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VOLUME I. |
BY E. HANLEITER.
IP © H T K ¥ □
“ Much yet remains unsung .”
THE COTTAGE DOOR.
How sweet the rest that labor yields
The humble and the poor,
Where sits the patriarch of the fields
Before his cottage door.
The lark is singing in the sky,
The swallow in the eaves,
And love is beaming in each eye
Beneath the summer leaves!
The air amid the fragrant bowers
Supplies unpnrchnsed health !
And hearts are bounding ’mid the flowers,
More dear to him than wealth !
Peace, like the blessed sunlight, pla}-8
Around his humble cot.
And happy nights and cheerful days
Divide his lowly lot.
And when the village Sabbath bell
Rings out upon the gale,
The father bows his head to tell
The music of his tale.
A fresher verdure seems to fill
The fair and dewy sod,
And every infant longue is still,
To hear the word of God.
O! happy hearts! to him who stills
The ravens when they cry,
And makes the lilly ’neath the hills
So glorious to the eye.
The trusting patriarch prays to bless
His labors to increase;
Such “ ways are ways of plesantness,'*
And all such “paths are peace !’’
JOHN ’S ALIVE !
OR THE BRIDE OF A GHOST.
A Talc of Love and Adventure.
IJY WILLIAM T. THOMPSON.
Chapter 111.
John’s compunctions of conscience—The announce
ment in the papers—Wavers in his purpose—Con
flicting emotions—attends his own funeral —Makes
many interesting observations there —Determines to
leave Philadelphia—His departure for New York-
Doleful reflections —Sails for New Orleans —Sea-
sickness—The dandy—The lieutenant’s remedy—
John's preventive—Happy effects of ihe voyage.
I confess that I was not without some
compunctions of conscience when I reflect
ed upon what 1 had done. But it was too
late to retract. I feared the consequences,
should the deception which 1 had practiced
be discovered, and now my greatest solici
tude was to escape the observation of those
Who might recognise me ; and though I was
extremely anxious to hear the gossip to which
my suicide had given rise, and to learn how
lny scheme had succeeded, the following
day and night was spent in concealment and
suspense.
On the morning of the second day after
my adventure, I strolled into a public read
ing room in the Northern Liberties, a part
of the city which 1 had seldom frequented,
when I met with the following paragraph in
one of the papers s
“Suicide. —A young gentleman of very
respectable connections, by the name of John
Smith, committed suicide by drowning in
the Delaware, sometime during Wednesday
night last. He had been in a state of men
tal despondency for some months past, and
from a letter which was found in his room,
it is supposed that disappointment in an af
fair of the heart was the cause of his com
mitting the rash act, which has plunged his
afflicted family into grief unspeakable. His
body was recovered near the Navy Yard,
last evening. His funeral will take place
from his mother’s residence, at No. —,
Market street, this afternoon, at half past
four o’clock.”
The paper fell from my hands—l could
have sunk through the floor, such was tny
chagrin and mortification on reading that
paragraph. I had never before reflected
upon the consequences of my rash and
wicket act. “ Plunged his afflicted family
into grief unspeakable!” These words pierc
ed me to the heart. What had I m>t inflict
ed upon my poor old mother and fond sis
ters 1 I was the only son, and I felt that I
had murdered my mother. Oh, the agony
of that thought! How l abhorred and exe
crated myself. I left the room almost re
solved to go to my distressed family, and dis
close all that I had done. In the phrenzy
of my mind a confused mass of thoughts
rushed through my brain. But when I thought
of the cruel treatment I had received from
Mary, and the triumph she would enjoy
were Ito make the disclosure which I had
just contemplated, all other feelings yielded
to that of insatiable revenge, and the tender
ciuotious that had but a moment before aris
en in my bosom, at the thought of tho heart
ending misery 1 had inflicted upon my aged
•t'other, were soon swallowed up by those
grosser passions of my nature, which weie
now fanned into a flame of raging inad
noss by the combined sentiments of love,
jealousy, and hate. Besides, 1 knew not to
w hat extent I had made myself legully lia
ble as well as morally culpable by what 1
bad done, and I came to the hasty resolve to
®ee if possible, the result of the affair, and
Aien leave the home of my youth never to
& JFamllK Jimon>aer : ©ctootetr to Eiterattivc, aj&rCcultute, Jffteeftanfco, Eaucatton, ifovetfln amr Domestic SutcWflcncc, *cc.
