chaff, from its pathway, and a 
 roar that would have drowned the thunderous explo- 
 sion of a hundred pieces of the heaviest artillery, it 
 passed. Away — away ! — through the crackling forest, 
 it sped, — its mighty tones growing fainter and fainter, 
 as it receded upon its far-reaching mission of destruc- 
 tion. The vapors of the firmament around were rolled 
 together like a scroll, by the terrific force of its passage, 
 and vanished leaving not a rack behind. In a few min- 
 utes the air was as pure and bright, and the stars were 
 looking as serenely down, from as peaceful a sky, as if 
 there were no suiBfering or death in the world. 
 
 The tents had disappeared ; such goods as had not 
 been packed away in trunks or boxes, were scattered 
 far and wide ; and the ground was covered with torn 
 and broken branches of trees. But none of the party 
 had been wrenched from their fastenings nor injured 
 by the falling timber. Lankey and two of the other 
 negroes soon approached with blazing torches. 
 
 " We were only in the edge of the storm," said Ern- 
 ley. " It Tpassed just north of us. Thank God for 
 that:!" 
 
 "Yes," said Haverwood looking upward, in which 
 reverential action he was followed by all, " like the old 
 
Day in Camp. 141 
 
 man of the mountain, whom Briarsley told us of the 
 other night, we have cause to thank God from the bot- 
 tom of our hearts." 
 
 " Now," said Charley, after a long and impressive 
 pause, and looking rather ruefully at the place where 
 the tents had lately stood, " to come back to the present 
 and future from the past, I must say it is a good thing 
 for us, that the storm put off its disastrous visit, until 
 the last day of our proposed stay here ; and it will be 
 another good thing for us, if the storm missed the 
 schooner." 
 
 "Oh," replied Ernley confidently, "the schooner is 
 all right. The storm came across the Gulf, and its 
 pathway was evidently narrow. It never touched the 
 Bay, nor, indeed, any part of the coast between here 
 and Mobile. We'll have a resting-place before 12 o'clock. 
 Gulpen will get here on time, without some accident 
 happens to him that we know nothing about." 
 
 As Ernley had said, the schooner did come in before 
 midnight ; and in less than an hour after its arrival all 
 their baggage, — the wreck of the tents, etc., Gulpen 
 engaged to have gathered up, if to be found, early the 
 next morning, — was stored aboard, and they, snugly 
 tucked away in the cabin of the schooner, were fast 
 asleep, and perchance dreaming of wives and sweet- 
 hearts. 
 
PAKT VI.— THE RETUEN. 
 
 SiSSALINE GlENTHORNE — ThE CONFEDERATE SoLDIER'S 
 
 Farewell — Southern Cavaliers — Southern Men, 
 Their Wives and Daughters — Bright Mobile. 
 
 Love took the harp of Life, and smote on its chords with might, 
 Smote the chord of Self, that trembling, passed in music out of 
 sight. — Tennyson. 
 
 Land of the South — imperial land! — Meek. 
 
 The party, whom the reader accompanied to their 
 couches on board the schooner, rested well. Their 
 sleep, after the agitations of the previous evening, was 
 so refreshingly deep that it could not be broken by 
 even the songs and shouts of Lankey and the other 
 negroes, as the little vessel, just at sunrise, started for 
 Mobile. 
 
 It was near mid-day before the last of them made 
 their appearance on deck. The schooner then was 
 about entering the mouth of the bay, and was gliding 
 along smoothly and easily before a light breeze from 
 the Gulf. The day, like that which had witnessed 
 their departure from the city ten days before, was 
 bright and pleasant — indeed, the air was unusually 
 cool and bracing for the season, all of which was, no 
 doubt, owing to the late storm. They amused them- 
 selves in various ways as the vessel sped noiselessly 
 on its course — some sauntering idly about the deck — 
 others gathered in small groups, laughing and talking 
 over the incidents of the excursion. 
 
 It was not until late in the afernoon that the whole 
 
The Eeturn. • 143 
 
 party became seated together around a table with wine 
 and glasses, in the "forefront" of the vessel, to use one 
 of Charley's words. They were at the time perhaps 
 ten or twelve miles below Mobile. 
 
 " You all saw Gulpen, when he first reached us last 
 night, hand me a letter," said Judge Crofton. "Here 
 it is ! " — holding up a paper — " I may, perhaps, read it 
 after awhile. This letter has given me the conclusion 
 of a romantic bit of history, which I propose to 
 recount to you ; — it will serve to pass the time that 
 just now can't be more profitably employed. A young 
 man, the son of an old friend, figures in it as one of 
 the chief actors. There is a pretty girl in it, too. — I 
 shall call it, after her, 
 
 "SISSALINE GLENTHORNE. 
 
