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THE SUNNY SOUTH, ATLANTA, GEORGIA, NOVEMBER 26, 1892
Jtye Blue *2£ Jl?e (jrey
LIEUTENANT SHOTWBLL.
RAPHAEL 8EMMES.
Prize-Caplure on the African Coast.
Interesting Reminiscenses From an
Officer of the Alabama.
Having thoroughly broken out,
painted and refitted the Alabama, in
the beautiful Bay of Saldahua, where
we enjoyed perfect rest and seclusion
for our work, we *et sail for Table Bay,
which lay about sixty miles to the
southward and eastward.
It was a quiet and beautiful morning
with a pleasant breeze blowing, when,
about twenty miles from Table Bay,
“sail.ho” came from the mast head,
reporting a ship standing in to Table
Bay. As soon as we could see her
from the deck, her white sails and
tapering masts told at once her nation-1
ality to be a “Yankee” clipper ; where-
a neat cottage on the bay. He invited
Captain Semmes and myself to dine
with himself and his staff.
While at table the Admiral informed
Captain Semmes that “if he intended
remaining any time, he had better
change his anchorage nearer the shore,
to avoid any conflict with the U. S.
vessel of war Vanderbilt,” as Captain
Baldwin, who had dined with him a
few days previous, had stated that “be
was in pursuit of the Alabama but did
not mean to fire a shot at her, but to
run her down and sink her.” Captain
Semmes replied that it “would take
two to play that game. That the
Vanderbilt had the speed, being
four times as large as the Alabama,
but that he could turn his ship in a
very small space; whereas, the Van
derbilt with her great length, would
require much more room—which re
minded him of the chase of the grey
hound and the hare. The greyhound
diers in the hospital there were all
captured in a raid made by one Kirk
with a Federal regiment of mounted
men, and that the commander march
ed his prisoners through this town.
Now, I w’ant to find some one here
who can give me some information
; about the route taken from this point.
War has no evils that are so touching and if possible I should like to find
some one who can tell me something
The Ulstarred Prisoner that was Slain.
A SURVIVING GRAY-JACKET'S MELAN
CHOLY RECOLLECTIONS.
upon, we at once put on all steam to with his great speed was about to over
intercept her before getting within the take the hare, when the hare would
Marine league, and now came a race of turn suddenly and dodge out of bis
life for the clipper, and of prize for the way, while the greyhound would go
Alabama. The excitement increased
as the two vessels approached each Baldwin Walker, however,
other. tVhen near enough to the upon Captain Semmes that
chase we fired a blank cartridge
across
her bows, which she did not notice,
but crowded all sail, apparently de
termined to reach a place of safety.
We were rapidly gaining upon her,
however, and not until we had steamed
around upon her starboard quarter,
with a file of Marines upon our quarter
tumbling on and lose his game.” Sir
impressed
“this was
the second time the Alabama and the
Vanderbilt had visited his port within a
day or two of each other and, possibly,
the third time they might come into
collision.” After dinner we joined the
ladies of the family, and found the
Admiral’s wife and daughter very
charming ladies. At a late hour we
deck with riffles in hand, demanding took leave of them and returned on
the man at the wheel to “put his helm ! board ship, whereupon Captain
Semmes gave orders to “get the ship
under way and stand to sea.”
The next morning we were forty
miles from the cape and continued
under steam and sail that day till we
struck the “brave west winds,” de
scribed so graphically by Commodore
Maury in his “Geography of the Sea.”
We now hoisted our propeller, banked
fires, and the next land we sighted was
the Island of Java, in the far east, and
we never afterwards heard of the Van
derbilt till our return home.
/#' ' - »
Executive Officer
S. Alabama.
down, or we would fire into him” did
they “heave to.” We immediately
took cross-bearings from points on the
shore to establish our position, feeling
assured that the question of our dis
tance from the shore w T ould be raised
by the Yankee Consul, trying to es
tablish it as an “illegal seizure.”
We at once sent an officer on board
to procure the ship’s papers, and found
her to be the “Sea Bride,” of Boston,
direct from New York with an assorted
cargo, upon a trading voyage to Table
Bay and the east coast of Africa.
We brought on board the Alabama
the captain and crew of the prize, and
placed an officer and crew on board the
“Sea Bride,” with instructions to lay
off and on the port till further com
munication with him. Just below
Table Mountain, as it sloped to the sea,
the shores were covered with the entire
population of Cape Town We now
steered for the anchorage in the bay
four or five miles distant.
As we started for the bay the crowd
returned to the wharves in the city to
secure boats for visiting the Alabama.
JSTo sooner had we dropped our anchor
than visitors began to crowd our decks.