. Accordingly, at the hour appointed for the
funeral, I approached the residence of niv
mother, where I found a large concourse of
people hat! assembled, in carriages and on
foot, tit my well studied disguise, I min
gled with the crowd, and listened to the Va
rious stories tliat Were in circulation concern
ing my sad end. i The feeling of sympathy
for me, and execration for those who had
been the cause of my talatnity, was almost
universal among those who pretended to
know any thing of the circumstances, This
was a balm to my wounded heart; ahd I
will confess that the deep sylhpathy and uni
versal respect which wjis manifested for me
on that occasion was extremely grateful to
my feelings. Indeed I could not but he im
pressed with the conviction that much of the
bitterness and gloom of the death hour would
he dispelled if the departed could hut he
conscious of the funeral ceremony. At
length the splendid mahogany coffin made
its appearance, and was conveyed to the
hearse. Immediately after it came the
ttiourners, all in deep black ; hut judge my
surprise and gratification, when i discover
ed, arm in arm, with my .two grown sisters,
Mary, the cause of all my woe, herself in
tears-, and to all appearance the most discon
solate of the mourning train ! With what
triumph I exulted in my heart when I heard
her broken sobs and deep drawn sighs.—
Such a moment Was worth a life of anguish,
and 1 could scarcely restrain from exalta
tion. Slowly the hearse moved to the bury
inggiound. Once more l joined in the
funeral train-—once morel saw the satne
body consigned to its mother earth ; and
now I turned away from my own funeral,
indeed dead to all my early associations and
enjoyments, hut not insensible -to the hitter
miseries of life.
I returned to my hotel where i had tak*
en lodgings, and where I passed myself as
a young gentleman just from the west, and
in the loneliness of my chamber, meditated
upon what course I should adopt. That I
must hid adieu to Philadelphia, and that
forever, was a settled matter. But where
should I go, and what should I do ? were
questions not so easily resolved. I had no
trade or profession, and little or no knowl
edge of business, and though I had been
reared with good expectations, the money
which I had obtained from the physicians
now constituted my soul resources, 1 could
now look for nothing from my mother’s am
ple estate) attd the melancholy conviction
forced itself upon my mind that I must ex
pect henceforth to fulfil the original curse,
and earn my bread by the sweat of my brow.
1 resolved to bend my course to the South,
where I hoped by the formation of new as
sociations, and by the adoption of new and
more active pursuits, to obliterate in some
degree at least, the memory of the past,
and if possible to wean my mind from the
contemplation of an object which must now
ever remain a source of misery and
regret.
That Mary loved me in spite of her former
affected indifference, her conduct at my fu
neral fully assured me, and no thought carri
ed with it such pofenant remorse as the con
viction that 1 had lost her, and plunged my
self in poverty ard misery by my own indis
cretion. Had 1 pursued a different and more
rational course towards her—had I treated
as they merited her girlish follies, I felt as
sured that all might yet have been well.—
But my indomitable temper had led me to
the commission of an act, the dire conse
quences of which I had never calculated,
and which time only could reveal. But
regrets were vain—and could not he recall
ed. She had mourned me dead—and though
I was still among the living, I was, and must
ever remain dead to her.
On the following day I took the steam
boat for New York. Strange indeed were
]py reflections as I mingled among the vari
ous throng of passengers who crowded the
decks of the old Burlington. In my fate
the natural order of things seemed to be re
versed. When others were consigned to
their graves, they lefttheir bodies to moulder
in the tomb, while their souls passed away
to other, and it was to be hoped, better
worlds. 1 who had been followed to my
grave by mourning friends, and over whom
sad tears of parting had been shed, had left
my heart and soul in Philadelphia, while my
dull body was doomed to wander alone and
disconsolate through the world. As the
gallant boat glided rapidly up the Delaware,
1 sat upon the taffrail and took a last, linger
ing look at the fast receding city. No hat
of handkerchief Waved an adieu to me, and
my heart sank within me as thu lust feint
outline of the city of my bjfth faded from
my sight.
