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BY BENJAMIN P. POORE.
The Southern Whig,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
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To our Patrons.
The undersigned having assumed the man
agement of the Whig, it is perhaps necessary,
in compliance with tho usages of the country,
that he should give a brief indication of the
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The politics of the Whig will undergo no
change : the Virginia and Ken
tucky Resolutions of 1773 and ’79 contain a
correct exposition of the rights of the States,
ai d of the relative powers of the General and
State Governments, he will adopt them as
the polar star, which he should never loose sight
of; and the Constitution as the chart io direct
him ir. his political course.
He will advocate the liberal system of In
ternal Improvements now in progress ; Gen
eral Education ; improvement in Agriculture ;
Direct Importation; and all other subjects
calculated to promote the prosperity of his
adopted State. .
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Aware the peculiar difficulties attending
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responsibility which it imposes, it is not without
feelings of diffidence that he commences the
undertaking—but, although he may not effect
much by his own efforts, yet, with the assis
tance from others which he hopes to obtain, he
flatters himeelf that the Whig will serve as an
efficient support to the principles which it advo
cates, and the general interests of the South.
Benjamin P. Poore.
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TO THE PUBLIC.
HN. WILLSON tenders his thanks to
• the public, for the liberal patronage
bestowed on his Stage Lines, and would res
pectfully inform them, that he is running a
Daily Dine, (Sundays excepted,) ol
FOUR HORSE POST COA-
CHES,
from the Georgia Rail Road to Athens, Ga.
via. Greensboro', Salem, and Watkinsville.
MAIL ARBANGEIVIENTS,
From Augusta to Spring Place, Ga.
Leave Augusta, Mondays, Wednesdays, and
Fridays, at 6 A. M., and arrive at Athens
same day, at ,10 P. M.
Leave Athens, Tuesdays, Thursdays and
Saturdays, at 6 A. M. and arrive at Gaines*
y ille same day at 4P. M.
Leave Gainesville, Mondays, Wednesdays,
>and Fridays, at 2 A. M., and arrive at Spring
Place next day at 8 P. M., where it intersects
■a Line of Four horse Post Coaches, for Nash.
<ville, Ten., via Ross’ Landing, and also a line of
Stages for Knoxville, Ten., via Athens, Ten.’
Accommodation Line.
Leave Augusta, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and
at 0 A. M. and arrive at Athens
•same day by 10 P. M.
Leave Athens, Tuesdays, Thursdays and
at 10 A. M., and arrive at Augusta
mext day by 11-2 P. M.
Stage Office at the bar ofthe Eagle & Phrenix
’JHoteliu Augusta, and at the Rail Road Hotel,
Athens.
Jan. 12,—37—2t
The Chrcnicle and Sentinel, and Consti*
lutionalist, Augusta, will please insert the above.
b IL N. W.
/
Notice*
ALL persons are forewarned not to trade for
a note of hand, given by me to Willis
Bobo or bearer, owe day after date, and dated
December 27th, 1838, for Eighty Dollars. As
the said note was fraudulently obtained, I do not
intend to pav said note, unless compelled by
IHW . B. NABERS.
Jefferson, Jan. s—3o—2t. 1’
FOUR months after date, application will be
made to the Honorable Inferior Court *f
Oglethorpe county, while sitting as a Court of
Ordinary, for leave to sell the real Estate of
’William G. Jennings, deceased.
’ WILLIAM W. BUSH, Adm r.
pec’r. 8,—32—4m
Jhr 9
SUisceUancotis.
FROM THE AUGUSTA MIRROR.
THE MORAL OF WINTER.
BY a. M. CARLTON, «SQ.
The last warm ray hath gone and past
The leaves have left the forest trees,
And Winter's uncongenial blast,
Math taken the place of summer’s breeze ;
Above—around—without—within,
We miss the bright and choerful beam,
And seek in vain, delights to win,
From hill, and vale, and crystal stream.
The flowers that bloomed our path along,
No more our weary eyes rejoice ;
We miss the •‘feathered child of song,”
We hear no more, its cheerful voiee;
Where’er we turn, we meet decay,
Where'er we roam, we sec its blight,
And joy is taken from the day,
And gloom is added to the night.
Well, be it so; nor gloom, nor grief,
Can bring despair, if thou art kind ;
Nor howling storm, nor faded leaf,
Dispel the sunshine of my mind;
What ray so bright as beauty’s beam 1
What bird so sweet as love’s own voice !
And who can mourn for flower or stream,
That in affection doth rejoice !
Man ! thou that gocst on thy way,
Unmindful of Time’s fleeting hours,
And deemest that thy life’s whole day,
Will ever more be bright with flowers I
One moment pause in thy career :
Behold the gloom around thee cast,
Let pale decay its moral bear,
And view thy fate in Winter’s blast.
As fall the leaves, —so one by one,
Thy sweete 1 j°y s shall drop away,
And hope shajl from thy heart be wrung,
And leave it dark, as did that ray;
Time’s hand shall rob from life its rest.
