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About The Georgia weekly. (Greenville, Ga.) 1861-186? | View Entire Issue (May 22, 1861)
YOL. I. ®lje Georgia iXltckli); DEVOTED TO Literature and General Information, WM. henry peck, Editor and Proprietor. PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, BY PECK & LINES. TERMS, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE t One copy, per annum $2.00 Single copies, -.5 cents. Jgy-Advertisements inserted at $1 a square of 12 lines, for one insertion, and CO cents .for each subsequent insertion. "A liberal deduction made to those who advertise by the year, OVER THE EIVER. Over the river they beckon to me, Loved ones who’ve crossed to the further side; The gleam of their snowy robes I see, But their voices are lost in the lashing tide. There’s one with ringlets Os sunny gold, And eyes the reflection of Heaven’s own blue; He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, And the pale mist hid him from mortal view; We saw not the angels who met-him there, The gates of the city we could not see — Over the river, over the river, My brother stands waiting to welcome me. Over the river the boatman pale Carried another, the household pet; Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale— • Darling Mollie! I see her yet. She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, And fearlessly entered tho phantom bark; We felt it glide from the silver sands, And all onr sunshine grew strangely dark. We know she is safe on the further side, Where all the ransomed and angels be; Over the river, the mystic river, My childhood’s idol is waiting for me. For none return from those quiet shores, Who cross with the boatman cold and pale; We hear the dip of the golden oars, And catch a gleam of the snowy sail; And 10l they pass from our yearning hearts, They cross the stream, and arc gone for aye; We may not sunder tho veil apart That hides from our vision the gates of day; We only know that their barks no more May sail with us o’er life's stormy sea ; Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. And I sit and think, when the sunset’s gold Is flushing river, hill and shore, I I shall one day stand by the water cold And list for the sound of the boatman’s oar; I idistil watch for the gleam of the flapping sail, I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale ii’iniTffi better shore of the spirit-land. Yed. who have gone before, * ’ YSfpWfefSf .iteatfc shaft-Oarry me. • THE WINE-SELLER’S DAUGHTER, OE THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE OF NSW ORLEANS. RY WILLIAM HENRY PECK. Author of 11 The Brother't Vengeance" “ Vir ginia Glencaire " “ Saul , the Renegade " u The Moctoreon" 11 The Red Dwarf.' “ The Family Doom" 11 The Black Phantom" “ The Corsican" 11 Blobs" <L'C. } dec. , Ac. COPYRIGHT SECURED. CHAPTER IX—CONTINUED. As it was not more than half-past nine o’clock the weazen-faced lad was still awake, though in the act of clos ing the doors of the establishment. Henry called his attention and asked: “ Has a young lady, with a black ■woman, called here to-night ?” Weazen-face took his own time in thinking about replying, until Henry roused him with a slash across his back. “ Oh!” answered weazen-face, with a yell and a jump. “Yes—a young lady for medicine—Miss Hartly and Gen. Allison’s black woman, Jane— hello! is that you Captin Henry?” Being assured that it was, weazen face told all he knew and twice as much more. “ Were there any persons near when Bhe was here?” asked Henry. “ Let me see-yes—‘a fellow put his head in and snatched it out as if he emelt something dreadful sweet—it .was Carlos, the Spaniard.” “ Great Heaven !” ejaculated Hen ry, spurring his horse. “We must make haste. I have seen that villain —one of the deserters from LaFitte’s Barratarians.” “As dangerous a rascal as any un hanged,” remarked the chief of the patroT. “We suspected that we saw him driving a carriage in this vicinity not half an hour ago—not on this street but near here.” “And was there any one in the carriage?” exclaimed Henry, feeling sick and faint. “The. carriage was em pty, sir. For I flashed the lantern into it as it rat tled by—he wasdriving like mad,” replied