In New York, the saddening sense of my
isolated condition oniy became more forcibly
impressed upon my mind, as 1 looked on an
idle spectator of the bustle and commotion
of the great commercial metropolis. I was
alone amid the busy throng, and as I sought
a secluded spot upon the wharf, and listen
ed to the clamor of the draymen, or the en
livening “ oh-heave-o!” of the sailors, I
could not hut think that the broken cogwheel
upon which 1 was seated, afforded a strik
ing illustration of my own situation. Like
it I had lost my place in the great and com
plicated machinery of life, which was mov
ing on with its ceaseless hum before me.
One vessel was up for New Orleans, and
was to sail with the first wind, in which I
secured my passage. On entering my name
upon the books of the office, it occurred to
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 24, 1842.
me that I should assume anew one to avoid
detection, but a moment’s reflection assured
me that no name could possibly he more
anonymous than my own. So down went
John Smith, as a cabin passenger for New
Orleans. ✓
It was a beautiful afternoon when our lit
tle brig dropped down the North River, and
with a favoring tide and light breeze, we
passed out of the Narrows just as the set
ting sun was gilding the gently undulating
waVes of the broad Atlantic with his depart
ing rays. There were several passengers,
among whom were some that had “ plough
ed the wave” before, but most rtf our party,
like myself, were now for the first time on
salt water. The sea seemed as calm and
quiet as a slumbering infant, and yet there
was at intervals of about half a minute a ve i
ry unpleasant sensation experienced by most
of the passengers, who still lingered upon
the deck enjoying the beahtiful prospect of
the scenery of Long Island and the Jersey
shore. For a t ime conversation passed free
ly, and all seemed filled with new delight
and animation by the sudden change which
had taken place in their condition; By and
by the convivial spirit evidently began to
flag, and faces that had been all life and ani
mation an hour before, gradually assumed a
setious aspect cs the shades of evining drew
on. Some leaned over the bulwarks in
moody abstraction, while olliers made hut a
feeble effort to he sociable. One, a huge
old grocer, who would have answered to
stand for Daniel Lambert, had early with
drawn from the quarter-deck, and sought a
comfortable leaning place, hut where he
seemed to be greatly annoyed by the chat
tering of a cockney dandy, who kept up a
ceaseless strain of interrogation to the cap
tain.
“ Capting,” said he, after a slight pause,
during which he looked uncommonly serious
—“capting, what makes me feel set —eh I”
“ I don’t know—leaving your ma, 1 sup
pose,” replied our merry old skipper.
“An’t you ’shamed, capting—l don’t
mean that,” replied the dandy, gracefully
placing his hand upon the pit of his stomach
—while his glassy eyes and colorless lips,
plainly indicated the disturbed state of his
craw—“every now and then, 1 feel sort o’
had right here.”
“ Why, you’re getting sea-sick, you d—d
fool!” growled the churlish old grocer,just
as he made one ponderous effort to heave
the contents of his ample stomach into the
sea.
“ That’s it,” nodded the captain.
“Well I thought it wassomelhingremaik
able—l never felt so curious liefiire,” replied
the astonished dandy, as he essayed to cross
to the other side of t he deck,doubt less to avoid
his uncivilfriend, thegrocer. The first step
seemed as if he was about to ascend a pair of
stairs—the next as if lie were steppingriown
from an elevation in the deck, and as he ven
tured the third, the corner of his square-toed
boot caught in the seam of his pantaloons
with such violence as to split them to the
knee, while he went lumbering to the op
posite side of the vessel, and only stopped
in his impetuousrush when he “brought up”
at full length against the bulwarks. He
was picked out of the scupper, and raised
to his feet by an old tar who came to his as
sistance.
“ Thunderation !” he exclaimed, rais
ing his hand to his head, which had come
in rather violent contact with the wood-work
—“ I didn’t see that place before. Whew!
l’tn so dizzy. An’t the ship turning round,
mister ?”
“Nevermind, never mind,” teplied the
kind old sailor, “ it’ll all he as straight as a
marlin-spike, when you get your sea-legs
on. But you’d better drink a little sea wa
ter—it’ll help you.”
“ W T hat! that are nasty green stuff?—
Ugh ! it makes me gag to look at it. I’m
so sick—oh, I’ll die. Where’s the door ? I
want to goto bed,” and with the assistance
of the sailor, the young gentleman with the
torn trousers made his exit into the
cabin.