And feeble age, and pale disease,
Shall banish pleasure from thy breast.
As winter drove that summer breeze !
But let thy faith this lesson teach; —
There is a clime, that knows no blight;
A land—despair can never reach;
A day—ne’er shadowed o’er by night;
And he who treadeth virtue’s way
Thro’ Summer’s hours, and Winter’s gloom,
May smile to see the years decay,
And scorn the terrors of the tomb.
From the Augusta Mirror.
PRIZE TALE.
THE BRITISH PARTISAN,
A TALE OF THE TIMES OF OLD.
BY MISS MORAGNE, OF SOUTH CAROLINA.
CHAPTER IV.
CONTINUED.
"A fellow by the hand of nature marked,
Quoted, and signed to be a deed of shame.”
That night, as Lieutenant Pickens sat in his
apartment at Vienna, looking out upon the ri
ver, and involving in his mind the strange
events of the day, an individual was urshered
into his presence.
He was a mao in the bloom of life; yet in
that of its bloom, when the fully expanded
graces of summer, are itch, and pliant with
the freshness and vigor of youth. Ho was
short in stature, but slender and active, and
his limbs seemed disposed in a strong, wiry,
fox like suppleness. His face which was
ruddy and manly, might have been considered
handsome, but for a forehead “villainously
low and the sinister expression, which very
black, heavy brows, gave to a pair of small,
restless, grey •eyes. His florid complexion
was very stickingly relieved by a thick mass of
black curling hair, and a Herculian beard.
His nose was straight, and well formed, and
his full, rich lips, opened upon a set of teeth
strong, white, and beautifully even. But there
was nothing noble, or elevated in his physiog
nomy ; on the contrary, a smile of servility
sat affectedly on his thick lips, showing that
he was accustomed to work his way through
the world by wailing the wind, and tide of
events: and his restless eye had the furtive
glance of cunning and treachery. He had net
the air of a man who has much confidence in
himself. His step was light and elastic, but
it had more of the stealthiness of the cat. than
the self-importance even of the surly mastiff;
and he had a habit of glancing suspiciously
round him when he walked.
As he presented himself before Pickens, he
was dressed very plainly, with uo mark of
distinction, except that he wore an American
badge, and his arm was bound in a sling.
“Well, sir ! what is your business?”—asked
Pickens, tn the haughty tone with which he
usually addressed men whom he did not re
spect.
“1 have something very important,’’-replied
the man, casting an inquisite glance round the
room.
“Never mind Bates,’’ —said the Lieutenant,
with a smile of irony,—“say on ; there is no
one here es more doubtful character than your,
self.
“Your honor means to merry at my ex
pense,”—he answered with an unruffled conn
tenance, —“there is not a better whig in these
parts than Hugh Bates.”
“As occasion serves, I suppose ; but when
the lories are up to their elbows in plunder,
and fear of hanging there, is no better tory
than Hugh Bates. Eh! have I not hit
it?”
A dark scowl passed quckly over the counte
nance of Bates, which Pickens did not obser.
ve, and he continued :
“But what is the matter with your, arm,
Bates? We have had no encounters, lately, 1
think.’’
“Oh, it is only a scratch that I got fighting
with a tory,”—replied Bales carelessly.—
“The devil was making offwiththe best hoise
in mv stable; but I guess I peppered him—
he ! he ! he!”
“Umph! umph !”—said Pickens, incredu
lously.—“Well.it is all one, so you stick to the
right side in future. Bui beware how you
change coats again,—you hear that Bales !
And now u» your business; what is it?”
“I am glad your honor has not forgotten
. it,” —said Bates, much relieved to escape from
. the other subject.—“lt is a matter of no im
portance to me; but of very great interest to
the true cause Col. Ferguson has been seen
1 in this neighborhood, and Ralph Cornet.’
“WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMED Y. ’’-Jej/erSOU
“Ha! what of him?”—interrupted Pickens
impatiently
“Your Sonor looks as pale as if you had
secnaghost!”—said Bates, with something
of the “laughing devil of a sneer.” “Do not
fear sir.”—continued he. still laughing mali
ciously,—“that villain of a tory, bold as he is
will hardly attack us here. He is only help
ing Fergerson to collect the royalists in this
neighborhood, mid then they are to be off for
North Carolina. But, if your honor is not
afraid to meet this lion, I can show v#u where
you can grab these two friends, and put all
their plans to sleep.”
The sinister countenance of Ilagh Bates
winced beneath the withering look of contempt
and scorn, which Pickens cast upon him, as
he uttered this last speech. Notwithstanding
the characteristic softness of the young Lieu
tenant, he was subject to fits of arbitrary pas.
sion.
“Wretch,” —said he, rising and stamping
furiously on the floor, —“dare to mention that
word fear again to me, and you stand not
alive! 1 doubt much,” —he continued, as he
paced the floor, —“If you have not some other
reason for wishing this man hanged besides
your immaculate patriotism!”—And his proud
lip curled with the strong expression ot his
scorn, until it displayed the ivory teeth. Ha !