the sergeant. “ Why did you not Btop or pursue him ?” “He gave the countersign, and we recognized the carriage by its facings and trappings.” “ Whose carriage was it ?” demand ed Henry. “ Col. Hartly’s sir. No carriage is IkteW iifJfettta literature Mefo, anti General MormatM rigged out in the same style in this city. The driver’s hat was slouched over his face, but we could see that he was a white man—Col; Hartly’s regular driver is a black, named Cuba. Still, the Colonel has a white driver. No one could Buspect anything wrong in seeing his carriage at any time, as it has been much used by Gen. Jack son and his aids while in the city.” “We must see Col. Hartly immedi ately,” remarked Henry, drawing rein. “I am bewildered with fear for the safety of Miss Ilartly—she is the misßing,- lady—which is the shortest way to the Colonel’s mansion ?” Before the sergeant could reply a deep groan was heard not far off and and apparently proceeding from the gutter. “This way,” cried Henry, bound ing his horse into the gloom whence the groan arose. The groan was repeated and appa rently under the animal’s feet. Hen ry sprang to the ground exclaiming : “ Show the lantern, sergeant, here is some wounded person. Jane!” he added as the sergeant pushed back the lantern-slide and discovered the pros trate form of the poor woman. “ My friends, what outrage has been perpetrated ?—she has received two severe blows upon the head,” cried Henry. “Jane! speak Jane! We are friends —I am Captain Allison— don’t you know your master? What has happened ?—where is Miss Hartly ?” Jane, who had recovered from the stunning effects of Carlos’ brutal blows many minutes before Henry’s arrival, but had been in mortal fear of allow ing any signs of life until she heard the patrol, now scrambled to her feet and cried out i “ She’s runned off wid ! Day’s captured her—dem British—l font like a tiger and tore the har out of i five of dare heads—l kicked, and I: bit, and I fit, and I bit, and I yelled; but ten of ’em stabbed me with the swords and a hundred knocked my I head all to pieces with musketters— that’s all I know.” . ' ■ iant Jane scattered around, but Hen ry’s searching questions at length- got a general outline of the affair and he inquired: “ Was it Col. Hartly’s carriage ?” “ Good Lor’ ! ’Twas all dark—we just felt our way along to it,” said the bewildered servant. “De carridge lamps war’nt lit, marster Henry.” A horseman dashed by at fuli speed with the words: “ Chalmette ! To the sick 1” “It is Dr. Burritt,” observed Henry. “ The truest man to his patients in America,” said the sergeant. “ God bless him!” “ So say I,” said Henry, and then continued, “ Sergeant, let one of your men accompany this woman to my father’s gate. We must hasten to Col. Hartly’s.” “ Who goes there ?” suddenly ex claimed the sergeant, spurring his horse towards a form dimly visible in the dying rays of the street lamp—in in those days hanging from a beam extending into the street. “A friend,” said the unknown, “ Advance and give the counter sign.” “ Chalmette ,” was the reply. “On whoseaffairs?” demanded the sergeant, flashing the lantern upon the stranger. “ My own,” said the deep voice of Victor St. John, dropping his cloak from his face. “Ah, is it you, Captain St, John,” cried the sergeant, “ The nephew of so true a patriot as Gen. Harper, may pass unquestioned.” “I pass unquestioned as Captain Victor St. John, and not because I am'the nephew of any man,” said St. John, haughtily, and striking the hilt of his sabre fiercely. Then, as by a turn of the lantern he saw the pale and proud face of Captain Allison looking down upon him he touched his chapeau slightly and continued s “ What news from the camp, Cap tain Allison ?” “ The camp regrets that Captain St. John had the misfortune not to fight at Detroit, as it loses his valua ble services now,” replied Henry, riding on, leaving St. John in doubt whether the speech was a compliment or an insult. The sergeant and his follower rode after Henry, and St. John hurled a muttered imprecation after the parley, saying; “ The bird has been missed, but they cannot trace the snarer. I’ll put your head under my heel ere long, Henry Allison—*! have your heart there