By this time the breeze had freshened a
little, and its gentle murmur as it breathed
through the cordage was broken only by
the merry jests of the well or the long-drawn
groans and heaves of the sick portion of our
crew, which latter class wete ranged along
in rows on either side paying reluctant tri
bute to the ocean god, occasionally giving
vent to their splenetic tempers by quarrel
ling with the others, who, instead of sym
pathising with them, made their sufferings
a subject of mirth.
“E-e-eph!” groaned one, “an't there
nothing that'll stop it—e-e-eph ! oh, I shall
die.”
“E-e-eph!” in another tone, came from
the opposite side in reply.
“E-e-cph! oh Lord! e-e-eph! oh! I
can’t stand it,” groaned a little tallow-faced
man, who threw up one leg at each heave.
“ Swallow a piece of fat pork,” said one,
“ and it’ll ——”
“Oh, go toll—ll withyourpoik—e-e-eph,”
retorted the old grocer.
” There goes my hat oveiboard, whined
a poor fellow, who had just risen from a per
fect paroxysm of vomiting.
“ That’s nothing,” replied the fat man,
“ ’spose you had to throw up as much as
me—l’ve raised the waisl-bnuds of my
breeches full three inches. There comes
that snipe again—the very sight of him is
enough to —e-q-eph—e-eph, oh!”
“ I caunt etay down there, capting—it
smells so—e-e-eph—oh dear, 1 shall die,” ,
exclaimed the pour dandy, us he c one tum
bling up the companion way*— '*e-e-eph—
capting you must make me a bed up here,
for I raunt sleep down thote—e-e-ph! oil
lord, I know it will kill me —I don’t see how
people can laugh, when we’re all so sick—
e-e-eph—oh, dear lnrdy! e-e-ph!” Dere
the poor fellow rolled oh to the deck and
groaned and heaved at intervals, affording
by his (-batterings and contortions, a lit sub
ject of mirth for all who had a stomach for
a laugh. Even the old grocer’s ponderous
sides shook with laughter when he reguided
his fellow sufferer, notwithstanding that he
had considered his presence as an aggrava
tion of his disease.
“ Here,” said one of our passengers, a
lieutenant in the navy, “take this and swal
low it, and it’ll cure you,” holding before the
prostrate dandy a piece of fat pork tied to
the end of a hempen string.
“ Will it, though ?” asked the sufferer,
with an air of credulity.
“To he sure it will, if you’ll repeat it two
or three times.”
“ How ?”
“ Why, swallow it and pull it up again
by the string.”
“ Well, I’ll try any thing to sat e my life—
but it’s too big, I caunt swallow that.”
“ Yes Cam—down with it.”
By this tithe the eyes of the whole crew,
sick and well, Were directed to the dandy.
He made one desperate effort to sVvallotv
the chunk of greasy pork, Which had no
sooner entered his mouth, than lx- was again
seized with a violent fit of vomiting.
“E-e-eph! e-e-eph—oh lord ! lieutet ant,
I caunt go that—it’s too fat—e-e-pli! tih, l
shall die, take it away, it makes fne worse—
e-e-pl > ”
A general laitgli Was enjoyed at the ex
pense of th e poor dandy, who remonstrated
against such conduct in a manner that only
excited the risibility of his hearers.
Though I had felt the effectsof the “ground
swell,” which was all that produced the sick
ening motion of the vessel, yet 1 had in a
great measure escaped the effect of the epi
demic which raged so violently among my
fellow passengers, by adopting n recipe for
sea-sickness which 1 had heart! When tl bov,
and which I soon found to he an admirable
preventive. I would have recommended it
to my fellow passengers, hut that I doubt* and
its efficacy until 1 hud given it a trial. On
the first slight sensation of nausea, I procur
ed from the steward a large piece of reW
cod-fish, and taking my seat at the foot of
the main mast, where of course the motion
of the vessel was much less to he felt, tl an
at either extremity, 1 kept myself as qigetiy
as possible, and gnawed my cod fish with
an excellent relish, while the others were
suffering the severest penalties of a first
voyage at sea.