I remember now, —were you not the man who
informed me that Cornet was at the housejof
eld Bruyesant, on the night of that he was
attacked by the tones?”
A slight chance came over the face of
Bates, and his eye sunk beneath the penetra
ting gaze of his officer, as he replied hum.
bly :
“ I was, your honor; I thought it right to
inform you of it.”
“And how long have you known this man
Coronet, eh ?”
“Oh, bless your honor,” —said Bates, reas
sured, —“we have been friends of old—he!
he!”
“And you wish to obtain the benefit of that
friendship by betraying him into your hands.
Ah ! I see it all,” —said Pickens, as he walked
to a window.
“Yes d n your eyes !” muttered Bates
between his clenched teeth, as the Lieuten
ant’s back was turned to him ; and his eyes,
as they fixed upon him, nssummed the deadly
glare of the tiger when about to spring upon
its prey.
But in those few moments of mediation, the
young officer had formed a resolution, which
very materially changed the face of the mat
ter. It was evident to his mind, that Bates
had some personal revenge to gratify in his
persecution of Ralph Cornet; but he felt it bis
euty to have these men arrested, and as ho was
himself prohibited from leading the attack, he
resolved to trust Bates with the affair; for‘.he
thought occurred to him, that his enmity
would be the surest warrant of success. Turn
ing suddenly to where Bates was yet standing,
he said with haughty calmness :
“Well,sir, how many men will you take for
the enterprise 1”
“Me? your honor!’ exclaimed Bates, in
real surprise, while a gleam of satisfaction lit
up his eyes with savage ferocity.—lf your
honor would trust me iu the business, I war
rant that with four stout fellows, I could take
any two British officers in his majesty’s—l
mean in this country.”
“Well, you shall have your choice ; but re
member that your head will stand forfeit for
the lives of my men, if you run them needless
ly into danger. . When, and where do you
propose taking these men?”
“Between this and daylight,”—said Bates,
—“the tories are to meet a little above here,
at the upper ferry. Fergurson, in order to
join them will pass along the public road ; for
Cornet, not satisfied to go off without seeing
the girl, Annette Bruyesant, has been down
on a fool’s errand to search for her in a French
settlement, —and they are separated from their
party. I will station myself on the road, and
wait forthem, —and when we have these two
leaders, what can the tories do? your hon
or!”
“By heavens !” —said Pickens with a sneer,
—“your patriotism is truly self-sacrificing.
Do you know the danger of meeting these
men ? Ralph Cornet is said to hold a heavy
hand!”
“I have tried him before,” —said Bates with
a fiendish grin, and then continued with an in
ward exultaion as if forgetful that he spake
aloud,—“and he shall feel the claws of the old
fox yet!”
“What’s that?”—asked Pickens in an au.
thoritive tone, —these men are to be taken
alive; you understand Bates! —no harm done
if possible. Alive on your peril —you hear
that?”
“Your honor shall be obeyed!”—said Bates
bowing himself oft"; but as his back was turn,
ed.the whole of his broad teeth were exposed
in a malicious sneer; and eluteningthe paper
bv which he held his commission for the nights
firmly in his hand, he exclaimed —“d n t,.u
preaching tool, dead or alive, he is now
mine!”
Penetrating as was the American officer,
he had net calculated on the lull malignity
of the heart of Hugh Bates; and he imagined
that by limiting his powers, he should restrain
him from committing any outrage against hu
manity, in the business with which he had
trusted him. It is a remarkable fact in the
history of these lawless times, that however t
great the hatred to the British might have been
an act of inhumanity against them was ever
revolting to the feelings of the American of.
(icers; and though Ralph Cornet had excited
a bitterer feeling still. Lieutenant Pickens
could not resolve to see him wantonly murder
ed.
But Hugh B ates had succeeded beyond his i
most sanguine hoses in his interview with his
officer, and he went fmth triumphantly and
boldly, to fasten his net around his intended
victim. For inanv years he had been the
deadliest foe of Ralph Cornet; and if he had
concea led hishatred.it was for the fell pur
pose es wmking out a surer method of re
venge. From his earliest youth, Ralph bad
been a serpent in his path, which he wished,
vet feared to crush. Until Ralph Cornel had
grown into manhood, Hugh B ites had been
the theme and boast of every gathering in the
country. No man could contend successfully
with him, in running, wrestling, boxing, throw
ing the quoit, or in any of those games of
strength and manhood, in which the new' world
had established her gymnasium. But i.> every
encounter with Ralph Cornet, the latter had
born oil the palm ; and from the first time that
he brought the back of the proud bully to th
ground, the enraged Bates vowed in lus secret
heart, that nothing less than the death of the
voting man could wipe away the stain of his
disgrace. With every successive triumph,
his curses deepened, to see with what lordly'
ATBIUNS, SATURDAY, JANUARY 19, 1839.
pride Ralph Cornet spurned the laurels which
he had torn from him.
