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VOL IV
J. H. &.W B. SEALS,
ATLANTA, GA„ SATURDAY DECEMBER 7, 1878.
TERMStfiF
Bh'AXNTM
ADVANCE
NO.181
SUN DOWN.
BY SHALEE G. HILLYER, Ja.
CHAPTER L
Think it not thy business, this orknowing
thyself; thoti art an unknowable individual:
know what thou canst work at, and work at
it, like a Hercules!”
Thomas Caki.yum.
DESOLATION.
In October, of the year 1870, I was
employed by a merchant of Cuthbert, the
county site of Randolph county, Georgia,
to go through the rural districts and col
lect for him such notes and accounts as
were past due, and which he had learned
to regard as of doubtful value. Some of
these papers were worthless, and I was in
structed to take for them any thing that
was offered.
My employer did an extensive credit
business thrhonghont Randolph, and parts
of adjoining counties. Hence 1 was often
absent on these co-lecting tours from one
to two weeks. Furnished with a good horse
and buggy, and having no interest in Cuth
bert to hasten my return, I went leisurely
along, enjoying the pure air of the country,
and vexed with no cares, save thos:-
connected with the business I had in
hand.
I was traveling in the western portion
of the country, and through a region that
had once been very productive. Before
the late civil war its farmers saw there
property g r ov in value year b • year. Their
homes, emrounded by smiling orchards
and grassy meadows, looked the abotles of
plenty, which they really were. In their
wide pasture lands roamed flocks of sheep,
and herds of swine a nd cattle; while
their broad fields produced both cotton and
the cereals in abundance. But their pros
perity was more apparrent than real. This
was owiDg to a short-sighted, sytin. cl a
ricullure which had been generally adopt
ed; a system which looked more to the
acquisition of new lands than to the recu
peration of those already possessed. Hence,
as long as their .ands were frisk they a're
prosperous, rather than thrifty farmers.
But a sad change had come to these once flour
ishing homes. There was no longer about them
a look of comfort, nor any appearance of plenty.
A few gnarled and broken trees marked the spot
where orehards once bloomed. There were no
green meadows now, dotted o'er with grazing
sheep, or droves of swine, or browsing cattle.
But now and then a mangy hog trotted past, as
it looking for ilB mates, and here and there I
would pass, at long intervals, a hungry-lcoking
cow. The houses had a dingy appearance, as if
long unused to paint ; the shrubbery in the
yards looked neglected; the lences were fallen
down, and the gates stood hingeless and ajar.
Everywhere there is a touch of ruin . The own
ers of these places hastening to decay once
knew how to make them profitable, but they no
longer know. It was sad to see on every side
how desolation marked with mildew and'bligkt
a land that once blossomed as the rose.
The road that I was then on I was traveling
for the first time. It was my intention to stop
for the night at the house ol Mrs. Goldie, a
widow lady, who I knew lived a short distance
beyond the l’ataula creek. Wishing to obtain
more definite knowledge of Mrs. Goldie’s local
ity than 1 possessed, I stopped to make inqui
ries of a lad who was plowing in a field close by
the road.
‘Can you tell me where Mrs. Goldie lives? ’
I asked.
‘About three-quarters t’other side o’ Sun
down,’ he answered, promptly.
‘Indeed !’ I rejoined, with a sarcastic accent,
supposing, as I was traveling due west, that the
lad was inclined to have Inn at my expense.
‘ You are such a bright hoy, perhaps you can
tell me how far it is lrom sundown to sunrise?’
‘ No, I can t,” he answered, «s promptly as be
fore, ‘but when you get to Sundown y ou can ask
the folks there, and they’ll tell yon.’
With these words he turned his horse about
and started off, leaving me to follow his very ex
plicit instructions. About a mile farther on I
came to an old man picking cotton.
‘Can you tell me how tar it is to the Pataula?’
I asked, stopping my horse on coming opposite
to him.
‘Just five miles,’ was his answer.
‘ Any roads to put me out ? ’
‘None at all, sir, if you are going to Sun
down.’
‘Not if I know myself,’ I replied, eyeing the
man Fosely, and beginning to suspect that thb
people of that neighborhood had made a plot
against strangers.
‘Then you re in the wrong road, sure.’
‘ Oh, I suppose not,’ I suid, smiling, disposed
by this time to humor the joke. ‘ At any iate, I
have a through ticket to Sunrise.’
‘Sun rise, hey ? Well, I leckon it’ll be some
time after day-break tc-morrow morning belore
you ge-t there.’
He turned to his work with a quiet chuckle
at his brilliant repl; , while I went on my way
wondering at the strange conceit which had
possessed these two countrymen.
