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The banner of the South. (Augusta, Ga.) 1868-1870, December 19, 1868, Image 1

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VOL. I. For the Banner ol the South. Erin’s Revenge. (For O’Donovan Rossa, Esq., who has been trans ported for life for vindicating the rights of his native land.] I. Revenge! Revenge! from every lip, * Now rings upon the air, While to the shout our banners dip, Which we for Rossa rear; And frantic cries for vcngeahce on Tkat hireling wretched band, That scourged the man who dared, alone, The lash and felon’s brand. 11. A thousand hills»have heard the cry Which Rossa’s cause has raised, And back they send the proud reply. While high our banner blazed: 4 “Revenge! Revenge I ye noble men, For Erin’s outraged laws; Oh! raise the shout, Revenge! again. For Rossa and his cause. 111. Arid prouder swells the trumpet’s blast, » And quicker beats each heart, As to tin; w inds that flag was cast, From which we’ll ne’er depart. Remember Rossa, writhing in The grasp of Saxon chains; Then swear by all you love, to win Their doubly blood-staiued trains. “Hibeknicus.” [Written for the Banner of the South.} TJie Earls of Sstfterlanff BY RUTH FAIRFAX. PART~SECOND. 1 CONTINUED.] CHAPTER XI. When Reginald sought William’s presence, lie was not readily admitted; but he would not bo denied, and, at length, stood in his Majesty’s presence. William received him with averted eyes; lie had privately received accounts of the massacre, and was just about to start for the Continent; he had hoped to avoid an interview with any of the house of Suth erland ; but Reginald was too quick for him. William struggled for composure, and, trying to force a pleasant smile, he held out his hand to Reginald, saying : ' W hat is it to day, Reginald ?” “It grieves me, deeply, that I may not touch voqr Majesty’s hand,” said Regie, eiaveljry “but I dare not do it until I know that it is not stained by the blood oi my sister’s husband !” *\ "M not feign ignorance!” said William, dropping his hand to his side; t have heard that your sister’s husband * as » unfortunately, killed in a skirmish h.tween the Highlanders and some of my troops. But, believe me, Reginald, I oiu not know it was against the Clan of 1 ncoe they were sent, until it was too late!” It skirmish ! repeated Reginald ; ,\ our Majesty has strangely misunder stood the matter. It was no skirmish, a massacre; iny friends were sur- nI n dieir beds, and butchered, in O’ l blood ! Nay, more, the murderers ;y ro jkeir welcome guests, and sought p‘ir hospitality, only to be their assas sins !” Impossible !” cried William: for, to Jl ' n . Justice, be had not heard of this, km °, n - { ‘ :it A ®y’s husband had been p, G( ' ~ surely, you must be mistaken, ta s!| ald i b'orn whom did you heai-this ri'„y° m my sisfer ’ All »y MacDonald, j j | ni y house, sufiering severe coldiy 11 a br ° ken arm -” said Begie, truf' 1 ’’ 0111 l iiT S - ter ’ then [t ,I,ust be ”rt’w" aiU . lliia,n * frowning darkly; this!’’ tCI ° l tair did nofc tell me of n -i 7.. h ® ? Ia * ttr of Stair !” repeated Regi -1 to was he who planned this k.lirciuiit'l' ?"*’ J our , !li g liness? 0h! > bath he earned out his vow of *enp(> ■ ’ > “What do you mean ?” asked Wil liam. “Does not yonr Majesty know that Sir John Dalryrnple was a rejected suitor of Amy’s ?” “1 did not know it,” said William. “And, it was he then,” said Reginald, with a sigh of relief“your Majesty will pardon me; will you not. ?” “Gladly ! I cannot afford to lose my friend Reginald,” said William, smiling, and again offering his hand, Regi nald clasped it. “And the Master of Stair; you will punish him, will you not ?” “Aye ! never fear; he shall be punish ed. Stop, he will be here in a few min utes; step into yonder room—quick ! I hear his footstep now !’’ Reginald had scarcely closed the door after entering the room pointed out to him, before Sir John Dalryrnple entered the King’s presence. William received him with a frowning brow. “What is this I hear, Sir John ? You have given me false statements concern ing this Glencoe matter !” “Have I been so unfortunate as to of fend your Majesty ?” asked Sir John, humbly. “Aye! you have offended me. I am told that these men ot Glencoe have been butchered in their beds, and that the hus band of Am v Mortimer has fallen, among them. Is this true ?” “True, every word of it,” answered Sir John, composedly; “there was no other way to secure them, sire; and, had not John MacDonald been among them, they might have gone on with their wild wars to the end of their lives, for all I cared.” “It was your hatred of him, then, that prompted 3*oll to do this murder?” “I will not deny it 1” “This is bold language to use to your King,” said William, sternly. “There are many bold deeds done in the world, even to removing a King from his throne !” answered Sir John, calmly. “ What do jmu mean ? would you threaten me !” exclaimed William. “ Heaven forbid!” ejaculated Sir John; “I was not referring to \ 7 our Majesty.” “To whom, then ?” asked William. Sir John looked quietly at the King, but answered not. “Speak out, man; what do you mean !” exclaimed William, impatiently. “Your Majesty commands, and I obey,” said Sir John, with mock humility; “your Majesty has not, doubtless, for gotten that I was with you, when you went secretly to Sutherland Hall, when Reginald Sutherland was married ? Ah! I see you have not forgotten it; what need to say more ? you understand me ; I was standing by the door, when you were conversing with the Sutherlands privately.” William became pale as death. “What did you hear? SpeaJk! what did you hear ?” “I heard you call them your dearest friends, and I heard them call you.—” “Hush !” interrupted William; “the instant that name passes your lips, 3'our head pays the penalty of your audacity ’ You are a fool to thus thrust your head into the lion’s jaws !” “Not such a fool as 3*our Majesty takes me to be ; all the knowledge that I have gained, I have written down, and entrusted the papers, in a sealed packet, to a friend ; my imprisonment, or death, would be the signal for the breaking of that seal; and what is now known only to the Sutherlands, your Majesty, and myself, would be published to the world !” And, to whom have you that packet?” asked William. “Were Ito tell you, I would, indeed, be the fool your Highness did me the honor to call me, just now,” answered sir John, smiling. 1 tb ? n ’ do - you su PPose that I can let tins deed of yours pass unpunished ?” AUGUSTA, G-A.., DECEMBER 19, 1868. said the King, trembling with anger and apprehension. “Not altogether,” answered Sir John, coolly; “I will consent for your Majesty to deprive me of my office, provided I lose nothing by it.” . “Well, then, since you have so kindly settled this matter of your punishment, perhaps you will tell me what answer I am to give the Earl of Sutherland, when he demands your head,” said William, ironically. “Give him any answer you choose,” said Dalryrnple, carelessly, “so long as you do not give him my head.” “But, why should I not give him your head ? Does he not know more of my secret, if secret there be, than you do ?” questioned William. “Oh ! he will never betray you, not even if you refuse him my head !” replied Sir John. “True !” exclaimed William, bitterly; “and I must sacrifice a true friend to close the lips of an enemy ! But, if you have a secret of mine in your possession, why have you not made use of it before ?’’ “I was saving it for some great occa sion,” answered Sir John ; “the time has come, and I bring forward my treasure. Am I to consider myself a prisoner, or not ?” “Go ! thundered William ; “I know that you will keep my secret, because you expect to be paid for it. Go, Master of Stair, and let me see as little of you as possible !” “Your Majesty’s most humble servant !” said Sir John, bowing himself out of the room. William bowed his head upon his hands, and his heart was torn with con flicting emotions. At length, he remem bered that Reginald was waiting for his call, and, rising from his scat, lie opeued the door, leading to the next room. Reginald advanced to meet him. “Your Majesty has had him arrested!” William shook his head. “What! your Majesty has not suffered him to leave your'presenee free /” “He is at liberty !” said William. “But you will have him arrested?” ex claimed Beginald, eagerly; “lie shall be punished for this most atrocious murder!” “Do not use