 "Most of you know Walter Cheverley, who was so 
 frequently about Mobile a few years ago, — 'Pretty 
 Cheverley,' as he was called by the girls of that city. 
 Most of you know, also, that he was as generous, 
 impulsive, volatile, and thoughtless, as he was hand- 
 some. But none of you, perhaps, knew that, under all 
 this lightness and frivolity, was a firm stratum of 
 genuine manhood. When he was not in Mobile, some 
 of you will recollect, that he was generally, Alfieri-like, 
 flying about the country, in search of gayety, or what 
 he]denominated 'life.' With a superfluity of money at 
 his disposal, and a fund of animal spirits apparently 
 inexhaustible, which, with his'flne person, kindly 
 disposition, and pleasing manners, made him univers- 
 ally popular with his youthful associates, it may be 
 that this dashing and roving habit of Walter Cheverley 
 did not strike any of you with astonishment ; but I, 
 
144 • The^Eeturn. 
 
 who happened to know his family and ^situation well, 
 — I, who knew that he was neglecting the most im- 
 portant home duties, and was leaving the burden of 
 managing the large and varied property left by his 
 father, upon his mother — a pale, delicate and fragile 
 woman, residing almost alone on the plantation just 
 below Choctaw Bluff, on the Alabama River, — was 
 both grieved and shocked at his course. A friend of 
 the family of long standing, I often remonstrated with 
 him about it. 
 
 "Some of you have, no doubt, observed that Walter 
 has seldom been to Mobile, during the last two years. 
 Thereby hangs a tale. A change has come over the 
 spirit of his dream, or, of his thoughts and feelings 
 rather, as wonderful in its beginning as beneficial in 
 its results. 1 was in the neighborhood of the Bluff, a 
 few weeks ago, and learned from Walter Cheverley 
 and others all the facts with regard to it. These, you 
 will discover, from a plain and simple recital, have 
 many of the elements of the wildest and moat romantic 
 fiction. 
 
 "It appears that, during one of Walter's brilliant 
 and dashing forays into the fashionable follydom of 
 divers cities. North and South, his mother sold a small 
 place, about a mile below the home plantation, to a 
 lady — the widow of a Confederate officer killed at the 
 battle of Seven Pines. Mrs. Glenthorne, the purchaser 
 referred to, was a magnificent specimen, I should say 
 here, of able-bodied womanhood, — tall in stature, 
 erect and graceful in bearing, and, although a little 
 past middle age, and somewhat too masculine in 
 appearance, was remarkably handsome. She was the 
 mother ^of one son, a youth of about fifteen, and two 
 
The Keturn. 145 
 
 daughters, — the eldest, scarcely twenty, was named 
 Aline, but called by the family 'Sissaline.' The cot- 
 tage on the place, at the time of the purchase old and 
 delapidated, was repaired, and, under the deft and 
 busy fingers of the women, soon became a gem of 
 neatness and beauty set in a circlet of charming ever- 
 greens and flowers. Not only about the house, but 
 everything about the little farm, gave speedy evidence 
 of thrift, taste, and good management. And yet all 
 the work was done by the mother and the three 
 children, assisted by a single horse. In cultivating 
 the farm, the boy plowed, while the mother and her 
 daughters followed with the hoes. The girls, w^hen in 
 the field, — the mother was not so particular, — pre- 
 served the purity of their complexions and the softness 
 and shapeliness of their hands, by protecting the one 
 with huge 'sunbonnets,' within which were fastened 
 masks, and the other, with heavy gloves of woolen cloth, 
 reaching to the elbows. Both of them, indeed, had 
 hands and complexions worthy of such care, especially, 
 I should say, Sissaline, as she is the only one with 
 whom this history has anything to do. 
 
 "I must pause here," continued Judge Crofton, 
 "to say a few words about the appearance of this girl ; 
 — I have her before me now, as she looked, when I first 
 saw her surrounded by the other members of this in- 
 teresting family. I, however, am not good at describing 
 women, — so you must all be satisfied with a few gen- 
 eral remarks now in that behalf. Indeed, no description 
 that any one might give, could do her justice. I have 
 already outlined the person of her mother. The 
 daughter in this respect was very much like her though 
 smaller. The resemblance between them could be 
 
146 The Eetubn. 
 
 traced further. They had the same classically and 
 clearly cut features ; the same fearless expression ; the 
 same spirited bearing ; the same free and elastic step. 
 About the latter, however, was all the freshness and 
 softness and roundness of youthful bloom and beauty. 
 In short, the one was magnificent, and the other 
 perfect. 
 