Alter proceeding lourand a half miles over a
rough road, I descended a steep Lilt, and enter
ed a lane cut through the dense lorest. The
branches of the trees on either side interlaced
above the road, and were festooned with tke
gray moss of the Southern swamp. Rut few
rays ui the gun, now nearing the horizon, found
heir way through the thick foliage. With each
ttep of xuy horse forward the gloom seemed to
Out Door Costumes for December.
deepen. After preceeding through this natural
avenue a halt mile or more, I reached a more
open space, and then my horse suddenly stop
ped at the edge ot a wide expanse of water.
CHAPTER II.
SUNSET AT SUNDOWN.
| I knew that I had reached the Pataula, a
| creek I had crossed before in my travels, but
i never at this place. I expected to find a stream
• about twenty yards in width, hut the one be
fore me was at least one hundred, aDd a part of
it flowing with great velocity. It was evidently
; swollen by recent rains, signs of which I had
| observed for the last five or six miles, and
| which must have fallen in torrents towards the
I source of the stream. I knew not what to do.
: It was at least six miles back, over a rough and
1 dreary road, to a house where I might obtain, I
thought, tolerable accommodation for the
night. I was equally disinclined to go forward,
: and my horse, too, from the manner in which
rather an awkward position, yet I managed to
return her salutation and then, after we had
looked at each other a few seconds in silence —
though I believe she was scanning the situation
rather than my person—I proceeded to intro
duce myself.
‘I am traveling—or was a few minutes ago—
I for Jonathan Greenleaf, of Cuthbert. I am
Maurice Lockwood, at your service.’
‘You are hardly in a position, Mr, Lockwood,’
she said, with a little smila, ‘to render much
service. I am Kate Goldie, at your service. I
suppose you are unacquainted with the ford?’
‘I am.’
‘Then I will help you through it.’
‘You?—impossible!’
‘You went too far to the left. I will ride in
front of you, and lead the way. Your horse will
follow mine, no doubt.’
‘Impossible ! 1 again exclaimed, ‘You sure
ly do not intend, Miss Goldie, to ride into this
flood on horseback. ?'
‘Yes, I am a Naiad of this stream,’ she an-
he pawed the water—for he was standing in the j sv ^ re d> quietly, ‘so you may safely trust your-
edge of it—showed his unwillingness to trust ! t0 m Y guidance. _ Now, look the other way
I himself to its untried depths,
! But looking Lack upon the dreary six miles
behind me, upon the long and rough road that
must be traversed in darkness, for night was
near at hand, and then forward to the comforta
ble home—so I put it—of Mrs. Goldie, only one
mile ahead of mt, and conscious of my ability,
from being a good swimmer, to extricate myself,
and probably the horse, should he, from being
forced to swim, become entangled in the har
ness, I resolved to go forward.
Tupping my horse with the lines, and speak
ing to him encouragingly, he went forward. 1
noticed that the depth of the stream increased
very rapidly. I was only two or three yards
from the bank when the water began to flow
through the buggy. I put my feet on the dash
board, and continued to go forward, hoping
that I was then passing through the bed of the
stream, and that it would quickly become more
shallow. But I was disappointed in this: the
wa'er steadily rose on the flanks of the horse,
until it reached tho crupper, and swept through
the buggy within two inches of the cushion on
which 1 sat. The horse stopped, and showed
his uneasiness by pawing in the water. I stood
up and tried to take soundings, on both sides
of the vehicle, with the staff of my whip.
These helped me to no conclusion. I knew not
what to do, yet I must do something very
quickly, for the restlessness of my horse was
fast increasing, and he would scon become un
manageable. I would gladly have turned him
about, to traverse again the miserable road be
hind me, had it been possible, but I had gone
much too far either to back him out, or turn
him around. There was nothing else hut to go
forward—if I could. j
Just as I had grasped more tightly the reins
to execute my purpose, the sound of an ap
proaching horse behind made me turn my head.
fora moment while I change my position.’
I saw that it would be useless to oppose her
further, so I looked towards my horse’s head,
as she bid me. Presently I heard her horse
moving through the water on my right. When
she came opposite to me I saw that she was
standing erect on her saddle. She held the
reigns ot her bridle in one hand, while the
other held up her riding skirt. The greyhound
whom I afterwards heard her address as I}au-
die, swam along on the other side of her.
