Newspaper Page Text
VOLUMFa 11. |
BY C. R. lIANLEITER.
P ® E TJJ3 ¥□
“ Mach yet remains unsung.’’
For the “Southern Miscellany.”
WOMAN.
Where freshest laurels crown the soldiers’ head,
‘Or Glory- makes for him her proudest bed,
■Fame finds thee not —as o’er the sanguine bed
She walks, nor with the victors, nor the slain,
Herclarion sounds, but Heroes are the brave.
Her monuments arise, but not o’er Woman’s grave.
While College walls confer the proud degree,
Thy name was never found with L. L. D.
Nor Judge’s bench, nor preacher’s place,
Nor Legislative halls thy presence grace.
‘Tis true thou art not called in these to shine,
But what of that ? The Heart of man is thine!
A mighty influence o’er our hearts you sway,
And joined in virtue’s cause, man must obey.
‘Tis your’s to calm the troubled storms of life.
To shine as tender Mother, Friend and Wife.
The little prattler sitting on thy knee,
Receives its first instructions all from thee —
In wonder hears of Heaven and angels fair.
And how good children shall be happy there.
“ I lay me down to sleep,” it lisps, and sinks to rest
On the soft pillow ofa mother’s breast.
The storm of adverse fate may howl around,
But Woman at her post shall still be found.
And when its sharpest blasts with fury rise,
The fearful threatnings still she can despise
That sickness, poverty and pain may bring,
And closer totlte idol of her soulshall cling.
W,i the frail tendrilsofthe twisting vine,
Will closer round the shatter’d tree entwine,
And though of all its health and verdure shorn,
FSlinll with t s greenest leaves the trunk adorn;
Binding the wound inlove’sfond faithful arms,
And budding still around its sweetest charms.
Perplext abroad, and troubled in his mind,
The husband seeks an asylum to find ;
Where shall he turn to seek some resting place,
But to his home, and to thy loved embrace.
’Tis thy sweet smiles can purest joys impart.
And chase the clouds that gather round his heart.
But if called forth his adverse fate to share,
Thou still can’st follow with a bosom bare—
Press to thy faithful heart his shivering form,
And Die to shield hitn from the pelting storm.
W.
Charleston, R. C., 1843.
THE GERANIUM PLANT.
Flowers have a magic power to retouch
the associations of other (lavs. I hough
our path may have led over the steep and
thorny places of the world, for many years,
yet the unexpected sight ofthe pale grass
flowers, and yellow king-cups, we gathered
in childhood, brings hack the cool fragrance
of life’s early morning. If ihe wearied tta
voler chance to find in foreign climes such
plants as he culled by th3 singing brook of
his native glen, the broad-leaved itis, or the
bright crimson lobelia, straightway he is a
boy again, and shreds them fondly into his
mother's lap. The hoary woman, unto
whom there remained) little, save the arm
chair in the chimney corner, and the oft re
peated counsel to her shouting grandchil
dren—if she see, among its lustrous gteen
leaves, the pure white Carmella, remembers
the thrill with which its cool petals drooped
over her forehead at her bridal, and is lost
antid the wanderings of a fairy land.
The smile, ot the breath of our familiar
home-flowers, restore to us, in after life, the
careless innocence of those uays, when hall
in ignorance, and half in faith, we planted
the rootless stem of some rich blossom, that
had been given us, and heaped the fresh soil
tenderly around it, and watered it every mo
ment—and visited it with hope, until it was as
brow and dead as the mould by which it was
encompassed. They recall the reckless cu
riosity with which wc dug up the bulb of
our tulip, or tube-rose, and found them bu
sy at their wotk ot germination, which our
impatience interrupted —perhaps destroyed.
Distant places and absent friends are
brought near, by the touch ofthe same talis
man. The odor of a pressed flower, be
tween the leaves of a long closed book, re
stores the voice, the form, of the loved one,
who placed it there, whose home may now
be in the tomb. I had sought the sweet
trailing arbutus among the wilds of my na
tive place, when life was new, and a box of
jl recently performed a journey of many
miles to visit me. The moment it was
opened, while its fragrance almost overpow
ered every sense, every breathing blossom
spoke of the rocks we used to climb in pur
suit of it—and of the rough, falling waters
that filled every pause iu our merry voices,
und then suddenly my playmates stood be
side me, their baskets overflowing with the
gifts of early spring, themselves still young
and spring-like,though on the heads of some
l knew that the frosts had settled, and that
over others, rested the green sod.