His evil genius in love, as in ambition,
Ralph had also won the afl’< ctions of the only
being who had ever touched the vitiated, but
not iusenible heart of Bates. But. from the
moment that old Bruyesant had indignantly re
fused to admit bis addresses to his daughter,
fierce passion with which he had loved her,
was turned into a harted which called loudly
for revenge on all who had come between him
and his wishes.
He dissembled his fellings until he could
mike a sure spring upon Ins prey, and hatred
germinating in the depth ot his burning heart
produced a strong and living principle of re
venge. He fed upon it. —he slept upon it, —he
aggravated it day by day. At length the war
opened an agreeable theatre for the view of
Hugh Bates. The lawless rule of the roylist
party was congenial to his brutal licentious
ness ; besides it was opposed to the family of
Cornet, and without sufficient sentiment to be
come a partisan he was a tory in the vilest sense
of the word. We have seen him at the cottage
of old Bruyesant, w here Ralph Cornet, by a
fortunate interference, again steps in his path
and thwarted him of his dearest revenge.
Ralph Cornet’s concurrence with the royalist
party, instead of canceling the debt of hatred
which he owed him, only seemed to place him
more securely in his power ; and when on that
night, he tied from the cottage with a broken
arm, he conceived the base plan of betraying
him to the American militia, as already sta
ted.
The failure of that scheme was not suffi
cient to withdraw the ferocious Bates. He
dreaded to meet Cornet in a personal encoun
ter; but he imagined that by joining the whig
militia, he could make them a party to his re
venge, by working upon their natural indigna
tion against the royalist leader. Accordingly,
he appeared before Pickens, and enrolled the
name with the coinpa y then enlisting. The
actions and principles of Bates had been so se
cret, that this new step excited but little notice
among the whigs. Pickens, from his con.
nection with the cottage scene, suspected more
of his real character than any one else knew.
Thus secured in this point, Bates kept a strict
surveillance upon the actions of Ralph Cor
net, by mingling with the tories, who revealed
to him, unhesitatingly, their plans, and opera
tion, and by this tortuous course, he was ena
bled to spread his toils for his enemy.
CHAPTER V.
“ Then, Hated, iftbou lov’st me, fly !
I pray thee, if thou lov’st me fly !
East, West, alas ! I care not whither,
So thou art safe 1” Moore.
After the departure of the young Lieuten
ant, Annette Bruyesant, on eturning into the
balcony, found her friend weeping. It had
now become her part to console, or rather to
weep in ovmpathy.
The human heart when left to indulge its
sorrows, in inactivity, sinks under them, and
it is no doubt owing to the fact, that in those
perilous times, the minds ofthe softer sex
were kept in the constant exercise of active du
lies, that th«y showed uncommon strength for
exertion and endurance.
A more than common share, of the duties
of life at this time devolved upon them. All
honest men of strength and capacity, had vol
unteered to iseet the foe, which was entering
the country, and the aged and infirm left at
home, were afraid to venture out. The- few
slaves then in the settlement, had become
worse than useless property, and those that,
were not scattered through the woods, were
obliged to be kept concealed to prevent them
from falling into the hands of the tories. In
th is emergency, the fair daughters of the land,
—those tender scions, hitherto guarded with
such gentle care, whom even tho “ winds of
heaven had not been permitted to visit too
roughly,” undertook for the relief of their
suffering families, the most menial offices,
and performed them with unshrinking brave
ry and cheerfulness.
* There are some situations in life, when the
nerves being strained to their utmost tension,
give a tone of hardihood to the weakest sys
tem ; and there are many instances in the
private histories of the families thus left open
to the aggression!, of the tories, of this latent
fortitude, or as it might be better named, ne
cessitous courage.
Annette Bruyesant and her fiiend, had not
long indulged in the luxury of grief, when
they remembered that the bread stuff had been
exhausted since the last night, and there was
nothing to provide for the wants of the family.
What was to be done ? Relief might be pro
cured from a mill some miles off. But old
Bruyesant was lying at the house, still disa
bled from the injuries he had received, and the
only boy in the family, a lad often years, was
of a fever. Than, there was Clarv, faith
faithful old Clary, the only servant remaining
to them : but she might be stolen or murdered
by the tories. “We will go !”—said the he
roic girls ; and now behold the two beings,
who but a few moments before had nearly
lost themselves in a maze of cloudy reveries,
mounted on a little vehicle, half between chair
and cart, to which was attached the only horse
left them, and proceeding cheerfully, if not
merrily on their novel errand. The amusing
varieties of the situation in which they found
themselves, diverted the memory of their so
recent griefs—so perfectly unnatural it is for
the young and innocent mind to be sad, while
pursuing the path of duty. Enjoy while ve
may, young creatures, for ye have yet much
to endure !
They had seen nothing to alarm them on
their route, and were returning with feelings
of almost triumphant gayety to their home.