The first sight of her in this ncjvel position
alarmed me, hut I dared not 'speak lest I
thought, by withdrawing her attention from
her horse, I might increase her peril. Again
gathering up my lines I prepared to urge my
horse forward when hers should pass in front
ot him ; but he, reassured by the presence of
llie other, needed to be restrained rather than
urged. The depth of the water for some dis
tance remained about the same, yet the young
lady revealed no uneasiness, even when its sur
face was but four or five inches below where her
feet rested on the saddle. Presently, much to
the reliet ot my life, the stream became suffi
ciently shallow to allow the water to leave the
buggy. And then, still to my greatrelief, I saw
my guide pass safely from the water on to the
firm bank. She drew up on one side of the
road, and waited until I oame up.
‘It you will standstill justa moment,’ shesail
coming close to the buggy, which had stopped,
‘I will alight on your front whoels and change
my postion.’
While speaking she stepped down on the rim
of my wheel, and the next second, ere I could
offer to assist her, she was firmly seated in her
saddle.
‘Mias Kate Goldie,’ I said, with a military
salute, ‘accept my thanks for your invaluable
service. You rescued me from a very unpleas-
A young lady, mounted on a black horse, and 1 an .\w U< ^’ P er ^ a P 8 > dangerous position.
. ,,5 , . . , ,1. . ’ ‘Were vou not rash in vant.nrincr l
followed by a large dog of the greyhound
species, was just emerging from the avenue
into the open space I have l efore mentioned.
I noticed that bhe sat on her horse with much
grace; it needed hut a glance to see that she was
at home in the saddle. 1 observed, too, as she
drew near, that she had dark hair and eyes, and
regular features.
‘Good evening, sir,’ she said quietly, as she
stopped her horse in the edge of the water.
1 was kneciing on the seat of my buggy in
the
ere you not rash in venturing into
storm when not knowing it?' she asked.
‘ies ; but there was some excuse for my rash
ness,’ I answered. ‘I mast go back six miles
over a rough road, most of it to be traversed in
darkness, before I could find a stopping-place
lor the night. By the time I reached it,’ I ar
gued, ‘I would have bai to arouse its inmates
from sleep. They would have got up in an ill
humor, and if I obtained any supper at all it
would have been cold corn bread warmed over,
and a slice of fried bacon, wicnont coffee, milk
or butter; on the other hand, if I could pass
through that storm, there was Mrs. Goldie’s,
only a mile further on, where, if she would take
me in. I would arrive in ample time for supper.
Mrs. Goldie is your mother, I presume.’
‘ She is. I would invite you to stop with us,
Mr. Lockwood, did I not know that yon would
have for supper only that dreaded corn bread
and slice of fried bacon, without coffee, milk or
butter. Will you stop?’
‘ Certainly I will.’
‘And risk yonr bill cf far9?’
‘I have had vour mother’s in view all day a3 a
stopping place for the night, so will not be
easily turned from my purpose. I have heard
that Mrs. Goldie is a famous housekeeper.’
‘ She may have been so once, when she had
everything she wanted. In her present circum
stances she will hardly make such a reputation
as you speak of.’
‘Shall we go on together? ’ I asked, gathering
up the lines.
‘ No; I will ride ahead [and tell mother that
you are coming.’
She was about to start off when I stopped her
to make enquiry about the road.
•Yon will easily find the way,’ she said, ‘when
you pass beyond the Sundown,’
‘Stop !’ I said, iterrupting her, ‘have the peo
ple on this road conspired to harass travellers
enquiring the way ? Bass beyond the Sundown
indeed!”
‘Yes, the Sundown court-yard, or precinct,’
she answered laughing.
‘Ah! that is it,’ I said,* somewhat releived, ‘I
understood it now, go on.’
‘Sundown is about a quarter of a mile ahead
of us. Just beyond it the road crosses this one.
Take the left hand, which will lead you across
Woathway bridge, the first house then on the
left of the road will be the one that you have
had in view all day.’
Saying this she put her horse into a quick
gallop, and so was soon out of sight.
In a little while I came in sight of the voting
precinct, whose name had perplexed me so
much. At that hour it was a dreary looking
plaoe. To the left was just discernable, through
the trees, an old ruin, which, I had no doubt,
wss once a mill-house, for it stood close on the
bank of a stream through which I had just
passed. I could hear the war of the waters, and
occasionally see their glimmer, as they rushed
along by its base. To my sight, removed a few
yards from the road, stood a small house,
which was easily recognized as a store, while
farther away to the right was still another,
which, from its size and shape, I supposed to
be tho neighborhood church. Near by it was
a graveyard ; its graves inclosed sometimes by
palings, sometimes by rails, and a few of them
marked by marble tombstones, which glistened
white through the trees.
In front of the stone-house, already men
tioned, was a white, shaggy dog, small in size,
that had a wheezing cough, as if it had a cold.
