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—— . ” I ■ ■—■——■- ——p ■ p —■■ volume 1. 1 & jpamils Jlctofiijjtiprr: ©c&otctt to atteniture, SCfliicultuvc, sßecfiau(cs, S&ucatiou, jFoveCsw atttt ©omcsiic SuicUfficncc, &c. j number 38. BY C. R. IIANLEITER. TT^L[E a THE PATRIOT BROTHERS. A Talc of the Revolutionary History (>f Georgia. BV WILLIAM T . THOMPSON. His fame, forgotten chief, is now gone by, Eclipsed by brighter orhs in gloiy’s sky ; Yet once it shone, and veterans when they show Our fields of battle sixty years ago, Will tell you feats his small brigade perform’d, In charges nobly facedand trenches storm’d. Time was, w hen songs were chanted to his fame, And soldiers loved the march that bore his name: The zeal of martial hearts were at his call, And that Helvetian, Udolph's most of all. ’Twas touching when the storm of war blew wild, To see a blooming boy—almost a child— Spur fearless at his leader's words and signs, Brave death in reconnoitering hostile linos, And speed each task and tell each message clear, In scenes where war-train’d nten were stunn’d with fear. Campbell’s Theodric. The tyrannous and bloody act is done; The most arch deed of piteous massacre, That ever yet this land was guilty of. SIIAKSPEARE. The fall of 1780 found the republican cause in a deplorable condition in Georgia. Charleston, Augusta and Savannah had long been in the possession of the British—the siege of the latter place had resulted disas trously to the combin'd armies, and D’Es taing with our French allies had left in des pondency what he considered a hopeless cause. The American forces had been withdrawn from the State by Gen. Lincoln, and the British authorities were again in complete possession of the country. Dis pirited ,by this state of things, many of the colonists had availed themselves of the pro tections tendered by Cornwallis, the condi tions of which secured their persons and property from molestation, so long as they did not take arms against the crown. These terms were the less repugnant, from the fact that no hope then presented of their be ing enabled to effect any advantage by a re sort to arms, while the state was studded over with military posts in the possession of the enemy; and a refusal to concede to them would only lay them liable to he pil laged and robbed by the lories and Indians, who were licensed to commit the grossest outrages upon the adherents to the rebel cause. Viewing the colonies of Georgia and Carolina as thoroughly subdued, Sir Henry Clinton sought to extend his con quest to North Carolina. For this purpose it became necessary to raise an additional force, which in his duplicity and faithless ness lie sought to levy from the militia of Carolina and Georgia. With this view he issued a proclamation releasing all those who had taken protections from what be termed their “ unnecessary restrictions,” and holding them liable to be enrolled in the King’s service. This measure was not, at first, thoroughly understood by the colon ists, who had been lulled to temporary se curity by their protections. All doubts how ever in regard to the intentions of Sir Hen ry, were soon put at rest by the explanato ry order of Lord Cornwallis. This impoli tic document was for some time privately circulated-among the officers of the British army in the colonies of Carolina and Geor gia, but kept a secret from the colonists ; those best acquainted with the temper of the people fearing the consequences should it become public. It finally transpired, and as it spread through the colonies, aroused the indignation and resentment of those who had not until then lost all faith in Brit ish justice and honor. Among the long list of leading spirits of that day,whom we miglitenumerate—whose names are dear to every Georgian, and arc perpetuated by our soil, in the names of our counties and towns —Col. Elijah Clarke stood conspicuous. Already had he distin guished himself in the field, as a bold and skilful officer. Energetic, brave and talent ed, he had early been singled out as an ob ject of British persecution—his property seized, his mansion burnt to the ground, and his family, consisting of a wife and two in teresting daughters, plundered of every val uable, and driven from the state, which they were compelled to leave on foot, exposed to every vicissitude of hardship and to the in sults of British mercenaries and tory ruffi ans. Had other incentives been wanting, Col. Clarke had experienced outrage and wrong sufficient to excite within his breast the bitterest animosity towards the loyalists and tories; but his proud nature Rcorned the ignoble spirit of revenge which actua ted too many in that dark day of servile strife. His heart beat all for his country, and now he exulted in the prospect of a re action in the public sentiment, which, while it roused the colonists from their lethargy, and arrayed them against an enemy in whose professions they had learned to place no reliance, would enable him to strike another blow for the recovery of his own state front British rule. Accordingly, after his return from North Carolina, where he had success fully employed his small brigade against the enemy, he formed a plan, in conjunc tion with his friend, Major James McCall, of South