such harsh words, Regi nald,” said William, in a low voice; “the account that 1 have just heard, readers it impossible for me to order his execu tion !” “What under Heaven can prevent yonr Majesty rendering us justice ?” cried Reginald. “Enough, that it is so. Believe me, 1 deeply regret the necessity that forces me to refuse you your reasonable request. I owe my life and throne to you, Regi nald, but were I to grant what you ask— but, enough of this, I have deprived Sir John Dalryrnple of his office, and sent him Yom my presence.” “Deprived him of his office 1” sneered Reginald; “and he has deprived my sister of her husband, and her husband’s friends ! She loved her husband, my King, ave, as warmly as Mary loved the Duke of Monmouth; your love, surely, must have cooled, my Lord, or you would not think thus lightly of a husband’s death, and such a-death !” “Oh ! believe me, I do not think light of it,” replied William, in great agi tation; “my love for my peerless Mary is as warm as ever it was, and it is for her sake that I deny you your just revenge.” “It is not my revenge !” exclaimed Reginald; “the blood of the aged Chief of Glencoe calls aloud to Heaven for ven geance; and, if you do not listen to that voice, it may fare ill with you !” “Hush! in mercy’s name, hush !” im plored William; “prophecy me no evil, Reginald !” Reginald heeded him not. “Prophecy you no evil! KiDg of Eng land ? Aye, but Ido prophecy evil to you, and yours! The arms of Suther land can never be lifted to injure you; but they 7 guard you no longer, and jour life may fall into the hands of your e ne ' mies. You will live in fear of their plots and schemes, and your life will be a curse to you ! And Mary—she for whose sake you have done us this foul wrong—you will live to see her an object of horror aDd disgust to all around her, and if you, yourself, do not fly from her presence, it will be because of this warning that I give you; in that day, you will send for Reginald Sutherland, and—” “Stop, in Heaven’s name !” cried Wil liam, in a voice of such heart-felt agony, that Reginald paused. “Oh! Reginald, I owe you an everlast ing debt of gratitude ; one more favor I ask of you, before we part; if that dark hour should come, promise me that \ T ou will come to me !” “Your Majesty asks much of me!” said Regie, gloomily. “I know that I do,” answered William; “but promise me. By the memory of Cuthbert, I ask it!” “I promise !” cried Reginald, seizing W illiam’s hand ; “oh! Monmouth, I know not what fearful thing has come between us; but it is so. I promise you, and now —farewell !” Reginald wrung his hand, and rushed from the room. William fell back in his seat, as Regi nald left him, and groaned audibly. Who can tell, or, rather, can we not tell, what feelings raged in his breast ? Bound by every tie of honor and gratitude to protect the family of Sutherland, he had deserted them now when they called on him to redress their wrongs. Never had one of them asked for wealth or titles from him; but served him for love. Unfortunate William! far better had it been for him had he braved the vindictive, treacherous, Master of Stair, and clung to these tried friends. In bitterness of heart did Wil liam remember this interview, in after time, when the hand of affliction was laid heavily upon him. CHAPTER XII. The Spring was coming on, and, yield ing instant compliance to Amy’s request, that they would go back to Sutherland Hall, the family left the City earlier than usual. Amy seemed more like herself after she got back to the old loved home, and hope sprung anew in the hearts of those who loved ker. But, though a faint smile sometimes lighted her face for an instant, her cheek did not recover its bfoom, nor her eye its brightness. The roses of June bloomed around her, but they brought no pleasure to her; she would look at them a moment, and then toss them aside to fix her upon a faded sprig of purple heather and a long golden tress of hair, that were her chief treasures. “Have 3*ou not a glimmer of hope for the future ?” asked Emily, as she was sitting alone with Amy, one day; at least, she thought they were alone, but Marma duke was lying on a couch in the recess of the window, where he had been read ing and dozing away the afternoon. He did not intend to listen to their conversaT t-ion; nor, had he an idea that it was, in any degree, a private one, until it was too late. In answer to Emily’s question, Amy smiled faintly, and dropped from her fingers the dainty little garment she was fashioning" “What have I to hope for ?’’ she asked. * I hoped for much in my little babe/’ answered Emily, softly; “and I find my little Raymond the sweetest of treasures to me.” “Ah ! doubtless !” said Amy, with a deep sigh; “but how different is your lot to mine, ray sister. Four child has his father’s love to look to, and is heir of a noble Earldom, while mine will be an orphan from its birth, and heir to what ? A Highland Glen ! You know what that is, sister—little bettor than nothing. Oh! if it could bnt have a father’s protecting hand to lift it over the rough ways of the world, I could die in peace !” “Why will yon speak of dying, Amy ; live for us, and for your child, if not for yourself.” “No, Emily, I bequeath my child to you, should it live, as it is to be an or phan. I would, for its sake, that I were wealthy; as it’s father is dead, I wish the name he had left it were of high rank.” “I join you in the wish, Amy; and, did I not already have an heir of Suther land, I would take 3*our child as m} 7 own, and, at Ormand’s death, it should be his heir!” ‘A ou are most generous, sister; but you have a son; let what I have said, pass.” * “Naj 7 !” exclaimed Marmaduke, start ing from his concealment; “Nay, Amy, Emily, let it not pass; the Earldom of Surrey 7 is scarcely less noble than that of Sutherland ! Give me your child, Amy, and I will make it my heir; it will no longer be heir only to a bare Highland Glen, hut to one of the noblest estates and titles in England !” A faint flush dyed Amy’s cheek as she replied: “You are too generous, ’Duke; no, keep your ti tic, and bestow it upon one of your brothers. Give it to An bur.” “Arthur will not accept it, when he knows that ’Duke has offered it to you, and that you have relinquished it in his favor.” “Plead for me, Emily!” exclaimed ’Duke, in great agitation. “Oh! 1 could not wrong your brothers so !” said Amy, turning away. “But you will not wrong them ; for, if you do not accept my name, it shall die with me !” said Marmaduke, encouraged by Emily’s looks of silent approval. “Accept your name! 111! your name ! I think Ido not understand you, ’Duke !” Mannaduke drew back abashed. “He offers you his hand, Amy ; accept it.” whispered Emily. “Accept bis hand 1 Oh ! no, sister ! I refused it once, when in the pride of my beauty, and shall I accept it now, to be stow his Earldom upon my child ?” “Even for that reason, dearest Amy,” murmured ’Duke, kneeling- by her side ; “I will not pain your heart by words of love, now nor ever ; but only give me the right of being near you ; take my name, that you may give it to your child !” “Dear, noble, generous heart !” exclaim ed Amy, tearfully; “it will not be for long, and if it will give the faintest shadow of pleasure to your generous soul, I will—” “You will accept my namo—all un worthy of you as it is ? Do you hear' that, Emily ? She says she will bear my name ! Oh ! Amy, many thanks; I will cherish you as a dear sister. Never fear that I will forget that your heart is buried with join husband ! You have permitted me to be of service to you, and I am satisfied !” “It will not’bc for long,’'’ murmured Amy to herself. “I will speak to Father Francis about it !” said Emily, tenderly pressing her lips to Amy’s cheek; “Onnand and the others shall Le apprised of it, av,d ere the sun sets, dear sister, you will have a claim upon the Earldom of Surrey !’, And while she went to speak to those she had named, Marntaduke stood nearthe window, gazing out upon the broad fields of Sutherland, and Amy looked mourn fully upon him, thinking of the noble heart that sacrificed all things to its un selfish love. Marmaduke’s proposition was hailed with delight by his brothers and Eugenia, and, ere the sun set, Amy teas Countess of Surrey. CHAPTER XIII. Emily came out of Amy’s room into the fresh air. It was the last day of July, and the very air was hot and stifling. Emily looked pale and thin; for three nights she ISTo. 40. I '