now, my gay war-eagle. But I must to the fortune teller’s—or rather the pawn-broker’s—l think the knave Is a Jew and it puzzles me to recall where I have seen those clear cut Italian features— it must have been in GREENVIfcLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, MAY 22, 1861. Florence—such rascals flourish thefre, like mites in cheese. Curse these rough streets—l was within an acq oj falling. Dark—but they will be fell lighted before dawn. Packenlam will advance at dawn while New (Or leans is in flames—ho, for Beauty and Booty 1 This thing well accomplished will behold me a British Brigadier with a Sir to my name, wealth in my puyse and Viola my wife 1 1780 had its Bendict Arnold, let l ,a *fi v have Us Victor St. John.” c - '’ Thus revolving his camlh^ u 9 thoughts h/UHyried on unti’-'l’Y- V»ed before the MSue-of BendittO? ’ The cathedral clock was striking the hour of ten, and as St. John lifted the heavy knocker within his firm grasp he muttered: “ Within-.-four.'.hours New Orleans will be in^ames-'I-''Sleep well till then* good X. 7 .. .4 -LE-BRANDSVev. t v. Mario and Betiditto consigned rnudh time in their search for the. Spanish coin bearing date 1783, affd of The. same value as that from which latter had so cunningly taken an.. id»-. pression in wax. The contents of the two caskets were nearly exhausted when Benditto exclaimed: “At last! I have found it! It is a very rare coin, Mario. I think we might have searched the city over and not found it—save in the pockets 'o.f' the conspirators. Now for our graver's tools—you are an excellent engraver. Here, between the date, and the Spanish coat of arms you must e.fiy grave the motto, “B. & B;” Y<iir are meditating.” “I am-asking myself a question, 1 and. find-;ia.answer,” replied Marino “ Ask it -of me' then.” “ You have, no doubt, Benditto, that this' coin ;is.'.nsed as a passport by these • gftp'ppsed .conspirators—sup posed, fbr. .we .do not know that any corispiraeyjfc'xists.” . “ Cqupfe the rumors that have been flying'-about the city during the last t\Vo days withthe facts that a my'ste- rare coin, Ma/io—upon our door also —inscribed there this night—and the fact that three known rascals have used it, St. John, Carlos and Pierre Rivart. Does it not smell of conspir acy —and are they persons to conspire fortiifies?” “Admit then,. v . replied Mario, that there is a plot, and..that the coin is a passport among • the : plotters—their secret sign of vill'aiTiy.- "Suppose each conspirator has ''iL.com like this, but bearing a date toG?f)rrespond with his name. That is, iinagine St. John’s coin dated 1780;- that -of Carlos 1781; that of another 1782 ; that of Rivart 1783, and so on in regular-, order from the first to the last of the' plotters. % “ What then ?” .... » “ You, or I, or our emissary with', this coin, which we are about to en grave with the secret sign, Benditto, will use it—enter the nest of the schemers and be discovered by t.Ee mere duplication of the date.” “ Then we must capture a conspir ator —learn his name and that: with his coin,” cried Benditto.— “What a pity that we allowed Rivart. to leave our house.” “Yadak has his eyes upon him,” said Mario, “ and will soon '.report to U3. We must make Rivart our pris oner this night.” As he spoke Yadak entered the hall below and made known his presence by a slight stroke upon the gong. “ He has returned already,” said Mario, “Retain the coin—l will en grave it if we think it best. We must see master Rivart first.” The gold was returned to the caskets j the caskets to the secret closet and the old men returned to the saloon of portraits, where they found Yadak. “Well?” inquired Mario. “I followed the youth, masters, and he is now in an obscure house with several of his own age,” said Yadak in Arabic, his only means of commun ication by tongue with the old men. “Is it far from here, Yadak ?” “Not far, masters, but the youth was slow in going thither, for he made many countermarches, as if he feared a spy.” “ Were his companions at the house when the youth arrived there ?” “Yes, my masters, all save two, who came in shortly after.” “You do not speak English, nor any Christian tongue, Yadak; yet you understand many,” said