It was several days before all the seats at
out captain’s table were filled, and as often
as the weather became a little rough, our
dandy passenger was missed from his accus
tomed seat. The novelty of nautical life af
forded much relief to my depressed spirits,
and before our arrival at our place of desti
nation, the exciting events incident to our
voyage—a recital of which I will spare the
reader—had served to dis|>el much of the
gloomy despondency to which 1 had so long
been a victim.
Chapter IV.
John lues merchandizing in New Orlcnns—Soon re
lapses in his Ibrn.cr despondency—Seeks to “drov n
ii in ihe bow l”-Geis into s fight on th< Levee-ls lodg
ed in the Calaboose—Wilh difßoiiliy olunins his n
lense—Fortunes at a low ebb—Sans money, sans
friends, sans everything—-Enlisis in ‘lie army ofGen.
Gaines—Sails for Florida—lmproved state o| (cling
the effect of hard inarching—Human na. lire w ith ihs
bark off—Camp courtesy —Dade’s Battle Ground—
John's partiality for bis General expressed.
After idling nbout n few days among the
various places of public resort in the Ctes
cent City, I applied for and obtained a situa
tion in a commercial house ns book-keeper.
Here 1 endeavored by close application to
business ti> draw my mind away from the
contemplation of the past, in the hope that
it might once more regain its wonted sanity;
for 1 could only account for my rash con
duct on the ground that my reason had be
come impnired. For - a time, while every
thing was novel and strange, [ was not with
out hope. But ere six months had rolled
off’, my mind began to relapse into its former
channels of thought, and 1 again became
restless and miserable, despite my exertions
to shake off the gloomy despondency, whii It
1 was too sensible, was again stealing upon
me. before the term of my engagement,
which was one year, had expited, I relin
quished my every lucrative situation, from a
consciousness that 1 was incompetent in my
present state of mind, to fill so important a
trust ; and in order to blunt thu poignancy
of my feelings, abandoned myself to the
worst excesses. But with me, as with Cas
sio, wine could not drown remorse, and the
inebriating cup only excited me to ’mad
ness.
On one occasion, while brutally intoxica
ted, 1 encountered somesailorson the Levee,
with whom 1 had h quarrel, and by whom 1
was severely beaten, and robbed of neatly
everything 1 had of value about me. 1 was
carried almost frantic to the Calaboose,
where I found myselfnn the following morn
ing in a most deplorable condition both of
mind and body. It was with difficulty that
I procured my release from th© authorities,
Who regarded me as n very suspicious per
son, fts I could give no salisfactoiy account
of myself; On rrty first examination, they
insisted, in Spite of all my remonstrances and
detiinis, nti retaining me in custody as an old
offender, ahd read to me a long list of of
fences docketed upon their records against
John Smith, some of which would have sent
me to the callows, or penitenrnry for life,
had I not succeeded ultimately in establish
ing mv personal identity, hv respectable
witnesses, who had known me since my ar
rival in New Orleans.
Once more at liberty, T found myself with
out money, and, of course, without friends,
atid. Worse than all, incapable of business
by which to obtain a livelihood. I began to
look upon my fortuties as npptorching to a
desperate crisis, and seriously meditated an
escape from ills which I could not hear, by a
suicide in earnest.
Such was my condition, and such the tenor
of my thoughts, when that gallant old stildiet,
Gen. Gaines, whose name I ever loved to
honor, arrived in the city on his way to Flo
rida to subdue the Semiuoles, who were
then spreading havoc and destruction
throughout that devoted land. I felt that I
was indeed “ fit food for the riffe'j mouth,”
with eagerness, “ I longed to follow to the
field some watlike lord,” and when the call
was made through the city papers for troops,
John Smith’s name was aiming the first en
rolled iipi ill the list of gallant Louisiana
Volunteers, A few days W ere spent in mak
ing preparations, atitl otl the morning of the
4th February, 1826, I emhaikedon hoard
the steamer Watchman, a soldier, on my
way to the theatre of war.
