Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

VOL. I. sl)t ®corgia ll'ccklt), DEVOTED TO literature and General Information Wm. Henry peck, Editor and Proprietor. ' Published eyebv wedmesdaV.. by PECK &_E-IN'ES. TERMS, IHVARIABLY. IE ADVANCE : One copy, per annum ...... $2.00 Single copies,....-. 5 cents. Jlß®*-Advertisements inserted *t >st A square or 12 lines, far. one insertion, and 50 cents for. varti subsequent insertion. A liberal deduction taade to those who advertise by the year. DOST TMOTf EVER THINK OF ME ? by r. a. if. When the star of hope is shining, And thy sky is bright and cleat, When merry, light-winged fancy Frees thy heart of care and fear— In all those sweet, blissful moments, When thy-heart is light and free, s Mid all those joys and pleasures, Dost tllott ever" think of me ? When the pale-faced moon is beaming, And tbe lamps of Heaven appear, When memory loves to ramble O’er scenes that are so dear— In those dear, silent hours of thought, Post thoc ever wish to be Hear the one that loves thee truly ? Dost tbou ever think of me ! •01 say yes, that 1 am ever Vour Constant, only thought— That your heart is full of sunshiue, With happy visions fidught ; That tho’ thou art surrounded With pleasures bright and gay, I am all your dreams by nigbt, Vour only thought by day. THE WINE-SELLER’S DAUGHTER, OR THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLI? OP NEW ORLEANS. Ur 'WILf.IAM HF.XRY PECfc. Author of “ The Brothers Vengeance,"* “ Hr- C*' lenc aie\ 1 “ h at, the Renegade" •■ The Muetoraon," “ The Red Jjtrarff *** • 11 The Family Doom ," “ The Black Phantom ,” “ The Corsican ," Blobs dec., &c., dec. COPYRIGHT SECURED. CHAPTER I. “B. ie B.” In the year 1815, the drinking sa loon of Paul Amur, a hearty, robust Frenchman, forty years ot age, stood on St. 4 street, in New Orleans ; and if, Y’e hour of seven, on the nigh ievuvna V 7 the ?th, of that year, wht (Signed) id feeble-looking man stole . tain apartment, and sat in a dial- S&rly concealed by a half open door. Paul Amar was trimming his lamps when this roan entered, and as he no ticed -his-jirds'erffce-the. bluff and rubi cund visage of the wine-seller grew slightly pjtle, and he muttered under his heavy moustache: “ Ah, it i3 Benditto! What can he want?—this is the tenth night of his watching for—whom ? But it is none of my business —” The demands of his numerous cus tomers called his attention elsewhere, and after glancing uneasily at the stranger, he hurried to his glasses and decanters. Benditto drew his long, threadbare cloak over his face, to his keen, black, and deep-set eyes, pulled his broad brimmed hat upon his brows, and flashed a piercing glance over the rather tumultuous assemblage which filled the saloon, letting his gaze pause for an instant upon everv faee.. “ Not yet,” he murmured as ho saw that the room was occupied only by old and white-haired men. In the midst of the hubbub an old gentleman, with a long beard as white as snow, and clad in the uniform of a hussar, placed a trumpet to his lips and gave a blare that drowned every other noise instantly. This sudden blast of the trumpet was a signal that the trumpeter had fresh intelligence from Jackson’s army, then camped a few miles below the city and awaiting the advance of the British commanded by Packenham.— Every eye and ear was then turned towards the veteran trumpeter; who shouted: “ Gentlemen, I have certain news from the American camp ! Before daylight the British army will attack our friends below the city.” “Since we cannot fight with our brave sons and grandsons,” said a tall and stately veteran of Georgia, who had fought and conquered the English in many a Revolutionary battle, “ let us pray for them to the God of bat tles,” At this moment entered a young man, apparently little over thirty years of age, of lofty port and powerful frame, and clad in the undress uni form of an American cavalry cap tain. flektfo so soutljent Jiteratott, IJetos, aixtr (feral Informations “Ho!” Said the old trumpeter, “we have, it seems, one yonttg man left to keep the old men company.” The young man started quickly, and grew slightly red;'but after a glance, which changed From ahger to scorn, as he noted the white-hair