They felt that they were bringing comfort to
the sick and hungry, and joy to all by their
gladdening presence :—but scarcely were they
arrived within sight of the house, when they
stop! and looking at each other with a kind of
wild affright, the expression of‘heir speech
less countenances seemed say—“the tories
have,been here!” No living creature was
visible —but the broken windows, the mutila
ted furniture, scattered in fragments over the
yard, and the contents of the feather-beds fil
ling the air, told the tale ata single glance.
I When they had partially recovered from theii
first exclamation of horror, lhe poor girls pro-
I needed with slow and unwilling steps to the
■ house, expecting momentarily to encounter
I the murdered bodoies of their friends; but as
they continued lhe search over those lone and
desolate apartments, hope arose once more in
their besoms—not a mark of blood was to b.
found, and the fan ily had doubtless escaped
but they had left no trace of tin ii refuge.
It Was fast becoming night—a night of
pitchy darkness—for the muon, which was by
this time risen, found it impossible to struggle
through the thick clouds which were distilling
a slow but heavy mist upon the chilly breeze.
In the pitiful and dread uncertainty of these
circumstances. Annette and Selina wandered
through the deserted place, searching vainly
for a light, or morsel of food. The work of
destruction had been complete ; —every thing
valuable hud been carried off’, and that which
was not portable wantonly destroyed. Scarce
ly a piece was left of the elegant mirrors, in
which, at morning, these lovely girls had view
ed themselves—the shelves were empty of
plates. In one room, a table was strewed
with the fragments of a feast, mingling with
broken glasses and dishes stamped under
feet.
It was like haunting the chambers of the
dead to diem, and rather than remain einid
that fearful desolation, they submitted them,
selves to the darkness of the night. Without
light, or guide, or mark, by which to steer
their course, they took the direction of the
river, supposing that their friends might have
hid themselves in some one of the natural re
cesses of the deen wood. O.i they wandered,
through the tangled mazes of the thickety vales
and marshes—but no light broke on their
straining ayesight—all around was darkness,
silent, dreadful, profund darkness. Some
times indeed, as they scrambled through the
deep hollows, an owl would send up his fiend
ish laugh over their heads ; but no other sound
came to “vex the drowsy ear of night.”
Fear, wild, agonizing, supernatural fear took
possession of their hearts—their tongues seem,
ed glued in their mouths, and every nerve
strained and shrinking from the awful echo of
their own footsteps. At length, they sunk on
the ground, wearied and disheartened, and a
stupor occasioned by fatigue and the damp
air, was fast steeping their senses in forget
fulness. But in that moment of death.like
stillness, a sound of voices, very faint and dis
tant came to their ears. Nerved by hope,
they sprang to their feet, and ran on in that
direction—but the sound seemed hollow and
deadened, as if they came from some subterra- I
nean abode, and often did the poor wanderers!
stop to assure themselves that they were in ’
the right course.—At length they seemed to
be ascending a hill, As suddenly to their sight,
a broad glare came up from the earth, spread
ing a ghastly yellow glow over the leaden sky
and the sombre foliage ofthe giant trees—but
what was their horror on discovering beneath
them, the very objects from which they were
flying !
The hill, or bank on which they stood, ex
tended round for many feet perpendicularly
belo-v them, forming a kind of circular bar
rier for the river, which in high water over,
spread the enclosure. Tall trees grew up j
from the loamy soil, but the undergrowth was
wanting, and the space beneath was strewed
with fallen trees, dried sticks nd leaves. —its
naturally gloomy aspect, was now rendered
tearfully wild, by the effect of the various
lights scattered through it ; around which, sat
or stood, about thirty or forty ferocious look,
ing beings, in every variety of grotesque atti- j
tudes. Several groups of four and five were j
se.ited at cards, round an'old log, or stump,
in which they had placed a rosin torch, very
ingeniously sheltered from the nigh'air bv a
piece of bark—and every tew minutes, they I
stopped to curse their luck, or the rain which I
fell occasionally in soft showers, wetting them j
through by slow degrees. Some had burnt
coal fires under the logs, by which they sat
cooking and eating ; and others had kindled
blazing fires, bv piling up heaps ofthe dried
sticks and faggots, around which they cir- ;
cled in irregular measures singing, shouting, j
and brandishing their empty bottles over dark j
countenances, which were rendered fiendish |
by contrast with the red handkerchiefs tied ■
carelessly around them.
Fascinated by a spectacle so novel, the /
poor fugitives crouched closely behind a large j
tree in breathless curiosity. Just, beneath j
them, on the ground sat two men. who seem- >
ed bv some marks of distinction to be the lead- <
ers of the band. Their swords lay beside |
them and hats with red feathers sat jauntily on ,
their rugged, sunburnt features, which were j
strongly illumined by the light.
“Ila! ha! ha !”—laughed one ot them in j
a coarse, rough voice, so near that the frigh
tened girls heard every tone —‘ How these ras.
cals do gig it!’—said he— they would sell
themselves to the devil for a bottle of whis
key.”