Oh our .arrival at Tampa, Gen. Gaines
found himself in command of about 1100 ns
good troops as ever enfered a battle field,
hut almost entirely destitute of the muni
tions of war; and the disparaging alterna
tive presented itself of either teturniug to
New Orleans in our Itansports,ot of march
ing to meet the enemy without those neces
saries which we had so confidently’ex pec ted
would lie at our command on our arrival at
Foil Brook; where indeed we found large*
quantities of Government stores, hut nt
means of transportation, so indispensable
atitl yet sii rumb'inis to an army in a country
like Florida. ‘1 lie latter expedient was in
sisted upon by the troops, who were willing
to hear their provisions for the match to Fort
King, a distance of more than one hundred
miles, upon their hacks, and to brave every
danger end hardship incident to such an ex
pedition. inspired as they were by the pres
ence of a leader in whom they reposed
such unbounded confidence.
Those wlm arc not prepared to concede
the oft tepeHiell dogma that man is hut the
creature of cirriimstaiu es, have only to pass
a few months in the camp to have their scep
ticism on this point entirely removed. In
oidinary life, we are artificial characters, and
take our distinctive -shade or caste from the
sphere in which we move. But in the camp,
these artificial distinctions are soon lost. In
the rude vicissitudes of camp-life, each is
thrown upon his natural resources,andrlinttgli
the polish of refinement may for a time hold
its gloss, the rugged contact in which it is
brought with the sternest necessities of ani
mal life—which, as n comrade ii'wv no more,
used to remark, knurkrd the very bnk off hit
human natu/c ■—will soon remove its re
straints, and place prince and peasant upon
a level for the time. On our voyage to
Tampa, and for some time after our encamp
ment, there was a courteous hearing, a sort
of chivalric deportment observable among
tbe volunteers, which itidiued me to believe
that I had fallen into an association of the
(life of the South. The most formal polite
ness was observed on all occasions. Every
man was a general in his bearing, and touch
ed his chapeau as he passed his fellows, with
the air of a French Gen d’Arme.s. If any
thing was missed, or mislaid, the word was
passed. “Has any gentleman seen my tin
cup ?” or, “ W hat gentleman's got our cof
fee pot TANARUS” And when the article was discov
ered in the possession of another, there was
a profusion of bowing and scraping—“ I hyg
your pardon, sir”—“Oh, no matter, sir"—
I’m much obliged”—“You’re very wel
come,” &c. &c. But a few days’ short ra
tions, and n hard march or two, soon chang
ed to tone of our camp society. Now the
cry was, “ What gentleman stole my coffee
pot,” and this inconsistency was changed to
“ What and d /YmWV stole our frying paid”
oi. •* 1 can w hip the ttian that took pork!”
And it was not (infrequently that a poor fel
low's head came in contaet with a frying-pan
or camp-kettle, if found in his possession
without his ear-marks. The word gent'e
man. w ns soon discarded from our vncnbulu*
ry, and in its stead, other familiar titles Were
substituted, which would not look so well in
print. The kindly feelings were soon smoth
ered—selH-hiiess became the order of the
day—“atul he was to he pitied, indeed, who
ilid not adopt the maxim of theeanip, which
every man for himself, and-“-the ln
dnV for us all.”
Thu ehange in my life was a happy one.
The camp, with its hustle and excitement,
its pageimtiy and parade, was new to me,
atul the hardships mid dangers to which we
weie at all times exposed, as we marched
over the arid sands, or penetrated the gloo
my hnmuin'rk in search of the foe. effectual
ly dispelled the r with which l had so
long been hetfet; nnl as I bent beneath my
heavy hmtheti in the day, or stretched my
weary limbs upon tho ground at night, 1 wm
j NUMBER 26.
W. T. THOMPSON, EDItOH
far happier than I had been since I first
awoke from “ love’s Voting dream.”
Our match was exceedingly severe, and
though nothing oectn led to test my nerve,
my sinru-s were put to tlifiir trial, during our
scout ill search of the enemy upon the AM*
fia, and our subsequent movement in the di
rection of Fort Drane. But my first in it ot ton
into the frightful horrors ot war, was afforded
by the awful spectacle presented on ourar- .
rival at the place were Major Dade and bis
gallant hand had been surrounded and cut to
pieces otithe SiOth of the previous Decemlier.