Carolina, for an attack up on Augusta, which was then held by Col. Brown, an officer who had rendered him self extremely odious, by his brutal cruelty towards all who had fallen into his power, as well as by his activity in inciting the In dians against the colonists. Relying upon the state of feeling into which the public mind had been throwrfby the publication of Cornwallis’ explanatory order, and by the outrages which had already been committed under its sanction, these officers hoped to raise a joint force of one hundred troops, with which they designed first to reduce Augusta, and then to drive the enemy from their stronghold in Ninety-Six district. Col. Clarke was enthusiastic and sanguine of success. “ Now is the time to strike a blow, ma jor,” said the colonel, at their final interview, his dark eye brightening with patriotic en thusiasm, as he spoke. “ Thanks to Corn wallis, his order wili do more to enlist troops than all the continental money Congress can issue. I have put several copies of it in circulation, and I am told that it has more inspiration in it than the Declaration of In dependence itself. I know your influence with Pickens. While I am mustering our Georgia boys, go you to him, acquaint him with our designs, and prevail upon him to aid you in raising a force to co-operate with us against Augusta, and then we will aid him to reduce Ninety-Six, and thus rid the country of two of the enemy’s strongholds, almost at a blow.” “ I will use my best endeavors, colonel. Where shall we meet V “ At the old encampment on Soap Cieek. In ten days let me see you there in force— in the mean time I will see what patriotism there is left in Georgia.” “ In ten days, from to day !” repeated McCall, as the patriots grasped hands, anti were about to part, “ Cod prosper our en terprise.” “ And the devil confound the tories,” add ed the colonel. “ Farewell.” They parted ; the colonel for the upper and western districts of Georgia, and the major for South Carolina. No highland chief ever possessed more thoroughly the hearts of his clan, than did the gallant colonel those of the vvhigs in Georgia. A degree of success had attend ed him in his many hazardous enterpiises, which had impressed the people with an un usual degree of confidence in his ability as an officer ; and his courteous bearing, and affable deportment as a man, bad won the friendship and esteem of all who claimed his acquaintance. Notwithstanding the des titute condition of the frontier families, who had long suffered from the ravages of war, whose means of subsistence had been des troyed or plundered by the tories, and them selves reduced to beggary and starvation, compelled from day to day to seek the sus tenance of life for themselves and children, the spirit of patriotism still burned brightly in their bosoms ; and many a painful sacri fice was made on the altar of their country, when wives and mothers beheld their hus bands and sons gird on tlieir armor for the strife, leaving them and their helpless off spring, to God and their own exertions. It was one of those dull, rainy evenings, in the early part of September, so peculiar to our southern latitude, when the heavy, smok atmosphere, the slow drizzling rain, and murky sky, together with the falling leaves and melancholy aspect of the trees, conspire to give a sombre cast to our reflec tions, that the family of the Rev. Jessce Glass were gathered in their comfortable mansion, on a small plantation in Wilkes, some eight or ten miles from Wrightsbo rough. Mr. Glass was a Virginian by birth, who had in compliance with the solicitations of his Episcopal brethren in Georgia, emi grated to the state only a few years before the war broke out. Os a mild and quiet temperament, he had not taken an active part in the partisan warfare of the times ; but his well known republican sentiments, together with the few slaves anil other pro perty which constituted his moderate for tune, were sufficient to bring upon him the vengeance of the tories, who, since the country had fallen into the hands of the ene my, and there was less danger to be appre hended from resistance, richly compensated themselves for their loyalty to their king by plundering his rebellious subjects. The old gentleman had not yet recovered from a severe wound in the shoulder, which had been wantonly inflicted upon him by the leader of one of those marauding gangs.— It was this circumstance, perhaps, which prompted hint to accept a protection, and he was now living quietly under its securi ty, after naught had been left him to excite the cupidity of his enemies. The cloth had been spread—but the fam ily still waited for the return of Henry, the eldest son, who had gone to the village on business, and whose unusual stay began to excite some uneasiness in their minds. “ I fear brother Henry has met with some accident, father,” remarked a lovely girl of fourteen, whose restlessagitation of manner bespoke more than her words the deep anx iety she feltfor his safety—“ VVliat can keep him so late ?” “Fear not, my child, your brother will soon return ; there are no marauding bands abroad in this section now. In the present condition of the country, they are without pretext for pillaging and murdering our peo ple ; but I trust the day will come when we may attribute tlieir lenity to another and a surer cause.” “ If they harm brother Henry,” remark ed James, a bright eyed boy of fifteen, “my rifle shall answer for one tory at least.— MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 17, 1842. Think you, if they heard that, sister, they would molest him.” “Are you r.ot ashamed, James, to be al ways making sport of serious matters 1” asked his mother. “ I’m not making sport, mother—l know Henry would risk his life for me.” “ And so you should for him. But al ways in defence—never in tevenge.” “Mother, Henry would revenge me against the tories, if they were to kill me—l know he would—for he told me if father died of bis wound, when he was so low, he should not die unrevenged.” “ I know your brother is affectionate,” rejoined the father, “ and that you love each other as seldom brothers do. May God reward your goodness of heart, and keep your fraternal bonds unbroken—but most of all, may He keep your hands unstained in the blood of revenge. Remember, my son, vengeance belongs to God alone.” James felt the force of the rebuke, and though he bail spoken more in jest than earnest in his reply to his sister’s misgivings, yet the strict morality of his father’s pre cepts clashed with the sentiments of his heart, when he thought for a moment of his beloved brother, or recurred to the past deeds of the hated tories. Had they not plundered his home, maimed his father, and insulted his venerable mother and tender sister 1 These were wrongs which touched him near, and fired his indignation when he brooded on tjjem. But James had thought much for one of his years, and his youthful mind was deeply imbued with the spirit of resistance against monarchial oppression. In short, his slight form contained as firm a republican heart, as ever throbbed with pat riotic emotion ; and when news of battles was related in his hearing, it was strange to see the enthusiasm that beamed in his face of almost feminine loveliness. Constitu tional delicacy had caused him to be much indulged, and his gentleness of heart and peculiar sensitiveness of feeling had render ed him the favorite of the family circle. They were about to partake of the even ing meal, which had long been waiting the arrival of the absent Henry, when the tramp ing of his horse’s feet were heard approach ing. “ 1 knew he was safe, sister. Has not your appetite improved at those sounds 1” ho continued, as they botlibastened to meet their brother. “ What news, Henry 1” asked the father. “ We had began to fear foi your safety.” ■ “ Melancholy news, father,” replied the son, a well grown youth of seventeen.— “ Read that, sir,” he added, laying a paper upon the table, which, from its crumpled and torn appearance, had evidently passed through many hands. Then taking his seat at the table, with the balance of the little family group, ho waited until Mr. Glass peiused the paper. It proved to he a copy of lord Cornwallis’ explanatory order, from which he read aloud the following extract: “ The inhabitants of the provinces who have subscribed to, and taken part in this revolt, should be punished with the utmost rigor; and also those who will not turn out, shall be imprisoned and tlieir whole proper ty taken from them or destroyed. I have ordered in the most positive manner, that every militia man who has borne arms with us and afterwards joined the enemy, shall he immediately hanged. I desire you will take the most rigorous measures to punish the rebels in the district in which you com mand, and that you obey in the strictest manner, the directions 1 have given in this letter, relative to the inhabitants of this country.” The paper dropped from the old man’s hands, at which the wife and daughter turn ed deadly pale. “As I predicted,” said he. “ Who now will have the temerity to put faith in British promises. The veil is rent and the hideous ness of English duplicity is exposed. I had thought the darkest hour of rny country’s struggle was past, ‘and that we should he permitted to sink quietly into bondage; but the wretches would make us fratricides as well as slaves.” “ They would have us to beararms against our countrymen, father,” said Henry.— “ May mine drop from my body first.” “ Nobly said, my son !” “ Mine shall be worn to the stumps while grappling at their treacherous hearts !” ex claimed James, his face suffused with a flush of indignation. “ Why, brother,’’said his sister, in a trem ulous voice, “ what could your little arms do, against those great rude men ?” “My rifle wiil throw a ball as far as Hen ry’s.” “ Why, James !” exclaimed his sister, as she noted the determined air with which he spoke—then drawing close to him, and throwing one arm over his neck, and press ing her face against his cheek until their flowing curls mingled—“you would % not leave mo and mother, would you, James 1” Before James had time to reply he was interrupted by Henry, who announced that he had been detained in the village by an excitement which prevailed there in conse quence of this order. He stated that Col. Clarke was taising a force to march against Augusta, and that all the friends of the cause of the colonies were assembling to join him in the expedition. News