“ Damn it Johnson.”—said the other— * you
need’nt say a word—we’ve all had our share
of 'he fat things at the big house yonder to
day. How the poor devils did run !—but as
for belonging to the old fellow below there,
that you speak of, I think I know somebody
who will be apt to go there himself, to pay for
a barrel of jewels and trumpery, which the old
woman had buried on the riverbank !”
“ Ha ! ha !” —-again laughed the brutal
Johnson—“that was the best thing I ever
done, Georgie, except “twas skinning that
old black rascal alive, w hen he wouldu t tell
me where his master was.”
“ Yes —replied the other, —who was
known by the familiar title of Gtoigie Long,
—“ and if you are not damned for that, you
will be, for blowing out lhe brains of the little
brat, who caught hold ot the blanket you was
pulling off of him !”
“ Well Georgie,”—said he, rising from his
elbow with an unmoved and hardened smile,
—“ we have both done enough to damn us :
but no matter, it is high time we were moving.
You know we promised to meet 1* ergust n at
the ferry ; and if we wait till daylight, we
might chance to fall in with some ot the
d d rebels—l’ll be sworn they have the
scent of us by this time!”
“ And Cornet, Captain Cornet, is to lead
us into North Carolina,” said Long; ‘be
seems to be in high favor ; but do you feel
like knocking under to this proud, beard
less’—
A deep groan from the top ot the hill arres
ted this speecn.
“ Who’s there ?” shouted the two men, as
they sprang simultaneously to their feet. Io
a few moments, otic halt ot the tories had
scoured the hill ; but the unfortu nil*- objects
oi their alarm had fled. with footsteps winged
by fear, tar from the fury camp
Their feet were bruised, their g nir.' its
torn, but they knew not wherw slop ; and
in the delirium cl their tears a d contusion,
tbev ran on, and. on, tar as p. ssilve Iron) the
direction they had al first, taken, until o-ieol
them stumbled over something, a'd tell with
a scream to the ground.
“ Mercv ! mercy ! ye wadna tak an aidd
man’s life !” said a voice in a bro-ad Scotch
accent, as stum thing seemed struggling from
the ground.
“ Heavens be thanked!”said Arnette Bruy,
esant, with a long, deep inspiration ot her sus.
: pended breath ; “it is the voice of the old
Andrew Morrison, the miller!”
“ Yes, it is auld Andrew Morrison,” —said
the man, whose senses were not yet clear of
the vapors of sloop ; “ an what harm has puir
auld Andrew ever din ye, I maun ask ?
' “ For shame, Andrew, rise ;it is I— An-
nette Bruyesant.”
“Oh, an is it yersel,’ Miss Annie? Then
it cannii be the tories ! Guid be praised for
a’his mercies ! Bless yer bonnie face,’ —
be continued, “ how caum ye here, yer lane
sei’ this waefu’ night—had ve nae been hame
syne ?
“ Yes. Andrew, but the tories have sent our
friends to the woods, and we did not know
where to find them.”
“ Bless the puir childer ! And ye hae nae
hame then ?”—said the kind hearted Andrew
—‘ I guessed some’il waii come to ye. Sae
whan ye had left the mill aboon, I said to my
sei, I muun see the bonuie leddies safe hame ;
but jist as I was gauging on the roed hard bye,
I heard the tramp o’ leet; an as I dinna ken,
whether frien nr fae.l turned in here a bit to
rest my sei till day.”—
But the Lord defend ls, Miss Annie, whn’s
here ?” continued old Andrew, as he stopped,
and raised from the ground the form of Selina
Anderson, who through fatigue, and fear, had
faintod. Annette supported her in her arms,
and seeing she 'did not speak, the old man
groped about for a stieam, which he knew ■
was close by, and bringing the water in his
hat, threw some in her face. When she had
a little revived, he spread his cotton the grass,
and begging them to he down and rest, he star
ted off', saying kindly. Ye maun bide here
yong leddies, ’till I come back.—l will bring '
ye to yer friens !” ■
Worn out with fatigue, the poor wander- I
ers, folded in each others arms, sunk into a i
deep sleep. When they awoke, morning had I
opened on the horizon, and was chasing with I
successive shades of rose and orange, the dark I
clouds ofthe night, away to the west ; then i
all rolled off, and no stain was left on the deli- '
cate azure, whence the bright, beautiful star
of inorninj, looked down upon them, like the ■
smiling and benignant eye of the all-seeing ;
one. i
Chilled with the damp air of the’nigbt, they
arose, and walked out into the road. The old
man bad not yet i eturned ; of course he had
not found their friends, and accustomed to act
tor themseles, and wearied of suspense, they
determined to follow the road till they reach
ed Vienna, wheie they might expect to find
assistance.
Tin y had not proceeded far, when they
were overtaken by two horsemen. One has
ty glance behind assured them, that they were
in the umf >nn of British officers, and the poor
fills I unit'd modestly aside to suffer them to
pass ; butth.it one glance had been sufficient;
in the next moment Ralph Cornet was kneel
ing before Annette. He had forgotten the bit
terness of their last meeting, his own circuin
st ine.es. and the presence of witnesses, in the
surprize, the rupture, the agony of seeing her
again.