Still more eloquent was a slender plant of
the rose-geranium, which accompanied me,
somewhat more than two years since, on my
way to an Older World. It was taken from
her quiet bed, in her garden, by my little
daughter, as the parting time drew near
with the remark, that “ something green
might look pleasant to me on the sea.
And so it did. But I imagined not then
. the depth of communion it would call forth.
For tiie honje-spirit was in its heart, and it
became to me as a friend. Sometimes
wheu evening closed in over the deep, with
those bpayy sighs of the wind which often
betoken a coming storm, and the ship leup
ed and plunged amid the billows, as if seek
ing for a place to oscape, or a depth to hide
in, I have drawn closer to that plant, as if
& jFamUg 3LrU)oiuu>ei* : Brbotrtr to UCteratuve, agriculture, Jttrt!t*tUeo, inmeattou, jForelsu au*r domestic Ktrtriu&rttrr, sct.
L Tjr_ - ‘ rr | .-- ~. r -'^r sr^3Sg^-.
-- -i jgSsfeijMfc ,f \A 1:
££ v
.,•>*’ r^^ v — Y^SstSb
Immensely vaiiegated as is the surface of
the globe, there are still but few of its fea
tures that present art aspect of more sur
passing interest and beauty than the far
lengthenirii?, wide-expanding prairie. The
oceans, the mountains, the hills, the valleys,
the torrents and rivers, afford thousands of
most admirable scenes, but the face of a
prairie smiles with surpassing charms, with
indiscribable loveliness.
Ld ! they stretch
In niry undulation , far away,
Asif an ocean in its gentlest swell
Stood still, with all its rounded billows fixed
And motionless forever.—Motionless?
No, they are unchained again. Tlie
Sweep over with their shadows, and beneath,
The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye :
Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase
The sunny ridges. Breezes ts the South !
Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers,
And pass the prairie hawk, that, poised on high,
Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not —ye have played
Among the palms'of Mexico, and vines
Ol Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks
That front the fountains of Sonora glide
Into the calm Pacific—have ye fanned
A nobler or a lovelier scene than this?
Man hath no partin all this glorious work :
The hand that built the firmament hath heaved
And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown their
hopes
With herbage, painted them with island groves,
And hedged them round with forests. Fitting floor
For this magnificent temple of the sky—
With flowers whose glory and whose multitude
Rival the constellations ! The great heavens
Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love—
A nearer vault, and of a tender hue,
Titan that which bends above thecastern hills”
Stretching faraway with indistinct boun
daries, or merging into the horizon, the
southern prairie appears like a vast sea ; its
undulations, the seeming swells, its clumps
of trees, the islands. Whether the tall,
luxuriant grass, mingled with an innumera
ble variety of flowers loaded with perfume,
waves upon ils surface, or is shorn close like
a pasture, it always exhibits tin* aspect of
unequalled fertility and beauty,
“ And the heart swells, while the dilated sight
Tekes in the encircling vastness.”
The rich clumps of fine trees, collected
together here and there in every possible
form, and of every species, and some of
them planted with the nice regularity of art,
add the charm of variety to the lovely scene,
while they afford a grateful shelter to the
wandering herds and the weary hunter.
its love might comfort me. Or at waking
in the morning, and raising my head from
the coffin-like berth wherethe dark hours had
passed in such btoken slumbers, as the
hoarse lullaby of the surge induces, 1 have
fixed my eyes first upon that solitary plant,
and spoken softly to it as to a child. Yet it
was evidently in an uncongenial atmosphere,
and the delicate branches grew sad, and fa
ded. I numbered its leaves, but almost ev
ery day some of them grew sickly and fell,
until, at last only a few wore left clustering
round a single, graceful stalk.