 Walter had not been at home long, when, in saun- 
 tering idly through one of the green and shady lanes 
 in the neighborhood, he chanced to meet Sissaline 
 Glenthorne and her brother. She had been gathering 
 wild flowers, a large bunch of which was in her right 
 hand, while her left was gracefully swinging by its blue 
 ribbons a wide-brimmed straw hat at her side. The 
 color of her fair, proud face was heightened by exer- 
 cise, and perhaps by the unexpectedness of her meet- 
 ing with the young man, — to whom she appeared as 
 glorious as a brilliant sun-burst through the clouds of 
 an April sky. — He raised his hat. — With a little nod, 
 and one flash of her dazzling eyes, she swept by him, 
 with the grace of a bird, and the dignity of a queen, 
 and was gone. He stood transfixed to the spot, va- 
 cantly and stupidly staring at the bushes, through 
 which she had disappeared. Ardent and impetuous, 
 in an instant he felt that he had met his fate. He 
 tumbled at once, as he forcibly expressed it himself, 
 blindly and headlong into the deepest vortex of love. 
 He hurried home, and seeking his mother, told her 
 what he had seen. 
 
 " 'I have no doubt the girl you met was Sissaline 
 Glenthorne. There are two of the Glenthorne girls, 
 but she is the elder and handsomer.' His mother spoke 
 
The Eeturn. 147 
 
 in her usually soft and even tones, without raising her 
 eyes from her needle-work. 
 
 "'Have they ever been here?' asked Walter 
 abruptly. — 'Have you been to see them and their 
 mother?' 
 
 " 'Of course I have called on them, you foolish boy. 
 Do you suppose I would have allowed all these weeks 
 and months to pass, without the performance of that 
 neighborly courtesy and duty. And they have been 
 here several times. While hard-working, they are very 
 pleasant and refined people, and have, I dare say, 
 known better days. I like them exceedingly.' 
 
 "Walter, in the tumult of his spirits, could hardly 
 understand how his mother could speak of them so 
 calmly and prosaically. At any rate, he thought she 
 ought to have gone into raptures over SissaliDe, if that 
 girl was, in truth, the one whom he had encountered 
 in the lane. He, however, said nothing more to her 
 then on the subject, nor indeed for some time after- 
 wards. In the meanwhile he daily haunted the lanes 
 and by-paths in the vicinity of Mrs. Glenthorne's cot- 
 tage, with the hope of again meeting the fair unknown, 
 but without success. 
 
 " 'Mother,' said he one Saturday afternoon, when he 
 had returned from a profitless walk over the haunted 
 ground, 'don't you think you ought to call again on 
 Mrs. Glenthorne? You have not done so since I came 
 home. What do you say to going over this afternoon, 
 and taking me with you? They are near neighbors,' 
 he continued with elaborate indifference, 'and I ought 
 to know them.' 
 
 " 'I will call if you wish,' answered she, looking at 
 
148 The Eeturn. 
 
 him curiously, and with a faint smile. 'I shall be glad 
 to have you go with me of course.' 
 
 After that visit, and his pleasant introduction to the 
 family, which included a long talk with Sissaline, who, 
 he discovered, was indeed the beautiful flower-girl of 
 the lane, Walter Cheverley could have been seen in 
 Mrs. Glenthorne's small sitting-room almost every 
 night. He was not allowed to call during the day, — 
 the girls telling him frankly, yet laughingly, that they 
 had work to do, and while so engaged they wanted 
 none of his company. And so the days and months 
 rolled on for Walter Cheverley, — he, in the meantime, 
 being the self-satisfied inhabitant of an elysium of his 
 own creation. Whether that elysium would last, or 
 dissolve like the baseless fabric of a vision, depended, 
 of course, upon Sissaline Glenthorne. Of making it 
 permanent, by winning and wearing her, he, however, 
 had but little doubt. Like most impulsive young men, 
 he had plenty of hopefulness, and like them, when 
 possessed of great worldly advantages, he had plenty 
 of vanity. From these, joined with the thought of her 
 being certainly anxious to escape from the drudgery of 
 field-work, sprang his only assurances of success, — for 
 Sissaline, while she did not shun, never showed any 
 marked predilection for his societv. Indeed in her 
 intercourse with him, she was generally cold and dis- 
 tant, sometimes shy, and only at rare moments cor- 
 dial — never confidential. 
 
 '* One evening they were walking in the shadow of 
 the great trees, which fringed the river not far from 
 Mrs. Glenthorne's home. The sun was low, and its 
 horizontal beams made their way under the heavy 
 boughs, hanging wreaths of rosy light upon the moss- 
 
The Keturn. 149 
 
 covered trunks, and scattering them on the grass, which 
 here clothed the elevated bank. Walter, as they 
 paused at the foot of a gigantic beech, placed himself 
 in front of Sissaline, and all at once, rapidly and im- 
 pulsively told her of his great love. Under the influ- 
 ence of his feelings, he told the old, old tale, which is 
 ever new, so forcibly and earnestly, that at times it was 
 marked by a sort of unstudied and touching eloquence. 
 He told her how he had loved her from the moment he 
 had first seen her in the green lane gathering wild 
 flowers, — how that love had increased, as he became 
 acquainted with her many excellences of heart and 
 mind, — and how, with his mother's approbation, who 
 was anxious to call her daughter, he now made his feel- 
 ings known to her, and besought her consent to become 
 his wife. He concluded with the words, passionately 
 uttered : — 'You have in your keeping my future upon 
 earth. You can make it or mar it at will. Permit me 
 to hope that you will deal with it gently — deal with it, 
 as I wish and beg !' 
 