Mario. Relate all that you understood if you heard any of their conversation.” “ After dogging the youth to the house,” resumed Yadak,” he entered and the door shut him from my sight, He knocked at the door and then whispered something into the key hole. He was admitted soon after. — I then noticed that the house was old and rmooua, and no light was visible from within. I also correctly imag agined th'at the neighboring houses were vacant, and so cautiously stole into the one adjoining that ifeto*which the youth had vanished. Ascending to the roof of this house I clambered to that of the other; but finding no means of entrance to the hftuse from the roof succeeded in swinging myself without noise to the hgnse •bisyond, from which I entered through S ruined window into that I had just quitted. I felt my way through a vacant room and finally gained a situation from whmh I look iW^rY 1 'the hal^ flap y . the dc/’ r ' e -VJ2rba4Qd •> i - J ’ Jfer visitor, ftftidid a»,(4d ti. • I *lB whispered. q/*d then orient again. Noflong after I lieard anoth er admitted and the sound of a coin or small, piece of paetal falling upon the floor, which seerted paved with 'stone Then the words, ;Jt—herfr it is—pass in.’ ' There o£'*<mie kind in the hall, bct'fftfhr'my position I could not sod the gjjr-stms belowi—nor did I dare ■ tri'-faov^.'v /jfftar ing no more, and fear ful lof td’tftfchvery I retreated and am —but how did you know t&nithe •'companions of the youth were of l|is a-ge!” said Benditto. “Trom-'the sound of their voices— which th'diigh indistinct -and subdued, my master's, were noli those of older men. I, who have, outwitted the prowling Bedovins, of ihe desert, can net.be deceived.” -;..’ ■ .\jj3idak drew his' powerful frame -ejie&fc and folded with, digni ;4ifj|pride. . dor^ > ;^y i . : .'';Yadak,” said 'flffiribi ’ Qo back'. j|(v.jfell hduse and Watch fijfwre out-cbplfisg pf the youth, and Capture hi rasas''you were wont to cap ture the tCiilig lions of Be discreet, and convey theiiad hither. Doubtless he will sqps out. I leaved.^ l ■iWiiU>yi t 'tfef'bahds." t&r " * de m_v - fbiYw :' , •» ' lonf'" «lhs coni' can J '* : - . . ...-'A'teniive 9 “liik *I e 0, r fiii"til Yadak returns. Ilark! It strikes ten —and listen ! the knocker smites our door. Victor St. John has 'come,” exclaimed Beh ditto. “And I must hasten to admit him,” said Mario, lighting a • lamp and, de scending to the bally lie-strode to'.th’c doof and admitted St. John who said; aja he entered: •' “I' «yn the pink of punctuality, •Benijrrt©.”.. . “ numerable virtures, Captain St. John,” •replied Mario. ‘ *’ . \ But --whethed the ‘.eeffipliment tfas iyouicai or genuitye Bt.' John was una ble to'say, for -Mario's grizzly mous tftche nid of his mouth, while St. have gazed into his keen., blacfc eyes a century and been tioirfi. the wiser. '.’ “ So—tou know my name 1” observ fed;.£t. Johh, as he sat down in the chamber of. oracles. >*You know you are here, Captain, tarter jewels,” said Mario, bland ly-,' .“ and - -.!, as a tradesman have ta ken the precaution to inquire about my intended customer.” “You have?” sneered St. John, eyeing the old man with supreme contempt. “Well, what says your feport of me ?” “ That he is loved by the ladies, and envipd, often feared by the gentle men ?” 44 That of remarked St. John, with a complacent,smile ; “but what of my righteousness, my stand ing as-ji man of honor J”. v “That you pay your debts of honor.” “ Which is a vile round-about way of saying that I am a gambler, you ShylOck. Say .are you not a Floren tine Jew?” demanded St. John quickly. «. I am as the honorable Captain sees," replied Marion, cohtroling his voice to calmness with a mighty effort. “ I am. Benditto, the fortune-teller or money-lender as you may desire.” “Were you ever in Florence, Ben ditto?” “ My profession has carried me to every city of the European Continent, Captain. I have been in Florence. Why does the Captain ask ?” “ Simply because I once saw a pic ture there of a Hebrew, a rich and haughty which you re mind me strangely.’