We had been thirteen days and nights
upon the great deep—and accomplished
nearly two thousand miles of our watery
journey, when I awoke at the grey hour of
dawn. I remembered that, the first anni
versary of the death of my beloved father,
and beckoned the solemn imagery to meet
me amid the waves. At once every circum
stance of that scene gleamed forth as iu a
picture. His venerable head, resting upon
its white pillow, the brightness of his beau
tiful hair, on which fourscore and seven
winters had scattered no snows, Itis heavy
breathing mingling with the slow dropping
of the summer shower upon the vine-leaves
at its casement, and the steady ticking of
the clock through that lonely night, while
bending over him, I hoped against hope,
that the sudden illness might not be mortal,
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 5, 1843.
©AT©IKII]IN© WQIL® ©^
It is a rapturous vision to gaze upon these
“ gardens of the desert but how few ev
er enjoy the ktxuty ! Few countries are
adorned with the beautiful scenes, and none
nv re beautifully thau America. In no por
tions of America do they exhibit more beau
tiful nor more varied aspects than in Mex
ico and Texas. The prairies of Texas es
pecially, are as wonderful in their vast ex
tent, as they are peculiar in beauty and sin
gular in fertility. The adventurous colo
nist attracted by the paradisiacal scene, who
is perhaps, the first
“ of that advancing multitude,
Which soon shall fill those deserts,”
finds himself not in this great solitude alone.
It is thickly peopled with myriads of gaudy
insects that flutter over the flowers, with
sliding reptiles, beautiful birds, gtaceful
deer, hounding buffaloes, and numerous
troops of fine and noble wild horses. The
settler selects his spot, builds himself a
dwelling in a shady island, and by conform
ing to certain requisitions ot the government
becomes at once the rightful proprietor of
marly as much territory as his eye can at
once survey, and when he finds time to en
close it with substantial landmarks, lie feels
secure against intrusion. He plants his su
gar and his cotton, and whatever else he
may choose to cultivate, and the benignant
climate and prolific soil shortly yield him
the most abundant crop, and he reaps more
than a hundred fold. The soil is easily
subdued, and with little care whole herds
of cattle grow up to enliven the wide do
main, where they roam throughout the year
without hat ns and without the northern bay
stacks or granaries. If he wishes a horse
or a drove of horses to ride, to travel, to
hunt, to work, lie has only to ride into the
prairie, and the animals cost him only the
trouble of catching them. The horses of
Texas are small, run wild in numerous
droves over the prairies, and are easily ta
ken and tendered setviceable. They wete
probably originally introduced by the Span
iards, and are called mustangs.
To illustrate the manner of taking these
animals, is the object of the engraving and
the present article.
The pursuer provides himself with a
strong noosed cord, made of twisted strips
of green hide, which, thus prepared is call
ed a lazo, the Spanish word for a band or
bond, lie mounts a fleet horse, and fas
tens one end of his lazo to the animal, coils
it in his left hand, leaving the extended
and that the form, which hut the day before,
had moved with so vigorous a step, would
yet tise up, and lean upon its staff’, and come
forth to bless me. The rain ceased, a circle
of faint brightness foretold the rising ofthe
sun—those precious lips utteted again the
sound of kind wotds—the opening eyes
told their message of saintly love—the lids
fluttered aud closed. There was no more
breath.
A wail—another—piercing and protract
ed—deeper even than that with which an
only child mourns the last parent. It must
he the wail of another sorrow hath such a
voice. Yet so abruptly it hurst forth, amid
surrounding silence, that,for a movent, mem
ory was bewildered, and the things that had
been, mingled their confused tissue with
things that are.
Among our passengers was a dignified
and accomplished lady, returning with her
husband, an officer, from a residence of se
veral years in Canada, to England their na
tive land. They had with them thiee little
daughters, and in the course of these con
versations, which beguile the tedium of sea
life, she had sometimes spoken of the anx
iety with which her aged mother waited to
welcome these descendants, born in a for
eign clime, whom, of course, she had never
seen, and so exquisite was their beauty, thut
it would not have been suprising, had a
noose to flourish in the air over his head.—
Selecting his game he gives it chase ; and
as soon as he approaches the animal he in
tends to seize, he takes the first apportuuity
to whirl the lazo over his head, and imme
diately cheeks his own charger. The noose
instantly contracts around the neck of the
fugitive mustang, and the creature is thrown
violently down, sometimes unable to move,
and generally for the moment, deprived of
breath. This violent method of arrest fre
quently injures the poor animal, and some
times even kills him. If he escapes howev
er with his life, he becomes of great ser
vice to his master,always remembering with
grear respect the rude instrument of Ills
capture and ever afterwards yielding imme
diately w henever he feels the lazo upon his
neck.