 " She remained motionless, while he was speaking, 
 with her head drooped, and her eyes fixed upon the 
 green turf at her feet. She was very pale. When he 
 had finished, she slowly raised her head, and looking 
 him steadily in the face, replied in tones cold and dis- 
 tinct, that his suit was hopeless. ' No,' continued she, 
 I cannot accept your love — I can never marry you, 
 Mr. Cheverley." 
 
 "Walter was thunderstruck. At first the thought 
 flashed through his mind — a thought which he quickly 
 felt to be unmanly, almost blasphemous, and he deter- 
 mined to punch his head, at the earliest convenient 
 opportunity, for granting it admission — that she had 
 
150 The Eeturn. 
 
 lost her senses ; as nothing short of mental obliquity, 
 it for the moment seemed to him, could lead one situ- 
 ated as she was to reject him — him ! Walter Chev- 
 erley, Esquire. I say, his better nature rose in re- 
 bellion at this idea, and crushed it out, as something 
 little short of sacrilege — something at any rate dishon- 
 oring both to her and to him. And besides, he readily 
 saw there was no flightiness, but plenty of determina- 
 tion in the steady light of the two eyes looking fixedly 
 into his own. He turned suddenly, and strode rapidly 
 and excitedly to the verge of the bank overhanging the 
 waters of the Alabama, and then back to his former 
 position in front of her. She had not moved. 
 
 " ' Will you tell me,' asked he abruptly and in an 
 agitated voice, 'Sissaline ? — ' 
 
 " ' Miss Glenthorne if you please,' said she haught- 
 
 iiy- 
 
 " 'Will you tell me. Miss Glenthorne, why you have 
 rejected me ?' 
 
 " ' Because I do not love you," returned she in alow, 
 but decided tone of voice. 
 
 " 'Your ungracious tone and manner,' said he, after 
 a pause, in which he had drawn up his fine person to 
 its full height, and regarded her with some degree of 
 composure, though the lower part of his handsome 
 face was scill pale, and there were traces of an angry 
 flush still upon his brow, — ' your ungracious tone and 
 manner, as well as words, indicate that you are actu- 
 ated in the rejection of my addresses by something 
 more than a mere want of love. Will you kindl}^ in- 
 form me, if I am right in my supposition ; and if so, 
 what it is?' 
 
 " 'While I do not acknowledge your right to ques- 
 
The Eetubn. 151 
 
 tion me after what I have said, yet I will answer that 
 your suspicions are correct, — there is the something 
 to which you refer. And in order to end this distress- 
 ing matter at once and forever, I will say further, that 
 were I really in love with you — and such a thing is not 
 possible — I would not marry you, Mr. Cheverley. In- 
 deed, I could not marry a man who is a mere drone in 
 the world — whose existence is purposeless — in a word, 
 whose life is no gain to humanity, and whose death 
 would be no loss.' Grandly beautiful she appeared to 
 Walter Cheverley, while uttering these crushing words. 
 " He made no reply. Indeed, nothing more was said. 
 Slowly they walked towards her home . He bade her 
 adieu at the gate. Sad and humiliated, he went imme- 
 diately to his mother, and told her all. From her he 
 obtained that which he sorely needed, — the warmest 
 of sympathy and the best of counsel. The decided 
 words of the girl, followed by the gentle, loving ones 
 of the mother, opened Walter's eyes to his short- 
 comings. He formed a great resolution that night, not 
 for the purpose of winning Sissaliue Glenthorne, it 
 should in justice to him be it said, for she had told 
 him that she did not, and never could love him, but 
 because her words, as before intimated, had pointed 
 out to him the long neglected path of his duties, as it 
 had never been done before. He entered upon the work 
 the next morning. The management of the extensive 
 property he took at once in his own hands. For nearly 
 two years he never left home, except to call when 
 necessary upon his merchants and bankers at Mobile. 
 He attended strictly and closely to his business. Pro- 
 jecting and superintending many great improvements 
 upon the estate, he was ever ready to put his own 
 
152 The Ketukn. 
 
 shoulder to the wheel, whenever the nature of the 
 work, or the obstacles to be overcome, demanded it. 
 The increased value of the property; the gratification 
 of his mother ; the blessings of the tenantry, and the 
 other laborers on the place ; and above all, the con- 
 sciousness of duty well discharged, furnished ample 
 compensation for all the vexation and weariness of his 
 labors. 
 