had reached Wrightsborougli that five of the prisoners at Augusta had been hung by Brown on the morning after the order had reached that post, and it was the general opinion that if the British and Indians were notdriven from that stronghold, while the disposable force of the British was withdrawn to Carolina, it would soon he too late to attempt it, and that the inhabitants of the colony who hail accepted protections, would either be coerc ed to take up arms and march against North Carolina, or become the prey of the tories and Indians who would again be let loose upon them. “ And,” he concluded, “I have pledged myself to go.” The trembling Rosina burst into tears the lips of the mother were seen to move while her mild eye filled, and her hands were firmly clasped in her lap. James grasped his brother’s hand-—a tremor ran over his slight frame, and a tear struggled to displace the smile that was reflected in his clear blue orbs. The father looked grave for a moment, then turning to the distressed mother, he said— “ I know, Mary, you will not deny your jewels to your country. At such a crisishe cannot better defend our own heads against a desolating and merciless enemy. Sadden not his mind by vain regrets. His country calls, and much as we prize and love himas parents, as patriots we must yield him into the hands of the God of battles, who will direct his destiny according to His good pleasure.” “Oh! Henry!” sobbed his weeping sis ter, as she threw herself in his arms-—“ I shall never see you again if you leave us.” “ Fear not, my sister,’* replied the noble boy—“ you may .rejoice to see me return victorious, the herald of glad news of secur ity and peace. And, sister, should I fall, we have talked of meeting in another and a better world—may we not ,” but emotion choked his utterance. “Oh! no! no! no!” was all the poor girl could say in reply. During this scene the father sat with his face resting upon his hands. James still stood by his brother’s side, but there was something strange in his manner. He spoke no word—but in his face might he traced the shadow [of a thought—perhaps it was the reflection of some great resolve, some fixed determination ; for his fins were clos ed and his face was calm. The mother and her daughter shortly af ter retired to their apartments. The father and his sons remained in conversation for some lime; but the meal was untouched that night. Sleep was a stranger to their pillows, and early dawn found the little household assembled around the family al tar. Fervently the venerable man prayed for blessings on his son, temporal and spir itual—that he might return unharmed to the bosom of his family, if it was His will —and that if he fell in the battles of his country, he might find life eternal in the arms of his Savior. They rose from their knees more subdued and calm than they had knelt down—they were more reconciled to the separation, and with a feeling of sad resignation, prepared for the painful crisis. James scarce remov ed his eyes from his brother: every little office of kindness which his ingenuitycould suggest, was performed with alacrity, and with the aid of his sister, who sobbed as she plied her needle, he had soon complet ed those little equipments of the soldier, which, while they add to his convenience and comfort in camp, serve as mementos of home and its quiet joys. Towards noon, two young men, and one whose head was silvered o’er with years, called for Henry, on their way to the rendezvous. Firmly the gallant youth resisted the appeals of na ture, and when he issued from the house, he greeted his companions with a smiling countenance, and strove to hide the traces of the tears which had just suffused his manly cheeks.” They are gone, those gallant youths and that brave old man, to meet their country’s foes. They take their way with stealth.— The September sky is red with the evening sunset—but there is to them no beauty in the fading landscape. Thoughts of the homes they have left, the treachery that lurks around, the devastation that meets their eyes on every side, the perilous enter prise, the doubtful issue, all press upon and engross tlieir minds; and if they find utter ance for an occasional word of encourage ment to each other, it is as much as their burdened hearts can give from the deep flood of feelings which swell their patriotic breasts. Night advances, and they hasten under cover of its shadows to join their leader. The following day witnessed the arrival of the little party at the encampment, where they were cordially greeted Ly the officers, who gladly hailed every accession to their fast gathering force. No news had yet ar rived from McCall, but as the sturdy woods men came teeming to his camp, all armed for the onset, Col. Clarke felt anew hope spring up within him, and he looked for ward with increasing confidence to the day when he should be enabled once more to give battle to his country’s hated foes. Leaving the camp, we must now return to the interesting family whom we but just left overwhelmed with sorrow at the pain ful separation that had taken place, l’lans had been concerted among the nearest neigh boring families, for leaving the state, in case the expedition against Augusta should prove unsuccessful, and