Being thus secured, the luzoed horse is
blindfolded ; terrible lever, jaw-btcaking
bits are put into his mouth, and he is moun
ted by a rider aimed with most barbarous
spurs. If the animal runs, lie is spurred to
the top of his speed, until he tumbles down
with exhaustion. Then he is turned about
and spurted hack again ; and if he is found
able to run hack to the point whence he star
ted. he is credited with having bottom en
ough to make a good horse : otherwise he
is turned oil'as of little or no value. This
process of breaking mustangs to the bridle
is a brutal one, and the poor animals often
catty the evidence of it as long as they live.
After service during the day, they are hop
pled by fastening their fore legs together
with a cord and turned out to feed. To fas
ten them to one spot in the midst of a prai
rie, where neither tree, nor shrub, nor rock
is to he found, is quite a problem. But that
is accomplished by putting on a halter, ty
ing a knot at the end, digging a hole about
a foot deep in the earth ; thrusting in the
knot, and pressing the earth clown around
it. As the horse generally pulls neatly iu a
horizontal direction, he is uuahle to draw it
out.
The mustangs are small, generally cbont
thirteen hands high, strong, well-formed,
and of various colors. They have a most
malicious expression, and ate very crafty
and mischievous. Wheu a number are
caught, they arc generally driven to matket,
where they are purchased for three or four
dollars, branded, hoppled, then turned out
and abandoned to themselves until needed.
At some future time they will doubtless be
come a valuable article of export.
thrill of pride, heigtend the pleasute with
which she painted the joy of such a meet
ing. The youngest was a babe of less titan
a year, aud we, who often shared its play
ful wile, fancied that it had grown languid,
as if from some inherent disease. Yet, ils
large black eyes still beamed with strange
lustre, so that neither parents nor nurse
would allow that aught affected it, save
what arose from the change of habits, inci
dental to the confinement ofthe ship. Yet,
thut night, the mother more uneasy than she
was willing to confess in words, decided not
to leave its cradle. In the saloon, adjoin
ing our stateroom, she took her place, and
w hen we retired, the fair infant lay iu trou
bled sleep. Yet, even then, the spoiler
was nearer to it than that watchful mother;
and ere the morning, he smote it in her
arms. We found her clasping it closely to
her bosom, as if fain to revivify it with her
breath. Musses of glossy black hair, esca
ping from their confinement, fell over her
shoulders, and drooped as a curtain over
the marble features of tbe dead. Mingled
w ith gasps of grief that shook her like a
reed, were exclamations of hope, that hope
which clings and cleaves to the wounded
heatt—striking its fibre, wherever the
blood-drop oozes, and striving like a pitying
angel, to staunch where it may not heal.—
” Constance! Constance! look at me. Oh,
my dear husband, she will live again.” She
lias been sicker than this, mice, when you
were awt v. Yes, yes —she will breathe
again.” Long she continued thus, assuag
ing her bitter sorrow, with this vanity of
trust, and then we tenderly strove to loosen
her convulsive grasp fmm the lifeless idol.
After we had prevailed, and it was borne
from bet sight, we still heard in the pauses
of the soothing voice with which her hus
band sought to console her, the wild cry,
“ She will breathe again ! John ! John ! I
saw her sweet lips move when they took her
from me. My baby will live again!”
It was laid out on oursofa.itt the lady’s cabin
in a ptire vjdiite robe, its brow surpassingly
beautiful, and the deeply fringed lids but
imperfectly closed over the large lustrous
eyes. The black lace veil ot the mother
shaded its form and features, and through it
was clearly visible the last gteen slip of my
rose-geranium. It was my gift to the dead,
and pressed into that little pale hand not
without a tear. This was the last office of
that cherished plant, which had left its own
home, in the quiet gardens of New England
to do this service to faded innocence, and it
self to die. Happy shall we bo. if, in the
closing of our own frail life, we, like this
trembling voyager, leave behind a gleam of
light and consolation, as the olive leaf above
the flood, or the dove, whose last act was
peace, ere it entered rejoicing into the
Ark, to be a wanderer no more.