He caught her hand between both his own
—“ Oh Annette,” —he said, —“Where have
you been? I have sought you every where !”
With a faint scream, Annette’s head sank
on the bosom of her friend, and she made an
effort to withdraw her hand, Ralph relin
quished it, and turned away his head much
aggrieved : “ You will not speak to me, An
nie ?”—lie said, in a tone of reproof so touch
ing that she burst into tears.
“ Youitji geaileman,”—said Selim Ander
son. who was vexed at Annette’s distress, —
“ if I judge rightly, you are Mr. Cornet; if so,
you had best leave us. This is a dangerous
place for vou. As for Miss Bruyesant, what
ever kind remembrances she may have for
you, she can never look with favor on the man,
who herds with the destroyers of her country,
and who gives i is countenance, and support,
to the merciless robbers, that send her friends
into the woods penniless wanderers.”
“ Heavens!”—said Ralph eagerly ; “ You
are not thus ?”
“ Yea,” —replied the young lady, bitter em
phasis—“ thanks to the courtesies of your
friends, we have been night seeking ours,
fiom whom we have been separated.”
Ralph Cornel stood for a moment with his
brows knit, and his lips compressed, until he
scarcely seemed to breathe. Perhaps until
that moment, he had never known the bitter
ness es his situation ; for he felt that he could
not revenge that outrage. But ha turned round
calmly :
“ I am not the ruffian you take me for,”—
said he in a subdued voice. If they have driv
en *ou from your homes, it is my duty to re
store you to thorn. Your friends have taken
to the weeds, did you say ?”
Selina answered proudly, as if she would
have disdained the offered service ; but Ralph
affected not to notice it.
“Col. Ferguson.” said he to the officer
who had sat on horseback, viewing the scene
with eager interest.—“ You can either await
me here, or go on.”
“ Heaven forbid, Cornet, that I should
prove so recreant a knight as to retire from
such a g-llant enterprise,”—exclaimed the
accomplished Englishihman, leaping from his
saddle.—“ If,”—continued he, bowing grace,
fully,—“ If these young ladies will except my
services!’’
»• No ! no ! Ralph Cornet you shall not
go!”—exclaimed Annette, starting op wildly.
—“They hate you !—they seek for you !
—von go to certain death.”
“ I fear no danger for my young friend, but
that of your presence, Miss Bruyesant.” —
said Cok Ferguson,— “ for all others I would
trust his ingenuity, and daring.”
“Trust me, Annette,” —said Ralph, with a
bitter smile, —“ I w ill see you in safety be
fore I die.—l know' these woods--follow
me !”
Ralph Cornet led the w ay, and Colonel Fee
gusou, with the rein of his bridle thrown over
his arm, walked by the side of Selina Ander
soi', whom, in spite ot her prejudices, he had
already begun to inteiest by the graces of an
eltgnnt mind, and noble soul.
•• You are the sister of an American Gene
ral said he -it length—“ and you are worthy
of being so!—You will be surprised, young
lady, to hear that I ri spect your feelings, and
yum- pride : but hereafter, w henever you hear
the m.me of Ferguson mentioned, do him the
justice to say, that headmired the enemy it is
hi- misfortune to oppose.”
They had, however, proceeded but a short
distance in this way, when they were met by
old Andrew Moirison. He had found the
camp, and was returning. The old Scotch
man stooped short on seeing them ; but
Ralph advanced and shook him cordially by
the hand :
“Ah Ralph! Ralph!”—said he m a reply
-Vol. VI—No. 3S.
to that familiar salutation—“ Sic waefu’
times ! —sic waefu’ times !—Wha wad hae
thought to hae seen yer nuinfu’ limbs iu Bri
tish gear,—ye that waur aye sae kind to
a”—■- ■
“ Hush ! hush ! Andrew, for heaven’s sake,”
—said Ralph impatiently.
“Na! ua ! I wadna hush Ralph, when yer
ain life is at stake; turn back, this instant,
an flee, for the tories have been up at their
evil doing?, and the militia men are out. They
will be here fu’sune, for they hae heard that
ye wad pass thia way. Flee, Ralph, flee—
ae moment mair, an I dinna ken what may be,
tide.”
“ I’ve sworn to see them safe;” —smd Ralph,
sullenly,—“ and I will die in the attempt.”
“Wha? these bennic laddies?—bless yer
kind heart, they are safe enough wi’ anld An
drew ; the camp is hard bye ; dinna gang
there my boy. Ou the word o’ an aulc man
wha has lo’ed ye frae the time ye hse sat on
his knee, a canny cbeeld ; awa,' awa,'—yo
waur aye kind to an auld body, an”
At that instant the tramp of horses feet
was heard on the dry sticks and leaves of the
forest.
“Whist! whist! my boy; wat ye wha’s
coming ?” continued old Andrew fearfully.
Ralph seemed to rouse himself painfully
from a fit of musing.—He turned and wrung
the hand of the old man. “They are safe,
you say, Andrew Morrison ?”