The officers and crew took delight in
receiving them, and extending to them
the hospitality of our little ship. It
was indeed a gala day. Capt. Semmes
sat in his cabin and received the ova
tion thus tendered him by an admiring
populace. Hissteward, Bartelli, posted
himself at the cabin door, and received
the visitors with laudable pride. The
captain, with pen in hand, was busily
employed writing his autograph, at the
request of his lady visitors. The fol
lowing day, also, we were crowded
with visitors. Army officers and their
wives, all the city officials, and, indeed,
we numbered them from every station
and class in life. Capt. Semmes, how
ever, took the time to arrange for the
sale of our prize and cargo, for about
one third of her value. The sale was
made to a speculative Englishman,
whereupon we got up steam and com
municated with our prize, ordering her
up the coast to Angra Pequena Bay,
situated beyond the limit of the Eng
lish possessions, and in the Hottentot
country. We steamed around the Cape
of Good Hope to Simon’s Bay, the
military station of the colony, where
we found Admiral Sir Baldwin
Walker’s flag-ship, and other English
men-of-war. They received us with a
great deal of cordiality and we
exchanged many pleasant courtesies,
they inviting us to dine, etc. We
remained in port a few days and then
left to join our prize, and conclude the
sale. We found her snugly anchored
at the place appointed, and went to
work to break out the cargo, aud take
such things as we needed for provis
ioning our ship. She was loaded with
all the luxuries of the New York
market. After satisfying our own
wants, we turned the remaining cargo,
and ship over to our purchaser. He
at once went to work transferring the
cargo to coasters, and no doubt realized
a handsome profit by running them
into the ports of the colony. The ship,
however, we afterwards learned, proved
quite an elephant on his hands.
Taking ballast on board, he ran her
around tlic oapo on thp poof of 1:TJ .. Jn __ _
Africa, and tried to get naners of clear- effec * of the drug ’ 1 d J d n ? t iS
papers^oi Clear no inconvenience when I left off the treatment.
A Graveyard Rabbit.
[By Mary E. Bryan.J
When the autumn twilight falls
And the muffled screech owl calls
From his covert in the cedar, dark as night,
You may see this rabbit sitting
On a lonely grave, or flitting
’Mong the grassy mounds, with ghostly, noiseless
flight.
He is wise—this ancient rabbit,
It has been his wary habit,
To take refuge ’mong these grave-stones, old and
gray,
Since, when pressed by gun and hound.
He that friendly crevice found
In the old wall near the ground,
And thus balked his keeu pursuer of his prey.
This was in his callow youth,
He has learned since then the truth ;
! Ever danger lurks where pleasures most abound.
Nibbling grave-yard herbs at ease.
He contents himself with these,
Shuns the patch of juicy peas
i Guarded by those dreaded dragons—boy and
hound.
So long has he been found
Here, on consecrated ground,
That a sanctity invests this rabbit gray.
“He’s a haut,’’ the darkies say,
“It would take our luck away,
To kill himeben for the pot—Thanksgiving day.”
When the moonlit night is still,
Oft I sit upon ibis hill
Where the dead sleep each beneath a grassy roof,
Just the rabbit, owl and I
And the winds that faintly sigh,
While all human sight and sounds are far aloof.
Then, if only one long dead
Should rise from her earthy bed
As rises a white mist-wreath from the wave,
She might safely join us here,
For we would not feel a fear,
Would not break by word or tear
The brief midnight spell that held her from her
grave.
A Great and Glorious Victory.
I feel it my duty to let the public know that
I have used Dr. Woolley’s antidote for the mor
phine habit with perfect success. I had been
afflicted with a complication of chronic diseases
for a number of years and could find no remedy
to give me relief.
I finally grew so nervous and worn out from
pain that 1 began to take a small dose of mor
phine occasionally to give me rest and enable me
to bear the pain. I was then so ignorant of the
effects of it that I thought it only required strong
will power to leave it off.
Of course, I had to increase the amount after
beginning, as all others do, until I found myself
bound by chains that no will power could break.
I fought it bravely and begged my physicians to
help me, but they told me it would kill me to
try to leave it off then, and I am sure it would
but fr Dr. Wool 1 v’s wonderful treatment.
I used the morphine for three years, using at
last as much as one bottle hypodermically every
three or four weeks. I felt that I could not last
but a few weeks longer, as I was in such a dread
ful condition both in mind and body, for I felt
that it was killing me, and still I was bound to
US I C saw a piece in the Sonny South telling of Dr.
Woolley, of Atlanta, Ga., and his great work, and
wrote at once for treatment. I began the treat
ment Januarv, 1892. and continued until the
middle of the following July. I did notsufler
for the morphine while taking the antidote at all,
aud as the treatment is a gradual building up of
the svstem at the same time that it destroys the
M T * 1 1 1 T J ^ J n 4- WM inn -i ♦ n n J Oil
ance from Portuguese ports. Failing at
that, and also to make sale of the ship,
the last we heard of her she was seen
as the “Flying Dutchman” off the
cape, bo far as we knew, thus ended
the career of the “ Sea Bride.”
We returned to Simon’s Bay and re
ceived as warm a welcome as upon our
first visit. Admiral Sir Baldwin
W alker lived in comfortable style, in
I sincerely hope if any who read this are victims
of any of the habits treated by Dr. Woolley they
will lose no time in sending for his treatment.