of the speaker, sat down near a small ta ble, called for brandy, and at the same time produced a pencil of chalk. “He piietakes/’cried'the trumpeter; “ the Infant ,i$ too young' for brandy. GiYVhira~»-W«i»«h'in*nc-,V»<l "lamt Paul/’ • • “You are an old fool, and may sneer vour fill. I atn on parole,” said the officer. Here he seemed to scrib ble upon the table at random. “ You are on parole ! Pardon; I did not know all that,” continued Valid. “But where did you give your parole, my friend ?” “ Were you hot so old, I would consider your inquisitiveness imperti nence,” replied the officer;“ but as dotage has its privileges, I will an swer* I was taken prisoner at De troit, when Hull surrendered.’ 4 Having Uttered these- words, the officer drank his brandy, tossed a piece of silver to Paul, faced old Valid, with supreme contempt for him and-, his listening friends, and then departed.. A hiss of contempt followed. the'of ficer, from whom the eyes of Benditto, the man in the cloak, had not been moved during the quarrel. The conduct of Benditto, after the • entrance of the officer, would have at tracted general notice had not every mind been intent upon the words and actiohs of the latter j for no sooner had Benditto darted his keen eyes upon the officer’s face, than he drew a miniature from the folds of his cloak and began to compare the painted features With the haughty visage of the new-comer. As he gaZed from one to the other his cloak-fell from his shoulders, and revealed a slender form, much bo\ved*by age or infirmity. The slouch of his hat hid the upper part of his countenance, but the lower was grizzly-bearded, withered and wrink led; while his complexion was of a corpse-like whiteness, -spotted here and there with purple scars. No sooner had the officer departed than Benditto resumed his..cloak,' and with muffled face, advahced-f'd'the counter, saying to Paul t ‘•* '' “ Do you know that officer ?” The words were in Italian and al most whispered. That is as it may be," replied the cautious Paul, in the same tongue and tone. Benditto placed a piece of gold upon the counter, and repeated the question. “ I know him,” said Paul; his name is Victor St. John, late Cavalry Cap tain in the army of the North-west. — He resides with his uncle, General Harper, who is now in the army of Jackson below the city." “ Thanks,” muttered Benditto, bow ing and leaving the saloon. “ I shall chastise that coxcomb,” said Valid ; “ though he is the nephew of one of my friends. But, Paul, who is that gentlemen that has just depar ted ? He seemed afraid of showing his nose.” “ That is Benditto,” said Paul. “ And who is Benditto, wise man ?” “ Why, simply Benditto,” replied Paul. “That is the name of the Italian fortune-teller,” cried a lively old man. “Benditto, they say, is a sorcerer, a wizard, in fact a poisoner But, ha ! here comes a man who will fight— why is he here ?” This remark was elecited by the appearance of a po'werfully built and gaudily dressed man of middle age, whose heavy beard and moustache hid his face even to the cheekbones.— He advanced to Paul and whimpered : “The Captain has been here?” “ Captain St. John or Captain La fitte?” asked Paul. “ You know Captain Lafitte is with the army. I mean Captain St. John.” “ He has just left.” “Where did he sit? at which ta ble ?” asked the other. “ There —where that chair is over turned,” said Paul, pointing to the spot lately tenanted by St. John.— “ What is it to you, Carlos ?” “Much that is nothing to Paul Amar,” replied Carlos, as he bent over the table and erased some mark with a rapid stroke of the hand.— “Good night, master Paul.” “ Bad night to all such black birds,” growled the wine seller as Carlos swaggered from the saloon. “He rubbed out something that St. John had marked upon that table with chalk. I saw the Captain scratch upon the table—what was it? Let me see—perhaps I may get a clue to this secret. Perhaps there is some truth in the rnmor that there iB a plot to fire the city—a plot among slaves and traitors.” He examined the table with keenest scrutiny, and although Carlos had removed every atom of chalk, Paul's GREENVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 17, 1861, quick eye detected a bliir Upon the polished surface which seemed to form the inscription “B. & B.” “It is 8.