The field of Waterloo, after that sanguinary
conflict, doubtless presented a tpuch more
imposing spectacle, but certainly whs incap
able, with all its vast lietucombof promiscu
ous dead, of harrowing up such emotions as
heaved the breast of every lieholderof the
melancholy scene before vis. The lone
liness of he spot —the deep gloom of the
trackless forest—l lie sombre shade and me
lancholy music of the sighing pines*—all con
tributed to the mournful solemnity of the
place. And theti the ghastly, mutilated
forms that strewed the ground, the innumer
able evidences of the fierceness oft he death-,
struggle of that little band—away there, in
those lonely wilds, where the roar of their
artillery only startled the wolf from his den,
as it reverbrated through the still deeps of
thi* fui est, and their battle cry was drowned
in the demoniac yell of their merciless foes
—all were calculated io Impress the mind
with a sad sy tnpatliv for the fallen brave.
In the rude triangular breastwork which
marks the spot where the remnant of the
devoted hand made their last stand against
such overwhelming odds, a grizzly wolf and
a vulture lay prostrate with the bodies, upon
which, perhaps, they had over gorged their
long starved appetites. On every pine, the
turpentine was glistening in the sun, as it
came seeping fioni iutiutneiahle ball holes,
and at a little distance from the enclosure,
stood a cart, to which were still attached the
skeletons of two oxen and a horse, that lay
as they had been shot down, with the bar*
ness still upon them. The track of the lit
tle column, from the spot where flit* itltnck
first commenced, hack to where the death
struggle had ensued, vvuS strewed with the
wreck of battle. Cartridge boxes, shoes,
coats and caps, lay strewed upon the ground,
till pet foisted with halls, and not unfrequent
ly still stained with blood. Even the vete
ran Gaines could tint disguise his emotion,
as the men were busied in their sad task of
collecting the bodies fm burial. They Were
interred with all the solemnity of military
usage, in three graves, the men in two large
ones, and the officers, who were easily iden
tified by their dress, in another of smaller
dimensions Planting their cannon at the
head of Uie latter, to mark the spot, we re
sumed our mat'ch, leaving them to sleep—
not upon “the field of glory,” the soldier’s
last and proudest privilege, but like all who
fall by the savage foe—in the gloom of for
getfulness: where the tull pines that alone
witnessed their valor and prowess, shall cast
their evergreen shade over their isolated
resting place, and sigh, as they toss theii
aged arms to the skies, their never ceasing
requiem.*
On the following day we arrived at the
pinp picquets of Fort King, where we were
again disappointed in our expectation of oli*
tabling provisions, baggage wagons, amtini
tion, &e. We were, however,speedily sup
plied by Gett. Clinch, from Fort Drane, so
far as was in his power to afford us assis
tance, and after a brief rest, again took up
our line of march, with Uve days’ provisions
upon our hacks, and a fewpackliorses, which
we were able to procure, for the point on
the Withlacoochee where it was supposed
the enemy was in force.
It has been urged by those who have la
mented the disastrous result of this cam
paign, that Gen. Gaines Mas to lie blamed
for rashly entering the enemy’s country
without the necessary preparations for a
protracted campaign. 1 have no objection
that others should enjoy their own opinions
in regal and to this matter ; nevertheless, lam
disposed to take a very different view of the
conduct of that officer, and so far from vis
iting him with censure, l teel that lie merits
the esteem and gratitude of the country, for
his gallant and soldier like deportment in
Florida. He was anxious to give the peo
pie of that territory relief, and promptly
placing himself at the head of an efficient
force, nod knowing well the Indian charac
ter, he hastened at once to the field, as one
who came to-chastise, !iot to frighten or en
treat. And hud he been sustained with tho
resources then in the country, and which
Could as well have been hastened to his aid,
ns consumed at Piccolnti, and on the way
between that post and Foit Draije, or had
the gallant Clinch been permitted to ro
operate w ith him ns lie desired, and as the
latter would cheer fully have done, the an
nals of our country would never hare been
marred with the history of the protracted
slid disgraceful Indian war which has en
sued, and in which Ims been spilled some of
the best blood of the nation. But 1 may
not digress, even to poise a lance in defence
of my old General.
* Tho bodies of D tile's battalion have since been
removed, lay order of Colonel Worth, m St jAiiguftiiue,
Where ihey sere reintorrrd in a manner credits
hit- to ihe • fficcr-* and soldiers oi the army, by wh<e
pair.taic munificence the gallant dead ot Florida have
hroHn-ecuud irom the oblivious wikiernsea in which
they ML