now they waited with in tense anxiety the issue. James passed the balance ot the day allcr his brother’s depar- ture in a restless reverie of thought. He reasoned that though he could be of no pos sible service at home, yet lie might aid the man whom he had learned to adore—almost to worship as more than mortal—in his no ble enterprise. If successful, then his home would be freed from danger—if otherwise, the family might fly to Virginia without him, or if he survived he could then accom pany them. He was too well acquainted with his parents’ feelings in regard to him self, and their estimate of his strength, to even hope that they would consent to his leaving them for the camp. He could not bear openly to oppose their will—and yet when his thoughts recurred to his absent brother, the gallant band with whom he was associated, the cause in which they were embarked, and the foe with whom they were to contend, his noble soul scorned theshnek les that held him passive at home. Des perate resolves were forming in his mind, and he sat apart, abstractedjand thoughtful; and when at night the little family separated, a mother’s watchful eye did not fail to dis cover all was not light with her son. But she (fcver dreamed the cause. On entering his chamber, he threw him self upon his bed, hut the loved form hy whose side he had so often nestled, and whngtaffectionate tones in legendary tales often whiled away the hours, till sleep closed their eyes—was absent. He rose and paced the floor—caught up his ri fle and examined it—then sat down and rested his face upon his hands. Long time he sat and mused—then rising he approach* ed a large oaken chest, and taking from it several articles of clothing, placed them in a handkerchief and tied them into a firm bundle. This done, he again rested upon his chair—after some time he opened the door of his room —all were wrapt in slum ber. Passing to his parents’ room, he held the light above their sleeping faces, while a tear rolled down his boyish cheek—he gaz ed a moment and turned noiselessly away. Then passing to his sister’s apartment, he paused over her couch—her sleep was rest less—her dark flowing curls of auburn hair lay loosely and disordered over her white arms—her face was sad even in sleep, and she sighed deeply—once her lips moved, and he could hear the name of Henry faint ly repeated. With the scissors which lay upon Iter toilette lie severed a lock of his own glossy hair, which he dropped gently into her bosom, then placing his lips lightly upon her polished forehead he hastened from the room. Returning to his chamber, he hastily threw on his powder horn and pouch, grasped his gun, arid in a few min utes after, was wending his way, by the pale rays of the declining moon, on towards the American camp. Fallingin with a considerable party’,among whom were several of his acquaintances, our young hero reached the camp, without accident, when he immediately sought out his brother. They met cordially, but the face of Henry wore an expression of dis pleasure. “Do not chide me, Henry, I could not remain at home while you were here. Do not he angry with me.” “ Alas! my poor brother, I cannot be angry with you—l only fear for you. You are too tender for such scenes as these, and what will become of you in the hour of bat tle. You should Hot have left our father, brother.” “ Henry, I could not stay —something urged me day and night, until I resolved to come and stand or fall with you.” “ Bravely said, my little hero,” said Col. Clarke, wliohad been attracted by theyouth ftil appearance of the speaker, and bail over heard his last words. “Do not disparage your brother’s youth,” he added, turning to Henry with a smile. “ Remember, David came to the camp with but a sling. What he lacks in strength and manhood he makes up in soul and spirit.” The brothers blushed tocrimson at a com pliment so direct, and Henry stammeringly replied—“ I hope, Colonel, he may prove as great a terror to the Philistines; but he has always been extremely delicate, and I fear he will not bo able to undergo the hard ships of the camp.” “ Fear not for him, I will see that he has every care,” replied the colonel, then laving his hand upon James’ shoulder, he inquired, “ Are you acquainted with the country here abouts 1” “ Yes, 6ir, I have traversed the woods and swamps in the vicinity of the liver tor miles above and below Augusta.” “ Come to me, then, to-morrow ; I have use for just such a lad, and a horse will suit you better than the march.” During the few days spent in waiting for McCall, James was variously employed by his colonel, and the prompt and tearless manner in which he discharged the duties assigned him, entirely won the affections of his commander. At length, Major McCall arrived in camp, but with only eighty men. This unpropitious result of his mission to Carolina, was a sad disappointment to Col. Clarke, But he was not a man to lie dis heartened or turned from his purpose by ordinary obstacles. His command now num bered about four hundred and thirty men; with this forlorn hope, and the co-operation of his friends, Majors McCall, Taylor and Carter, he resolved to attempt the capture of Augusta. Before any intimation of his designs had reached the