-& B,” muttered Paul, “but what does that mean ? Monsieur Valid, do you know that fellow who has just gone ?" “ Avery ugly Spaniard." “Ugly face, uglier heart,” contin ued Paul. “He is the worst man ih all the gang of Lafitte, the Pirate.” “ But Lafitte is to fight for us—pi hof.M against tVin Hamlifs rtf tibfi Rrit ish. Think of it, my friend—the British have a regiment of negroes in their army, and commanded by a man whose battle motto is to be Beauty $ Bea uty /” “Ah! that is it!” exclaimed Paul, placing his finger upon the letters so imperfectly erased by Carlos. “‘B, & B. 4 means ‘Booty and Beauty! 4 Ha ! I smell treason in the air.” “ He means,” remarked the stately aged Georgian, whom We have men tioned above, and who had joined the party; “ that he believes there is truth in the report that we have traitors in New Orleans.’ 4 “ Let me catch rascals I" eried the trumpeter. “ Traitors, friend •'Hartly ?” “ Aye; traitors who mean to sack the city while Packenham slaughters the Americans,” continued Hartly.— “Black traitors led by white traitors.”. “Proof!” exclaimed the matter-of fact trumpeter, “Like Paul, there, I scent it in the air,” replied Hardy. “In times like these, such warnings, ‘ though trifles light as air, are confirmation strong as proofs of holy Writ.’ You have negroes, Monsieur them well.” “They will steal by instinct,” said the old trumpeter. “ I watch them at all times.” “ Stealing is a small crime, my friend, when placed by the side of murder, and the deeds of revolted slaves,” remarked Hartly, with grave emphasis. “ The enemy in the field is less dangerous than the traitor in your camp; I have felt this danger which Paul fears, anil, love my wife and daughter too well not to be on my guard.” “But you have negroes, also, Col. Hartly.” “Every man and boy that can carry a weapon is with Jackson’s troops, Monsieur Valle,” replied Hartly. “True, and my sons and grandsons are there,” said Valid. “ But what is this treason?” “ I have said we know nothing, yet we suspect much,” observed Hartly. “ And I suspect that Captain St. John knowsubout it,” cried Paul, as the three retired apart. “I am sorry to say it, Col. Hartly, as I believe he stands high in your estimation, and in that of your daughter also.” “ Enough ; he did until this nigh't,” replied Hartly. “He is a suitor my‘ daughter’s hand, but if I am a of a maiden’s heart—Viola cares little for him. But why do you, Paul, think he knows aught of the truth or falsity of these dark rumors?” Paul had. little to relate, beyond that for several days Victor St. John had held short and guarded conversa tion With sundry suspicious persons in the saloon —all of whom had formerly been connected with Lafitte’s band of Barratarian smugglers, and had re fused to follow their chief to the field. Paul then spoke of the inscription “B. & B.” written by St. John and erased by Carlos. “ The same was written upon my gate, and Gen. Allison’s, this morn ing,” exclaimed Col. Hartly. “It 'must be a password. This man, Vic tor St. John and his satellites must be watched.” “ But by whom ?” asked Paul.— “ All of our young men are with the army—at least all who are able to contend with the skill, cunning and courage of Victor St. John.” “ Courage !” cried Vall£. “He is a coward.” “ You mistake,” replied Hartly.— “Victor St. John is no coward. I have made man my study, and declare to you that Victor St. John is one of those men who never court danger, but when danger meets them, are brave to desperation. Is there no one fit to watch him ?” “ I have it, ” said Paul. “ Benditto is the man.” “Too feeble,” said Vall6, “and a base instrument to be employed by honorable men.” “ He is younger s|id a stronger than ke&ppears,” continued Paul. “As for ■SSpjps —why base to base, and evil vdHßight, ’saidHartly. “Whoknows where we may find this Benditto ?” “I,” answered Paul. “ Let me call my daughter to keep an eye to my bar, and I will then lead you to Benditto’s dwelling. I have not full trust in Pierre there.” “ You do wrong to expose so fair a daughter in such a place, remarked Hartly, with that deep gravity Which commands immediate attention.” “ Ah, what do you mean, Col. Hart ly !” asked Paul, with flashing eyes. “It is well to warn you,” replied Hartly. “ I saw Victor St. John kiss his hand as he left the saloon this evening—and to whom ? To your daughter Rosetta, who was peering through the door at the back of the bar.” Paul Amar uttered a cry of rage. “Isit so ? Ho, we must see to this affairafc once. Bat Rosetta—did she respOhd ?’ 