/. Stt John leaned his head upon his hand, his.elbow resting upon the table and seemed busy in recollections of the past. Maria awaited his desires in res pectful silence. “ Tell me,” said St. John at length; “ when were you last in f” “ Three years ago, Signor Cap tain.” “ Three years—ah. Did you ever hear of a wealthy Hebrew, of Flor ence, named Antelli ?—let me see —Mario Antelli ?” “ I have heard of the man,” re plied Mario, “ but he was not a He brew—he was reported of Hebrew descent.. Some avowed and many de nied that Mario Antelli, the rich Flor entine nobleman, was a Hebrew. But it matters little what he was—he is dead.” * /I “Is dead also, Captain. You knew the family ?” “ But slightly—very slightly. I think there was a daughter—l think her name was—strange that I should forget her name—ah yes—her name was Clara, an English name,” remark ed St. John, carelessly. “ And what of her foster brother, Yadak ?” “ Clara Antelli lives,” said Mario, as carelessly. “ Yadak is dead.” “ What 1 She lives 1 Clara Antelli lives!” exclaimed St. John, wildly and springing to his feet. “ She died, old man ! she died of poison—so I heard.” “ Your honor is correct,” remarked Mario. “ I had confounded Clara Antelli with Clara Orsini —a totally different person. You are right, Sig nor—'the daughter of Count Mario died many years ago. Lftt us to busi ness, Captain. You have the jewels with you ?” - “Yes, I have them in this casket,” said St. Jojrn, vacantly, and placing the box upon the table; “But 1 would like to hear a little more of the Antelli family.” “ The Captain seems much inter ested in the fate of that unfortunjate family,” remarked Mario, as his eyas began to glitter strangely. “I have good reason to be so, Ben ditto. That family was the ruin of my twin brother;!’ said St. John, with eyes that glittered as keenly as Mario’s. “Your twin brother, Signor! Had You ever a - brother |£__ cried .Mario. y‘ “. Os course—or rather why not I — : as -well- as Esau or any one else,” replied-St. John coldly. “He was as like me in form, voice and feature as eye to eye. You seem surprised that I have had a twin brother.” “ Not at'all—the coincidence sur prised me,” said Mario, calmly, arid sitting down. “ May I ask whayfas the name of your twin brother, honor able Captain 1” “ His name in Florence, some fif teen years ago, was Henri Jie Grand. What was that coincidence of which you spoke ?” replied St. John. “ Why I had a twin brother also, Captain.” “ The deuce you did ?/' And may I ask what his name was?” cried St. John. “ His name in Florence was Mario, Count Antelli 1” replied Mario. “ You are Count Mario 1” thundered St. John, again springing to his feet and laying his hand upon hi3 sabre. But Mario did not rise, he seemed the picture of astonishment. “The captain raves,” said he cool ly. “ I cannot be the Count Mario, for he died ten,, years ago. If your brother, who bore the name of Henri Le Grand, told you aught of the An telli familv he surely made mention of Mario’s exiled brother, Benditto.” “ So he did—so he did,” said St. John, resuming his seat. “ But if you are that Benditto Antelli why are you in America following a profession all men call a mockery, a swindle? The title and estates of Count Mario ; should have fallen to you.” “So they did, Signor. But Ben ditto in those days was not the Ben- : ditto of 1815. Then he loved to squander money, now he loves to make and hoard it.” “ So, you are Count Mario’s broth er,” said St. John, musingly. “ Well, tell me something of Henri Le Grand, as he called himself—he died soon after he left Florence*” “Yes, ’twas said he died. Perhaps he did. I never troubled myself about the matter.- Count Mario dis owned me while he lived, and his troubles were for himself. Still, if Henri Le Grand were alive, and now before me, Captain, I would stab him before he could cry, ‘ Mercy !’ ” “Would you?” sneered St. John. “He was nimble at that game himself, friend Benditto. I doubt that your dagger would not be met half way by his. But he is dead—and there’s an end of him. But he never harmed you, did he ? In fact, he told me he had never, seen either Count Mario, "or his brother Benditto.” “ Very true, SignoT. But he out raged a noble family, my brother’s family,” said Mario, with flashing eyes. “He persuaded Clara Antelli, Mario’s only daughter, to forsake her NO. 16* father’s roof and to become his wife.” “That was a terrible outrage/’ said St. John, with his mocking laugh. “ Such outrages are very common.” “He did not stop there,” said Ma rio, fiercely. “ But even the marriage was an outrage, for Be Grand mar ried Clara Antelli, to win a wager. He never loved her —not he! Ho laid a wager one day in Florence, with some of his wild comrades, that he could cajole any damsel in Italy to marry him, and then took great odds that she would marry him secretly.' Do you divine the rascal’s inten tion ?”' “ Well, not clearly,” said St. John. “ It was to win the wager and Clara at the same time—for Le Grand in tended that the marriage should be an empty ceremony —a mere sham. He had no desire to link himself for life to any one woman.” “He was very wise, that scape grace brother of mine,” remarked St. John. “ He was a devil in cunning,” said Mario. “But Count Mario was as cunning as Henri Le Grand; for though in Russia as an embassador at the time* he heard of the wager and was informed that the young rakes had selected his daughter Clara as a fit test for the wager. He hastened to Florence to find his child really in love with Le Grand, but Le Grand was then absent from Florence upon a traveling tour. So the father threat ened his child with a convent—he swore to send her to a nunnery, and to slay her lover if ever he heard of any more love making.” “ Os course that terrified Henri Le Grand—when he heard of the awful threat?” said St. John, with-his cold mocking smile. “No, he was a dare-devil,” contin ued Mario. “ The Count was forced to return to Russia ; yet he loved his daughter too well to blast her happi ness; Therefore, before he left he took good care that if there was to be a marriage, it should be valid and true even if secret.” . I: “ Shrewd old father ’. Sensible too,” i laughed- St. John. “He knew that | whW h girl is determm«l ilTjjlMjfci,'' ' man she loves, she will do it if the whole world cries, nay! Sharp old fellow.” “So it proved,” resumed Mario} “for Le Grand won Clara to elope with him to a sham marriage—as he imagined. But the marriage was as good as gold and firmer than steel. Well, the wager was won by Grand, and for more than a year he was true to his wife—not knowing she., was entitled to that sacred name^” “ Then he did love her a little ?” interrupted St. John, carelessly. “Perhaps he'had some fragment of a human heart in his bosom,” said ■: Mario. “ The Count refused to ac- * knowledge his disobedient daughter after the marriage—to punish her; though he intended to forgive her in the end;” “ But he didn’t slay Le Grand after all the blustering,” sneered St. John. “He would have found my brother quite hard to kill.” _* “Very likely, Captain—if he was such a warrior as you are—though you may be killed one of these days,” said Maria, bowing blandly. “ Go on,” sneered St. John, twirl ing his moustache. “ But after a child had been born to the youthful pair,” continued Mario, “Le Grand grew weary of Clara’s love, and told her of his base ness—he gloried in his supposed suc cess. She quickly proved to him that she was indeed his lawful wife, and then what do you suppose he did ?” “Why, made the best of it, of course,” said St. John, though his face grew pale. “He poisoned her and fled from Florence!” exclaimed Mario. “ Then he. was more than a match for the cunning Florentines,” laughed St. John; but there was no soul in his laugh, nor was it mocking—it was like a broken, disjointed hiss. “ But the child of Le Grand —what became of that ?” “ What is it to youj sir ?” demand ed Mario, tartly. “ Fellow !” cried St. John, “ you forget to whom you are privileged to speak. Address me in that tone again and not only will I take my jewels elsewhere, but kick you through the wall for your impertinence—were you Mario Antelli himself.” “ I humbly crave my gracious cap tain’s pardon,” said Mario, bowing most obsequiously. “ I did forget my self. Pardon.” St. John eyed the old man keenly, and finally remarked. “ I have half a mind to believe you are mocking me with feigned humility, you Barrabas. But whattof the child —a boy, I think, my brother said.” “ It was a girl,” resumed Mario. “ She was named Clara after her mother.”
