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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