4 Col. Hartly paused for a moment, and then replied 1 “lama father, Paul, and would wish my friend to warn me as I now Warn- You. Rosetta threw back the kiss-;': “ You saw her ?" “ No—but I saw her shadow upon the half-open door.” “ Enough,” cried Paul. “ Wait here, gentlemen, until I have seen my daughter—shadows are great traitors. ’ ’ “Be loves his daughter to madness," remarked Valid, as Paul hastened away. “ True, and therefore I Would save him from madness,” said Col. Hartly. And now let us follow Paul in search of his fair daughter Rosetta. . # CHAPTER 11. • - ROSETTA. Paul hurried up the narrow flight of stairs that led to the floor above, and placing his hand upon the knob of the nearest door essayed to admit himself into-the room beyond. But the door was locked. “Rosetta!” he cried, striking the door firmly with his fist. “ Rosetta, are you there ? Rosetta, I say !” No answer, followed his impatient summons, but as he glanced along the narrow hall, running from front to rear, he saw his daughter approaching with hasty steps. The girl was of remarkable beauty, both of forqi and feature, and had ap her sixteenth fair, with a tinge of rose when unexci ted, but as she met her father a deep red blush dyed her cheeks, and then left them deathly pale. Why is your door locked, and where have you been, Rosetta ?” ask ed Paul, in a voice that trembled des pite his effort to seem calm. “Is it locked?” exclaimed Rosetta, regaining her coolness as suddenly as she had lost it. “ I locked it involun tarily.” “ Ah; and where were you but now, my child ?” “ At the rear window, father, lis tening to the music of the departing troops. Where should I have been?” “ Very well. Let us go into your room. I have something to say to .you.” . -“ But IJhear the people below call ' big your name, father.” ’ “ Their Wants will be attended to by Pierre. Pierre understands his business when 1 am absent, and I know mine,” replied Paul, as Rosetta unlocked and opened the door. He followed her into the neat and tastefully furnished room, and then closed the door after him. A light was burning upon a small table near the centre of the apartment, and as Paul turned to close the door, Rosetta hurried to the table and se cured a small golden locket which was lying near an open letter. Knowing that the rustling of the letter would betray her action, if she attempted to snatch it up, she threw her handker chief over it and sat down so as to fur ther conceal it by resting her beautiful arm upon the table and across the handkerchief. Paul drew a chair towards her and : sat facing her, with volumes upon his tongue, but not a word upon his lips. “ Well, father,” said Rosetta, “you had something to say to me.” “ I have, my daughter. But first tell me—how many lovers have you ?” “Lovers! I have a score,” laughed Rosetta, assuming a gaiety she did not feel. “ I have begun miserably,” thought the puzzled Paul, whose blunt, straight foward honesty was ill-fitted to cope with a maiden’s cunning, especially such a cunning little jade as the hand some Rosetta. “ I can never learn anything in this way.” “What is it, father? You have something upon your mind,” said Ro setta. “ Have you been at the bar-room door this evening, Rosetta?” asked Paul, after cudgeling his brains in a vain attempt to ask a shrewd question. Rosetta’s heart leaped to her throat, and the glance of her jet black eyes to her father’s was as rapid as light. “No father, I have not been oat of my room since supper, save to look from the window at the fear.” “ Now somebody has lied, or an other body hasmadea great mistake,” thought Paul. “ Still, a shadow be longs to a substance.” Then he said aloudi “ And where is Annette, the cook ?” “ She left the house immediately after supper. She has not yet return ed,” replied Rosetta, who would have met and baffled cunning with cunning, but who begah to feel uneasy before plain honesty-. “ Surely, Col. Hartly made no mis take,” ruminated Paul. “I am afraid my child, is trying to deceive me.