 "During this time, ho seldom saw Sissaline Glen- 
 thorne. It was only by chance that he met her at all, 
 as he called no more at her home ; and she, of course, 
 never visited Mrs. Oheverley. At these accidental meet- 
 ings, she seemed shyer and colder if possible, than 
 before the memorable interview under the beech on 
 the side of the river. He had every reason to believe 
 therefore, that her unfavorable impressions with 
 regard to himself had undergone no change, at least 
 for the better, — nor, it may be added, did he seem to 
 care. Even his mother, noting his freedom from 
 despondency, and his devotion to business, supposed 
 that he had entirely overcome the old love. 
 
 "About a month ago," continued Judge Crofton, 
 after a short pause, "Sissaline Glenthorne left her home 
 to walk to tlie house of a neighbor. The distance was 
 scarcely a mile ; and the road, with one exception, — 
 where ifc crossed a small stream, — was open, — leading, 
 as it did, between cultivated fields. The morning was 
 bright and pleasant, and, as she moved rapidly along, 
 with a firm aud active step, the birds were singing 
 around her, to whose notes she responded in a ' voice- 
 music,' equally as wild and sweet. She passed the 
 bridge over the stream before mentioned, and started 
 across the small piece of bottom-land beyond, 
 
The Ketuen. jg3 
 
 shadowed by large trees, whose branches nearly met 
 overhead. Between their trunks on either hand was a 
 network of creepers and vines. 
 
 "Her singing suddenly ceased, and the rose of 
 health, which exercise had deepened upon her lovelv 
 cheeks, instantly faded, when a powerful negro-man 
 sprang from the bushes at the roadside, and confronted 
 her. She knew him to be Black Jim.— He had been 
 pointed out to her by a neighbor, on .some previous 
 occasion, as a most desperate character, living upon a 
 plantation several miles below on the river. And ther^ 
 he stood before her, upon that lonely road !-in that 
 secluded spot! As these facts darted through her 
 mind and she detected an expression of exultation in 
 his black and villainous countenance, she realized the 
 full peril of her situation, and could scarcely keep from 
 sinking to the ground. By a great eifort, she held her- 
 self firmly erect, and fixed upon him her flashing 
 eyes. Beast-like he was held by them spell-bound 
 and motionless. Drawing from her pocket a small 
 pistol, she leveled it at his breast ; and with an im- 
 perious wave of the other hand, and a clear, rin^in.. 
 voice, she bade him stand aside, and let her pass "as 
 he shifted his glance from her face to the pistol, the 
 spell was broken; and after the manner of an African 
 when preparing for a desperate rush, he closed his' 
 eyes, and dropped his head. In an instant he bounded 
 torward, receiving apparently without injury the leaden 
 contents of the little pistol, which he wrenched from 
 the fingers of the heroic girl, with one hand, while 
 with the other, he lifted her from the ground, and 
 turning, dashed into the thicket of undergrowth, from 
 which he had just emerged. The whole was the work 
 
154 The Eeturn. 
 
 of but a few moments. She bad only time to utter one 
 shriek, shrill and agonizing, when the negro grasped 
 her tightly by the throat. 
 
 "But help was near. Walter Cheverley, from a by- 
 path had seen Sissaline pass, and, turning into the 
 same road, had followed her. He was on the bridge, 
 but not in sight of her, when the report of the pistol 
 reached him, succeeded by the scream. Desperate 
 fear on her account gave wings to his feet. He was 
 almost at the spot, before Black Jim had disappeared 
 in the bushes. In a moment more he was upon him. 
 So furious was his onset, under the influence of excite- 
 ment and passion, that the gigantic negro had to 
 release the girl, and catch by a tree to save himself 
 from being borne to the ground. Then he turned, and 
 grappled with his assailant. Walter was unarmed; 
 and the odds were against him, as Black Jim was a 
 man of tremendous power. The struggle for a time 
 was desperate. Finally the negro got his iron grasp 
 upon Walter's throat, and by his great size and strength, 
 crushed him down. Planting his knee upon the breast, 
 and savagely tightening his grasp upon the throat 
 of the young man, he would speedily have ended the 
 struggle in the death of the latter, had it not been for 
 Sissaline. When she was caught up by the negro, she 
 did not faint, nor, for a moment during the horrors 
 that followed, did she lose her presence of mind. As 
 Black Jim stooped over his intended victim, she seized 
 a large stone lying by, which, under ordinary circum- 
 stances, she could scarcely have lifted, and holding it 
 poised above her with both hands, she discharged it 
 with no little force upon the back of his head. The 
 stroke was quickly repeated, for she held on to the 
 