“Awa,’ awa,’ Ralph, for your life !”—ra.
peated Andrew in a tone of the most impa.
tient alarm, for the Damping came nearer and
nearer.
Ralph’s presence of mind never forsook him
in the hour of danger; and though in the ob
stinate daring of his nature, he would- have
faced a host, he could perceive the utter
folly, the madness of drawing himself and hia
friend inlo farther peril. Without more de
liberation, lie sprang into his saddle, and mo.
tiomng the astonished Ferguson to do the
same, he made for the road they hnd left, with,
out trusting himself with even a look at the
wondering girls. But it was too late; the
Americans were near enough to catch a
glympse of British uniforms, and already a
sharp report rang through the woods- -
“Great God’”—exclaimed Ferguson, as
his horse fell under him in the convulsive mu.
tion of death ; “I am lost!”
Ralph Cornet looked behind him, & sprang
to the ground.
*» Here Ferguson, take this horse and fly for
your life !”--said he.
“ God of Heaven !”—exclaimed Ferguson
passionately, “and leave you to perish .
“Not one word more,”—said Ralph, with
solemn earnes'ness,-—“ fly, or we are both
lost; for I swear not to quit this spot ’till you
are gone ! —fear not for me—hut take care of
Rover ’till I see you.”
Ferguson looked vexed and puzzled nt tbe
stubborn resolution of Ralph ; —but by this time
the foremost m.m, who dischared his gun. was
grappling with Ralph, and as Ferguson snw
him dash his opponent to the ground and fly
through the woods, he mounted that good
steed, for the others were close at his heels.
Two men followed him, but there were few
horses in those days that could compete with
Ralph Cornet’s well trained Rover; and they
soon returned to join the chase of the other fu
gitive.
Hugh Bates.—for it was lie,’whom Comet
had again foiled, —sprang lighty to his feet, and
his face was livid with rage. He grasped on
ly the sword of Ralph Cornet, which he had
torn away in the struggle. Mounting his
horse, he struck his rowels into its flanks, and
with a shout to his comrades he flew after his
adversary, Once they came in sight of him,
and to make “assurance doubly sure,” every
gun was levelled and discharged—but with it
bound like the deer that bears its death wound,
Ralph fled with greater speed than before.
Able at any time on fair ground to distance the
fleetest runner, the thick woods, and broken
country were now an advantage to the woun.
led man. They lost sight of him altogether,
but like blood hounds they followed on th«t
bloody track.
Oaco again they saw him on the border of
a cornfield, and as he turned to look, he stag
gered. The pursuers rushed on with a shout
of exultation But when they had struggled
hrough the cane brake to banks of lhe river,
he was no where visible. There whs fresh
tracks on the soft soil, and a bloody glove Uy
close by the edge of the stream. A cano«
was also lying there, half buried in the leaves
which carpeted the suiface of the quiet river,
upon which th'-early su b.-nms were glancing,
lietraying not by a sii gle ripple,that any object
had lately disturbed its tranquility.
What a contrast was that placid river to ths
boiling blood of those hot pursuers? But
iheirs were not the “high hearts” to a<e, and
feel its “eloquence, and beau’y.”
All night long they had ridden on the pnr
suit; and now in the fury of their baffled re.
venge. they scoured the banks of lhe river,
but there was no trace of Ralph Cornet on
land; an I supposing that he might have re.
sorted to the stratagem of diving, they station
ed Ih«mselves on each side of the stream, pre
pared to shoot him down as he eiaorged from
the water.
All day, so bitter was their hatred, did they
watch. But night came, and they departed
sullenly to spread the report of his death. Ar.
going from the impossibility of his having
crossed the river ere they reached it, they be.
lieved that he must have drow’ned himself in a
tit of desperation or exhaustion—a d for
many days, Hugh Bates, whose enmity reach
ed beyond thcllimits of death itself, searched
along that river for the body.
Ferguson, who had arrived safely, nnd met
his company at the appointed rendevotizs, lin
gered a dav or .-o, —but his emissaries all re
turned wi’h the story of Ralph’s mysterious
disappearance,nnd the British Colonel led mi
where his duty called him. But hereprmch
ed himself with the misfortunes of that brave,
misguided youth. He did more- he shed for
him the manly tears of sympathy, for he had
discovered lhe worth of the noble heart which
helhad been instrumental in corrupting.
In his own neighborhood, Ralph Comet’s
death was currently reported, attended with
stipe mu turn I awe among the ignorant nnd su
perstition-. Some said, that an evil spirit had
carried him off’, and him name was used to
lighten children. But there was one, who
heard these things with indignation. She be
lieved not lhe tale of her love*s death, so
great was her confidence in his prowess; and
so easily can the young heart Ise illumined by
the slightest ray of hope. Conviction only,
feeling, sensible conviction, alone cat; extio
gnish it!
For a length of time, Annette wandered out
ev?rv dav, alone. She shunned even the com,
pany of Selina Anderson. Something w hu-