— Come, I artlfit not be beaten by a little gifl like this infant. True, her mother was more than a match for me—Ro setta inherits all her mother’s beauty,, why not her wit.” . .. “ Well, father?” asked Rosetta.: There Was a spice of defiant, tri umph in her voice, and honest. Paul began to grow exceedingly indignant-.. He had sought his daughter in the garb of a lion, and now felt as-if h &■ looked like a much inferior anubstl with,ears ridiculously lohg. "> . “ Rosetta,” he exclaimed, V the scant of a conspiracy.” “A,’-conspiracy, my father?”' “A- deep plot, which has for It-’sobr jeetj the sacking and destniiJtibn 'Cf the city,” continued Paul, warming with his subject. “We—— “ Whom do yoU mean by we matlded Rosetta. '., •\ ■ “ Why, Col. Hartly, Mehsmut'’ Valid and I,” exclaimed the wine.-SeE ler, triumphantly. “ Col. Hartly ? Ah, t do-not likW that man.” • *, “ He is a very good man, Rosetta;.' and has a lovely daughter,” sstid Paul.- “ A lovely daughter ! I do no.t think Viola Hartly lovely—in fact,.'she is homely,” cried Rosetta, with unusual spirit. “ Ah,” thought Paul, “ she is jeal-, ous—for all the city calls Viola llar-tly a perfect beauty. But if Rosetta ds ! jealous she must be in love with some- j body who loves Viola, and whom Vi-j ola loves. I know ttaiiy yottng- gal-1 lants who love Miss Viola, but report is divided as regards the favored one. 1 son, the granavon"ot my oldTnen™ Valid below, and others say the fa vorite is Victor St. John. Now, Ro setta dods not care the shake of her finger for Henry Allison, and so can not be jealous for him. It is clear. Rosetta loves Victor St. John.” “ Well, father ?” asked Rosetta, growing impatient. “You are think ing, tell me of this terrible conspiracy.” “Yes. We think we have traitors in New Orleans,” assumed Paul, radi ant with pride, springing from the ap parent success of his reasoning. “In fact, we are sure of it, my child. We intend to catch the rascals and hang them by the neck.” “But this does not concern me, father.” Suppose one of these traitors, the very chief of them, were a friend of yours ?” “ A friend of mine ?” exclaimed Rosetta. “ A friend who loves Viola Hartly ?” Rosetta began to tremble, but con cealed her agitation with a fierce ef fort to seem unconcerned. “No friend of mine loves Viola Hartly. You know, father, that Viola Hartly is rich, aud moves in a differ ent circle from ours. My friends are too humble to presume to love so grand a lady as Viola Hartly. lam the wine-seller’s daughter; she is the rich man’s heiress.” Rosetta spoke with much bitterness. “ She is more than jealous,” thought Paul. “ Rosetta is envious. lam afraid my child has a very bad heart. Jealousy, envy and a false tongue. Ah ! I fear the noble Colonel has warned me when it is too laie. Ah me! can my child have disgraced me ?” Poor Paul groaned aloud, and his features assumed so ferocious an ex pression that Rosetta Uttered a scream. “ You terrify me father! What is the matter?” Paul arose and paced the floor with a stride that made the windows shake in their frames. He Was afraid to speak, lest he should become brutal; and he loved his daughter so pro foundly that he would rather have died than insult her. Rosetta began to tremble. Paul noticed her agitation, and demanded sharply i “ You are trembling?” “It is because I think my dear father is going mad,” exclaimed Ro setta. “Listen, my child,”, said Paul, forcing himself to a terrible calmness, and again sitting near Rosetta. “Your mother was the handsomest maiden in all France when I married her, and her beauty never faded in my eyes; for she never told me a lie. She died but two years ago—see l I wear mourning for her on my head 1 When she died, Rosetta, my hair was as black as yours —now it is as gray as a gloomy -da wn ; in two yeanf more my hair will be as white as Monsieur Valid’s. Do you recollect the last words your mother said to you, Ro setta ?” Rosetta grew' very pale, her eyes drooped and her lips were closely com pressed. “ You remember,” said Paul, tak ing his daughter’s tiny hand in his, “ that just before she died upon my bosom; she took your hand, thus, and made; you swear to better than your father without jour; father’s knowledge, ftnd always to speak the truth, if not to all, yet to your father remember this ?” “1 remember.