The Ketubn. X55 
 
 stone; and the negro releasirg Lis LoJd upon Walter 
 staggered to his feet. Dazed and reeling, he struck 
 out blindly with his immense arms. Before, however 
 he had recovered from the stunning effects of the 
 blows, Sissaline heard the ring of horses' feet upon the 
 bridge, and in a few moments the sound of voices In 
 answer to her call for help, two sturdy young farmers 
 of the neighborhood, forced their horses through the 
 undergrowth to the spot, where she stood confronting- 
 the desperate negro. Taking in the situation at a 
 glance, they sprang from their horses; and before 
 Black Jim could well open his heavy eyes, they had 
 his arms securely pinioned behind his back with a 
 bridle-rein. It was not until then that the spirited 
 and beautiful girl lost control of herself.— Walter had 
 partially recovered.-He was sitting up, but had not 
 yet spoken.— Looking with intense pain upon his still 
 hvid face, and throwing her hand with a quick nervous 
 motion to her own throat, which bore the marks made 
 by the negro's brutal hand, when he was bearing her 
 from the road, she exclaimed,-at the same time stamp- 
 ing her small foot violently upon the ground, to give 
 emphasis to the words so expressive of outraged feel- 
 ing : 'Away with him— away with him ! Put him to 
 death-put him to death! Do not suffer such a 
 monster to cumber the earth for another hour.' Plac- 
 ing her hands before her face, she burst into such a 
 storm of tears, that they streamed between her deli- 
 cate fingers, and dropped upon her bosom. The par- 
 oxysm was as short as it was violent. When Walter 
 was able to walk, she offered him the support of her 
 arm; and the party having regained the highway, sep- 
 arated. Walter and Sissaline walked back towards 
 
156 The Eetukn. 
 
 her Lome. The two yonng men with the negro went 
 in the opposite direction. Black Jim was never seen 
 after that day. The young men said, that they lost 
 him in the woods. 
 
 "My story is about ended." — Judge Crofton here 
 took out his watch and laid it on the table before 
 him, — he also opened the letter previously referred to. 
 " My story," he repeated " is about ended. This letter 
 is from Walter Cheverley. It was written to inform 
 me that at 3 o'clock on the afternoon of the 10th day 
 of this month, in time to take the steamer of that even- 
 ing for Mobile, he would marry the girl whom he had 
 so long loved, and who had first made his life useful, 
 and then preserved it. To-day is the 10th." — Taking 
 up his watch, he added: " It is now 4 o'clock. Walter 
 Cheverley and Sissaline Glenthorne have no doubt 
 been husband and wife for one hour. Let us drink, 
 boys, to the health and happiness of This girl of the 
 South !" 
 
 "Now, Judge," said Charley, "I shall ask one more 
 favor of you ; and that is, for you to recite to us your 
 last poem. I am free to say, I have never seen it ; — 
 Crumlyn and Briarsley have repeated parts of it to me, 
 and these parts recalled so many old and familiar scenes, 
 that I want to hear it all, and hear it from your lips." 
 
 Judge Crofton interposed an objection to Charley's 
 proposition. He said he was tired, and that some one 
 else must do the entertaining. Charley, however, per- 
 sisting, and being joined by all the others in the 
 request, Judge Crofton, who never refused to comply 
 
The Ketuen. ' 157 
 
 with any reasonable demand on the part of his friends, 
 after a pause, recited 
 
 *' The Confederate Soldier's Farewell. 
 
 " We are going, mothers, going— 
 We are going, sisters, wives ! 
 
 We are giving up the brightness, 
 And the sweetness of our lives ; 
 
 But our hearts are stout and faithful, 
 For the war to which w^e move, 
 
 Is a war for Southern freedom- 
 Is a war for all we love. 
 
 Not a tear must fall at parting ; 
 Smiles alone be sought and won ; 
 
 Let us only think of meeting, 
 When the war's sad work is done,— 
 
 When with honors thick and shining, 
 We return to love and you ; 
 
 We are going— we are going- 
 Home and friends awhile adieu ! 
 
 " We are marching— we are marching- 
 Prompt to meet the coming foe ; 
 
 With a tramp like muffled drum beats, 
 'Neath the changing skies we go. 
 
 Came the order, short and sudden,— 
 * Forward,' was the stern command ; 
 
 And we filed from peaceful bivouac, 
 In a strong and length'ning band,— 
 
 Through the shadows of the woodland, 
 Over splintered mountains steep ; 
 
 Through the croaking marsh and thicket, 
 Over rivers broad and deep ; 
 
 Now we join the army's vanguard,— 
 And our thoughts are still of you ; 
 
 We are marching,— we are marching,— 
 Home and friends awhile adieu ! 
 
158 The Betukn. 
 
 3. 
 
 " We are fighting, — we are fighting, — 
 
 Onward, to the cannons' roar; 
 Taking part in deeds of prowess, 
 
 That shall live forever more. 
 Oh, the bullets shrilly whisper! 
 