Front the New-York Sun.
THRILLING ADVENTURE AMONG
THE FLORIDA INDIANS.
Mr. Hugh McCuity, lately a resident in
Florida, has called upon us, and furnished
the following interesting narrative of his own
experience among the Florida Indians :
II e was in the service of the United
States, under the command of that gallant
officer. Colonel Kearney, when the party
was taken by surprise on the 23d of July,
1839. The party consisted of thirty, and
was stationed ut the Caloosahatchie Bay.—
At day break, the Indians approached, shot
the sentinel, and the greater part of the men,
the remainder took to the water, with the
exception of Col. Kearney, and one private.
Cot. Kearney remained some time, (he In
dians tiring steadily at him, hut at length he
made Itis escape, and by means of a canoe
went down the const, where he fell in with
a small sloop, and four of the men who had
escaped. Col. Kearney then proposed to
return to the scene of slaughter, in older to
bring away the wounded, if any remained
alive ; the men volunteered their services to
accompany him ; they took a barge about 8
o’clock in the evening, and went up the riv
er to the place of the late massacre; exam
ined the dead, (the Indian camp being not
more than a quarter of a mile distant,) and
not finding any alive, again embarked, and
made their way to the sea coast. McCarty
states that he was in the water close to ser
geant Biglow, with the remnant ofthe par
ty, when Billy Bowlegs called him to come
ashore with the five or six men who were
still alive. Some of them went on shore,
and begged for mercy, but it was all to no
purpose, they were instantly shot and butch
ered in the most horrible manner; while, at
the same time, the Indians directed their
fire upon McCarty and a few more individ
uals, who were still in the water. The Ca
loosahatchie Bay, at this place, is three miles
wide, and the Indian camp w as on the soutli
side towards the Everglades. McCarty re
solved to swiin the Bay against a strong flood
tide. When he reached the opposite side,
he was discovered by the Indians from the
camp on the south side. He instantly made
for the Mangroves, hid himself, and lay un
til 10 o’clock in the day—the Indians still in
search of him. At 10 o’clock, as lie sup
posed, he made his escape from them in an
easterly direction. At 12 o’clock, he chang
ed his course in a North East direction, and
took the river at 8 o’clock that evening for
the north side, about twenty miles above
where the massacre took place, and wulk
ed rapidly until 2 o’clock iu the morning of
the 24th. The Indian fires, at the trading
house, bearing due south by the north slot.
He was \ery much tormented by the wolves,
who were prowling around him iu multi
tudes. On the morning of the 24th, he wait
ed in a tree until the sun was up, he found
himself about ten miles fiom the Calooshat
chie rivet, lie then made towards Tampa
Bay, by what he supposed the nearest di
rection—about thirty miles through swamps
and lakes—a country never traversed by a
white man before. By the evening of the
27th, he must have traveled thirty miles,
when he begun to suffer from hunger and
want of clothes; and being in a miserable
state, after wandering under a scorching
sun, among swamps and musquitoes, snakes,
wolves and panthers, wet, naked and hun
gry, he remained all the night of the 25th
among the limbs of a tree to keep clear of
the wolves and panthers. On the morning
of the 26th, he started at day break, w hen
soon after he met with some Indian signs
and horses’ tracks, which he followed, and
at sun down arrived at the (rank of a small
river called the Sharlapapkee. Hire he
found himself astray, but followed the cur
rent in hopes that it would lead to tbe sea
coast. To his misfortune, he found himself
mistaken, as it proved to be the Okochobee
lake, which he swam with the courage of
desperation, and made for the north side of
the liver, keeping above the margin ot the
lake. From the appearance of th® place, he
WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR
judged he was not far from the spot where
General Taylor fought the battle with the
Indians on the loth of December. On the
night of the 26th, he remained on the lake
shore, almost eaten alive with musquitoes,
and having no clothing whatever to cover
him. On the morning of the 27th, he pur*
sued his course to the west, over high sand
hills and large praities. At length hunger
so affected him that he grew very feeble;
and night coining on, be dug a hole in the
dry sand, covered himself with withered
gruss, and slept there that night. On the
morning of the 2Stli he arose and continued
in the same direction. At night he arrived