-it,” murmured Ro setta. • • “ Then ansWef me. Have you been -down .to the back dopr of the saloon this demanded Paul; not .sternly, but with the sweet cadence of a fond father’s worshiping love. “ I have not," replied Rosetta firml f . Her voice was hard and hoarse, and •her hands were as cold as ice; ' The soul it appalled when the tongue litters a deliberate lie ! Y-“ The name of the traitor we sus- the name of the traitor we shall .detect, the baffie of the traitor we shall hang, is Victor St. John!” thundered Paul, with sudden fierce*- ness. “ Ah! Victor!” exclaimed Rosetta, springing to her feet and clasping her hands in terror. The action bared the letter on the table, and Paul's heavy .hand was upon it ih an instant. ' • As he grasped it, Rosetta shrieked and swooned, sinking back into her tfiiair with her head supported by the table. !fhe golden locket she had concealed* in her left hand Jill then, fell upoil the floor, and Paul raised it to thelight. “‘Victor St. John,” he groaned as be gazed upon the picture it contained. “ Ah, Col. Hartly ! I fear your warn ing has come too late. But let me read this letter which is signed ‘ Vic tor !’ ” The letter read as follows f private ? Your eyes, yonjv-irps have told me that you love me ; and mine—have they not sworn the same to yon i Away with this fool ish mistrust, my dear Rosetta. What can you fear from a heart that adores you 1 Prove to me that you love me by m.eting me alone this night, as the clock strikes twelve, on the Place D’Armes. If you fail to meet me t will never see yoii again. If you consent, show a light at the rear window of your house at eight o’clock or give me a sign if you see me in the saloon at half-past seven. “Ever thine, Yxctck.” “Thank Heaven !”.said Paul, a she gazed upon the marhle-lijte beauty of his unhappy and unconscious daugh ter. “ Rosetta may still be saved.— I have loved gold too much since her mother’s death. I have neglected my child—it is all my fault. Poor Ro setta !” He was using all his knowl edge to restore her to consciousness; and as he chafed her hands and tem ples, and lifted her upon her snowy white bed, he murmured: “Poor girl! I thought she was a mere child, and behold she is a woman. It seems but yesterday when she be gan to prattle—and now—what dreams of love, what woman’s thoughts have filled her poor heart! She spoke falsely —-alas ! who has not ?—I must forgive her—she knew no better—it is all my fault. There—she breathes again—she revives—she opens her eyes —Rosetta, dear, darling Rosetta —my poor child! Pardon your father, my daughter—it is to save y.ou'from the snares of a villain that I have done this. . I have read his letter, my child. The father and not the daughter shall meet Victor St. John.” “ Oh, my father, do not harm him !” cried Rosetta, now fully conscious.— “Ah, punish me as you will, but do not injure him." “ You love him so much, my child ?” asked Paul, growing very Stern.'.. • . Rosetta sat up in the bed, and cov ered her blushing cheeks with her hands. “You, blush, my daughter,” said Paul, “and I love the sign. He .is. ■ handsome—as manly a gentleman in * face and form as any in America, no doubt; but in heart and deed a scoun drel. The eye of a maiden 'sees but the perished surface, and thinking she sees her own pure image there,dreams not of the rank villainy I cannot blame you for losing your heart to hltS‘, but Rosetta, why deceive your father ?” “ Promise me that you will not harm him, father—for he is not the bad man you think him,” exclaimed the Unhappy Rosetta. : “ Promise -sot replied Paul, drawing his heaty browswtfto a frown. “Promise never to speak with him again—promise to tear his image from your heart as I tear it from this locket to crush your lote for him as I-crush this painted ivory un der my heel 1” continued he, grinding the precious image to atoms, and spurning the fragments from him With hie foot. “ Promise nevor to h o-t» NO. l*lt