 Oh, the screaming shot and shell ! 
 Speaking less of death than honor, 
 
 Make the soul with daring swell. 
 * Steady !' — still the cry is * steady !' 
 
 And along a bloody track, 
 At the sword-point, sharp and dripping. 
 
 Lines are swaying forth and back ; 
 Yet amid the storm of battle. 
 
 We can think of love and you ; 
 We are fighting,— we are fighting,— 
 
 Home and friends awhile adieu ! 
 
 4. 
 
 " We are charging, — we are charging, — 
 
 In the thickest of the fray ; 
 'Mid a tumult, ceaseless, awful, 
 
 Making hideous night and day ; 
 'Mid the sabres brightly flashing, 
 
 Crossing sabres in the air ; 
 'Mid the muskets' steely rattle 
 
 And the trumpets' brazen blare ; 
 'Mid a hell of shrieks and shoutings, 
 
 O'er a ghastly field, and red, 
 'Mid explosions, — shocks incessant, — 
 
 O'er the dying, and the dead ; 
 But our souls are true and steadfast. 
 
 Press we on, and think of you ; 
 We are charging, — we are charging, — 
 
 Home and friends awhile adieu ! 
 
 5. 
 
 " We are going, mothers, going,— 
 
 We are going, sisters, wives ! 
 Ah, to love, and faith, and duty, 
 
The Eetubn. 159 
 
 We have offered up our lives. 
 Flowing swiftly is our hearts' blood, 
 
 Out of gaping wounds, and large ; 
 We have fought our final battle, 
 
 We have made our final charge. 
 Now our eyes are drooping — failing— 
 
 Now our strength is ebbing fast ; 
 But our earthly warfare over, 
 
 We have heavenly peace at last ; 
 And the prayer we breathe in dying, 
 
 Is a parting prayer for you ; 
 We are going, — we are going, — 
 
 Home and friends a last adieu !" 
 
 "As Judge Crofton" said Briarslej, " lias told us of 
 the Confederate heroes, who never got back to their 
 homes, Crumljn must sing to us of those who did. He 
 has plenty of time to give us that song, as well as the 
 other he especially promised for this occasion. Get 
 yourself ready, old fellow, — get yourself ready ! " 
 
 Crumlyn took the guitar from Lankey, who had gone 
 for it while Briarsley was speaking, and after a little 
 instrumental prelude, with much taste and spirit, 
 sang : 
 
 " The Southern Cavaliers. 
 
 " The sons of princely sires were they. 
 
 Of acres broad, the lords,— 
 Of halls that witnessed kindly acts, 
 
 And echoed kindly words, — 
 Oi halls and hearts that opened wide. 
 
 To Want's appealing tears ; 
 * Rich, gen'rous do-naughts', they were called,— 
 
 These Southern cavaliers. 
 
 " And yet amid the rush of war, 
 
 They met the shock unmoved. 
 And when they struck, a blow was giv'n, * 
 
 That Bravery's self approved ; 
 
160 The Eetubn. 
 
 The Normans in the olden time, 
 Through ranks of thick'ning spears, 
 
 Ne'er fought with greater gallantry, 
 Than Southern cavaliers. 
 
 *' And when the storm of war was o'er, 
 
 Their country wrecked was left, 
 As country scarce was wrecked before, — 
 
 Of every joy bereft ; 
 Then rose the clarion cry of work, — 
 
 'Twas borne to heeding ears ; 
 And men ne'er labored for their homes, 
 
 Like Southern cavaliers. 
 
 " They faltered not, — they waxed not faint, — 
 
 They made the desert bloom, — 
 Evoked a glorious empire from 
 
 The ashes of the tomb ; 
 Those hearts and minds and hands will strive. 
 
 Through all the coming years. 
 For firmness linked with dash and pluck, 
 
 Have Southern cavaliers." 
 
 "I don't altogether fancy that name — ^Southern 
 cavaliers,' — I prefer simply 'Southern gentlemen,' 
 said Ernley, assuming his usual position, when bent 
 on making a speech. "But no matter what you may 
 call them, they were in the broadest sense of the 
 phrase ' manly men.' Permit me to elaborate some- 
 what the main thought suggested by Crumlyn's lines, — 
 let me tell you what I think of 
 
 " SOUTHERN MEN, THEIR WIVES AND DAUGHTERS. 
 