It coughed incessantly, and at intivals as regu
lar as the ticking of a clock. In the doorway
of the house stood a small, hump-backed man,
with bow legs. He had round eyes and a large
hooked nose, and these features, aided by some
straggling tufts of hair on his upper lip a
chin, gave t bis “nite an owlish expression.
He leaned lazily against tue facing of the door,
smoking a short-stemmed, dirty wood pipe,
which had been in use until its bowl was half
consumed. He stood
there apparrently
unconscious that I
was passing, yet I
felt that his black
eyes were furtively
observing me from
under his feathery-
look i n g eyebrows,
and through the
puffs of smoke that
came from his ill
shaped mouth.
But presently he,
and the mill, and
the church are all
behind me. I hear
still the wheezing
cough of the white
dog, but it grows
faint, and fainter
still, and then dies
away. After an in
terval I seem to he ar
it again, but per
haps it was only a
faucy. Now I reach
another stream,
nearly as broad as
the one I had just
passed through, but
this is crossed by a
log, substantial
looking bridge. It
was a dismal plaoe
at that hour. The
thick swamp on ei
ther side shut out
almost entirely the
little light still left
in the sky. A large
owl, that I could
see on the limb of a
dead nee near by,
welcomed with an
occasional hoot the
approaching night.
..bileI w■■ h startled
by a wbLziog noise
c ose at my head as
t j6 long-winged hat
swept by in the
gloom. A short dis
tance from the foot
of the bridge I came
to another stream,
much narrower than
either of the others.
While passing
through its dark
waters, and observ
ing how the dense growth of the semi-tropical
forest encroached upon th e ad, on either hand,
I could not but reflect how fit a place it was
for murderous deeds. The hoot of an owl made
me start, and instinctively put my hand on tho
stock of my pistol. The next instant I laughed
at the momentary alarm into whicu I had been
betrayed, and giving my horse a gentle remind
er that a whip was behind him, I was soon
trotting briskly on towards Mrs. Goldie’s, jg
CHAPTER III.
THE BBEAD-ANT-BUTTER QUESTION.
In five minutes more I came in sight of a
large house, which stood on an eminence to the
left of the road, and in an oak grove. I knew
that this was the residence of Mrs. Goldie.
By the dim light, which yet remained I tried
to make some observations which might enable
me to form an oponion of Mrs. Goldie’s finan
cial condition, as I had among my papers for
collection a note for four hundred dollars,
which she had given Mr. Greenlief some two
years before. I had naturally fallen into the
habit of making such observations when ap
proaching the homes of those against whom I
had claims. And it was seldom that the expec
tations based upon these observations deceived
me. I was not only interested for my employer,
but I had a selfish motive in looking to the
surroundings oi a place where I expected to
spend the night. How often had I foreseen a
miserable supper and a comfortless bed in the
absence of thrifs unmistakable signs out
side !
Alas, for my expectations that night. As
looked upon either side, at the stunted crops,
at the falling fences, at the empty barns, at tho
other dilapidated ont-houses at the different lots
for stock, or rather where they should have been,
my expectations fell rapidly, and I was forced to
conclude with a sigh, or rather two, one for my
employer and one for myself, that Mrs. Goldie
might he, as my worthy old employer believed,
‘an honest woman’ and ‘famous house-keeper,’
but that here was one more illustration of the
two faots, that honesty cannot pay debts, and
that a famous housekeeper may be a very indif
ferent farmer.
After the lapse of a few minutes, I am sitting
alone in a comfortable parlor, in front of a
cheerful fire. The furniture in the room I notice
is old-fashioned, yet of costly material. The
damask wiudow curtains looked as if they mighi
have hung just as they did then for the past
twenty years. The Brussels carpet was f aded,
and worn threadbare in plaoes. There was a
piano in the room. I noticed that its cover,
once a fine one, like the curtains and the carpet,
was faded by age. On one side of the room was
a heavy mahogany sofa; I left the chair I was in
and sat down upon it, but its springs were no
longer comfortable. I went next to a large arm
chair on the right of the fire plaoe. I found its
springs in the samecondition as those of the sofa.
By the time these observations had been
made, the door was opened and Kate returned,
followed by hor mother. Mrs. Goldies age,
apparently, was not more than fifty ^ ve > Yf*'’
like the black silk dress she had on, and
furniture of the room, she had a faded look.
After Kate bad introduced me to her mother,
After Kate had introlaoed me to her mother,
I handed the latter a letter from Mr. Greenleaf,
which she proceeded at once to read, at the same
time asking me to be seated. Having read the
letter, which was short, she took a seat in fron t
of me.
( to BE CONTINUED.'
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