at the Mackee River, or Peas Creek, where
he dug a hole in the sand and covered him
self as before. During the night a heavy
rain fell which nearly floated him. On the
29th, being rather weak, he walked but ten
miles. At 2 o’clock he arrived at the hank
of the river at a high sand bluff; he under
took to swim across to make iiis way to Tam
pa. He swam across the liver into the Cy
press swamps, hut had tb go back again,
and get out in the pine woods, about 100
yards from the bluff; here he was surprised
by the report of a rifle, the ball striking close
to him. and much to his surprise he saw two
Indians approaching him on horse back.—-
All power fled from him ; the savages se
cured him w ith a manatee hide, and hurried
him off four miles to their bouses, on the
bank of the river, about twenty-five miles
from where it unites with the bay. They
bound him to a tree and made their horses
fust to the posts of their houses, w hile one
of their squaws came and commenced to
gather pine knots and dry wood atound his
feet, with which to burn him alive ! Her
work was soon accomplished ; but by the
kindness of providence, about 4 o’clock in
the afternoon a heavy rain began to fall ac
companied with dreadful thunder and light
ning, which continued until 2 o’clock the
next morning—it being the 30th. During
the night, about eight o’clock, the squaw
came out with a lighted torch in her hand,
in order to set fire to the wood, but the rain
having completely saturated the sticks, she
was obliged to return to the house disap
pointed in her object, the warriors still re
maining in the houses. About 2 o’clock in
tl.u mnininfi lu> made an 1/1 iUaui
himself from the tree, which was easily
done; the hide by which he was bound be
ing wet with the heavy rain, it easily stretch
ed, and he soon removed the cord off Ida
hands and fled to the liver, where lie found
two canoes belonging to the Indians. One
of them he east adrift, and bailed the water
out of the other, with which he pinceeded
on his journey towards the sea coast. On
the 9th day after the massacree, at sundown*
lie was picked up by a small sloop which
belonged to Major Frazier. He was then
refreshed with some food, a mouthful of
which he had not tasted since the evening
before the slaughter. He was carried into
Tampa Hay where he gave the alarming ac
count of the massacre. In the mouth of
July, IS4I, he went us pilot in a steamboat
with Capt. Ogden and 100 men, to the same
place and captured 3S watriors, part of the
tribe that had him prisoner. We add the
following confirmation of his sufferings from
his officer:
Kky West, Apiil 24, 1843.
I state at the request of Hugh McCarty*
the hearer, that he lias been for a long time
past iti the service of the U. S. as a pilot on
the coast of Florida, and has been in that
capacily very useful. He is one of the ere tv
who escaped from a massacre on the Caloo*
sahntche River, and was on that occasion
exposed to starvation for several days, lluv
ing been recaptured by the Indians he es
caped from them on the Miaca River, and
afterwards acted us pilot and guide of a par
ty which 1 conducted to that place, and Was
the means of making known the feasibility
of navigating the Miaca River by steam
boats, the accomplishment of which produ
ced important results in connexion w ith our
operations against the Indians.
E. N. OGDEN.
Captain ami Assistant Quartermaster, Uni
ted States Army.
COUSLMNG.
An amusing Stage-Coach Adventure.
A shoit time ago a gentleman went into
the stage office at Utica. New-York and
booked himself for a residence near Oswe
go. In the coach was a beautiful girl.—
The gentleman thought of all persons be
would like her for a liaveling companion.
To his great delight, as the coach drove up
to the door, he found that she was a passen
sengcr. Upon being asked where she
would like to sit, she said by this gentleman,
alluding to our hero. He felt much flatter
ed, and thanked heaven that his personal
appearance had captivated so charming a
female.
Smack went the whip, round went the
wheels. The gentleman conversed with
the lady ; he found her free and easy, and
from het agreeable manner felt as if he had
known her all his life. Evening closed in
upon them. With evening came twilight,
and very shortly afterwards, darkness. On
rumbled the coach, jolting and jerkihg in
a most remarkable manner. It was an act
of politeness, doubtless, on the part of the
gentleman, to encircle the waist of his fairy
companion with his arm, just to keep her
free from jolting, to which she would other
wise be subjected. He did this with some
timidity. To his surprise tto objection was
| NUMBER 19k