 "There are no men and women less understood by 
 the world, than the representative men and women of 
 what may be termed for perspicuity, the former, and 
 
The Keturn. . 161 
 
 the latter South. With regard to the first class, no 
 true Southern man of to-day can speak, without being 
 animated by a sympathy which may perhaps lead him 
 into saying too much. They are almost all gone ! — and 
 their shadowy forms appear through the soft light of 
 affectionate remembrance so beautiful, and yet so 
 sorrowful ! Of them, indeed, it may be truly said, 
 
 * The light that led astray, 
 Was light from Heaven ! ' 
 
 The love of honor made them proud and sensitive ; the 
 love of family made them over-indulgent ; the love of 
 neighbor made them indiscriminately liberal and con- 
 fiding; and it was all these combined, that made them 
 wasteful and extravagant. But along with this love 
 was something nearly related to it, — a princely self- 
 respect, — which kept any one of these faults from ever 
 degenerating into a baseness, and enabled them to bear 
 all their misfortunes with an uncomplaining fortitude, 
 that was truly sublime. 
 
 " With regard to the second class, — the representa- 
 tive men and women of the latter South, — a single 
 statement will show that they were true descendants 
 of worthy parents. Although they, with their fathers 
 and mothers, struggled during the war, in their respec- 
 tive spheres, as long as there was military organiza- 
 tion among them, — until in fact, they had been beaten 
 down by the weight of exhaustless numbers, animated 
 by a kindred gallantry ; —yet, when all was over, the 
 whispered word went out, that their ruin was hopeless 
 and irretrievable. 'The great war,' it said, * was then 
 upon them, for which they were by nature and educa- 
 tion, wholly unfitted, and that too when all life and 
 
162 The Keturn. 
 
 confidence had been crushed out of them by the other. 
 'What can they,' — so the ominous whisper ran, — 'reared 
 as they have been reared, — who heretofore cared to 
 make no effort in this sort of warfare when success 
 was comparatively easy, — persons alike destitute of 
 energy and enterprise, — what can they accomplish 
 under circumstances that might well appall the 
 stoutest and best trained hearts and minds ? — what, in 
 short, can they do towards rebuilding a country so 
 completely and so terribly wrecked ? ' And what did 
 they do? Look ! — and you will see that, in a few years, 
 they brought order out of chaoi^, substituted happi- 
 ness for misery, and evoked a prosperity, fair, health- 
 ful and vigorous from the very ashes of death and des- 
 olation. In this great work, — done through the 
 offices of the government, and the learned professions ; 
 in the counting-house, the shop and the field ; by the 
 needle, on the cook-stove, and at the loom, — a deter- 
 mined persistency, little expected by the outside world, 
 w^as displayed in cooj auction with the dash and pluck, 
 which no one denied to these sons and daughters of 
 the South." 
 
 "Ernley," exclaimed Charley, "you are — aluminous 
 fraud. You would have us to believe that what you 
 have just so truthfully said, was unpremeditated. It 
 was a good speech, for I can call it nothing else, — one 
 of the best speeches I ever heard you make, — too good, 
 in fact, not to have been prepared beforehand. I am 
 sure it was part of the discourse on ' Southern Man- 
 hood,' with which you regaled us the other evening, 
 and was accidentally omitted on that occasion. — But," 
 continued he, turning to the party, "here we are close 
 
The Eeturn. 163 
 
 to Mobile, and ready for that long promised song in its 
 praise. Crumlyn says, we must all join in the chorus." 
 With hearts full of love for the old city which was 
 spread out before them — its white houses and grace- 
 ful tbwers and spires 'bosomed high 'mid tufted 
 trees', — they listened, not forgetting to join as re- 
 quested, lustily in the refrain, to Crumlyn's song of 
 
 " Bright Mobile--Dear Mobile. 
 
 *' Her homes in beauty lining 
 
 Her level thoroughfares, 
 In seas of verdure shining, 
 
 Serenely as the stars ; 
 'Neath clouds whose pearly driftings 
 
 Before the passing bret^ze, 
 Are matched by golden siftings 
 
 Of sunshine through the trees. 
 Bright Mobile— bright Mobile 
 
 Hath of loveliness the seal ; 
 Oh, the gem of the South, 
 
 Is the city of Mobile ! 
 
 *' Her daughters are the fairest, 
 
 E'er throned in minstrel rhyme, 
 The gentlest and the dearest 
 
 Of any favored clime ; 
 Their souls have all the whiteness, 
 
 The richness of perfume, 
 The purity and brightness, 
 
 Of the magnolia's bloom. 
 Dear Mobile— dear Mobile 
 
 Holds a sweetness that we feel ; 
 Oh, the flow'r of the South 
 
 Is the city of Mobile ! 
 
 " Her sons are brave and honest, 
 
 As any in the land ; 
 Her sons are true and earnest, — 
 
 An active, working band; 
 
164 The Keturn. 
 
 Their hearts with vigor teeming, 
 
 With wills to do and dare, 
 Have giv'n her marts the seeming 
 
 Of an unending fair. 
 Bright Mobile— dear Mobile 
 
 Doth a royalty reveal ; 
 Oh. the queen cf the Soath 
 
 Is the city of Mobile." 
 
 THE Ex\D. 
 
-^