British, Col. Claike was close ¥, T. THOMPSON, EDITOR. upon them, and on the morning of the 14th of September, his little army made an at tack in three seperate divisions. The cen tre under the colonel in person, approached by the road leading into the town, by the street upon which the Medical College now stands, the tight under Major McCall, by the road leading up from Course’s Lane, and the left by that which crosses Hawk’s Gully, at the head of Broad street. Near the Gully, Major Taylor sutprised a camp of Indians, who, aftei a brief skirmish'fell back upon their allies. This was the first intimation the British had of the approach of the Americans. Almost at the same time, the center and right commenced an attack upon forts Grierson and Cornwallis, the latter of which stood near where the chimneys of the old Planter’s Hotel are now to he seen. Ihe British, taken so completely by sur prise, were in a sorry plight for defence, while the Americans, sensible of their own inferiority of numbers, determined to make up by energy and promptness what they lacked in strength. Taylor pressed on to get possession of the White House, while Clarke and McCall surprised and took pos session of llio forts almost wllliuut opposi tion. Brown and Grierson having rnarchedi to the assistance of Johnson, who, with a considerable command of British and In dians. contested the advance of Major Tay lor, Col. Claike, after placing his prisoners and the large stores of Indian presents, which were taken in the forts, under a pro per guard, marched with the balance of his force to the assistance of Taylor. But Brown and Grierson had joined Johnson and the Indians, and upon Col. Claike’s ap proach took refuge within the White House, under shelter of which they made au obsti nate and determined resistance. Now the battle became general and san guinary; all that was wanting to complete the victory, was the dislodgment of the ene my from the house, and bravely did the lit tle army contend for the achievement of so desirable on object. But without the assis tance of artillery—and while the enemy were flanked on either side by some three hundred Indians, who, under cover of the out-buildings, the trees and the river bank, kept up a galling fire, accompanied by tlieir demoniac yells—their best efforts proved ineffectual. Darkness closed upon the besiegers and besieged; hut ever through the night, the report of fire-arms, the shout of defiance and the death groan, told of the fierce pas sions that banished sleep. During the past day none had been more active than the brothers. The elder manfully contended in the fine, while the slight form of James might ha\e been seen, his youthful face beaming with the ardor of enthusiasm, now by the side of his colonel, then dashing away in the face of the enemy to hear his orders to the other divisions. But now he sought his brother’s side, and with him passed the night. All the following day the battle rag ed. During the night the British had strengthened tlieir position by barricading the windows, throwing earth, which they obtained by removing the floor, between the ceiling and weatherboarding, cutting loop-holes in the walls, and by such other expedients cs their opportunities and means would allow. Night again closed upon the opposing forces. Under cover of the darkness a re inforcement of fifty Cherokee Indians cross ed the river iti canoes and joined the be sieged. This circumstance determined Cos). Claike to endeavor to dislodge the In dians, and accordingly just before daylight a charge upon the river batik, by which they were driven from their posi tion, and all communication of the enemy with the river effectually cut off. In this charge Henry received a rifle ball through the thigh, while fighting by his brothel ’s side. For the first time the face of James assumed an ashy paleness, and his lips quivered with emotion, as he stoop ed over his fallen brother. He had seen ghastly wounds and blood, had beard the groans of agony and witnessed death, but what to him were all the horrors of the bat tle field compared with the sight of a broth er’s blood I Nervously he grasped the hand of Henry. “ Speak, brother ! are you hurt ?” hq eagerly iuquired. Henry looked in his face with a smile, “ I hope not badly—hind your handkerchief tightly about my leg, James—l can walk in a few minutes—l feel a little faint jtut now, hut that is nothing. How cold your hand is. Do not le alarmed.” James bound his handkerchief tightly round his brother’s wound, then hastening Vo the river, bore him some water iu his hat to slake his raging thirst. After a little time the blood ceased to flow so rapidly, and Henry was enabled by the assistance of his brother to rise to his feet. Slowly they regained the camp. James did not rest until the surgeon had dressed his brother’s wound, after which he remain ed steadfastly by him, doing all in his power to minister to his wants and soothe his suf fering. ‘ Two more day s were spont in fruitless eflbrta todislodgethe enemy or force lutn to surren der. But Brown knew too well the odnrin which lie stood with :he Americans to trust himself in their power. Cruel and unprin cipled himself, he feared that should he faU into the hands of the Americana bis own