He prepares his medicine carefully to suit each
case, and it makes no difference how bad your
case may be, if you follow directions he will
surely bring you through safely, and his kind
encouraging letters are a great help to suffering
patients. I am inlbetter health than I’ve been
m ten years, and but lor Dr. Woolley I would
certainly be in mv grave. Mbs. J. S. Jones.
Arcadia, La., October, 30, 1892.
—Atlanta Journal, October 12th.
and so terrible as those that are some
times born of prison life; it has no
actual horror and wrongs so lasting,
none that reach so far mid so strongly
into human sympathy and memory as
in the suffering and cruelty inflicted
upon helpless captives.
English literature is stained by no
blacker pagi s than those that reveal
the sufferings of the London Tower,
the French Bastile, and the Spanish
Inquisitions. England herself, has no
blot upon her fame more deplorable
than that which bangsoverthe memo
ries of Saint Helena; nor does the
English soldiery have a more pathetic
and heart-rending story than is em
braced in the recital of the sufferings
of the English prisoners in the Black
Hole of Calcuita. in the annals of
our American Revolutionary struggle,
no episodes appeal more to our hearts,
at this day even, than the .fates of
Major Andre, Nathan Hall, and Isaac
Hayne—martyred prisoners.
We shudder in our childhood in
reading, in the old rlassics, how the
civilized ancients tortured their cap
tives, in cutting off eyelids, and expos
ing the naked balls to the rays of a
tropical sun ; or how they placed the
helpless victims in barrels, the staves
of which were filled with sharpened
spikes, and then rolled the confined
wretches over steep and rough decliv
ities.
We find, how’ever, that human nat
ure is much the same in all ages, even
among people professing the highest
civilization, and, disguise the facts as
we may, there are many events in our
own recent history that have entailed
the bitterest of memories upon thou
sands—the result of inflictions, either
uncalled for or justifiable, in the treat
ment of captives.
Of all the wounds of the great strug
gle over secession, the prison sufferings
and ‘■ores are the slowest and hardest
to heal. And if there is yet an unfor
giving spirit anywhere on either side
of the conflict, it comes from ihe
memories of the dark stockades and
prison walls-agonies not to be recount
ed here. If every horror of the four
years’ struggle, excepting those relat
ing to the prison sufferings, were blot
ted out of existence or forgotten, those
that reveal the prison life and its
fruits, would by themselves be suffi
cient to fill a thousand volumes.
I want to relate
sure or criminatbl
i here—without cen-
n for anyone—some
incidents growing/out of prison life—
a tale that is full of pathos and tragedy
—a history true that appeals to the
sympathy of father and son alike
everywhere, in all sections, among all
feeling hearts:
A few months after the surrender at
Appomattox, in 1865, I was in a little
village store in Western North Caro
lina, when a stranger of unusual ap
pearance entered the door. He was
evidently no ordinary foot-pad or
tramping trash. I saw from the man’s
looks that there was some burden of
anxiety or sorrow on his mind or heart,
and as I was proprietor of the estab
lishment we were in, I approached the
gentleman, purposing to speak to him
and offer him such courtesy as I
thought due a stranger under the cir
cumstances. Looking closely into the
man’s face, I thought I recognized in
him some one whom I had known in
other days ; possibly a soldier in Vir
ginia, for the stranger had a courtly
and soldierly bearing, and a visage
apparently bronzed by war.
Our footsteps drawing nearer, the
recognition seemed really mutual, the
man looked at me as though he knew’
me. I gave him my hand, watching
closely his eye, while I said:
“I think you and I have seen each
other before, have we not ? What is
the name ?”
“My name is Shotwell. Perhaps if
you were in the army in Virginia you
may have seen me. I was the colonel
of a Texas regiment with General
Lee.”
“Yes, I know you,” said I, “and do
you remember that you and I once
slept together one night during the
battles around Richmond ?” I recog
nized the gentleman as soon as he had
spoken.
When I recounted the circumstances
under which we first met, the recogni
tion was, of course, complete and hap
py, and we began at once a conversa
tion about the facts reverted to—a con
versation which was doomed to be
brief. The burden on the man’s mind
crushed out every other consideration,
and he seemed impatient in its revela
tion. I listened to his words with a
deep and tender sympathy and inter
est. He said:
“I am seeking information about a
lost son of mine. I have been tracing
his footsteps for several weeks. He
was with me and was wounded in bat
tle in Virginia in 1864. He was sent to
the rear to have his wounds dressed,
while I was captured and sent off to a
Northern prison. Since my release
last summer, I have been seeking him.
I traced him to Salisbury, where he
was in a hospital.
“I am now just from that place. I
learned there that the Confederate sol-
me
about my dear lost boy.”
By this time, there were gathered
about us quite a group of listeners—
patrons of the store, the clerks, and the
usual loungers at the popular corner.
A young man who was in my employ
at the time spoke up curiously and
promptly, asking:
“Are you the father of Lieutenant
Shotwell ?”
“Yes,” said the stranger, gladly, yet
sadly and quickly.
“Well,” said my clerk, “I can tell
you all about him; I was with him
when he was killed !”
“Killed !—My God !—Did you say he
was killed !—Oh ! where?”
These were the exclamations of the
poor man, and as he uttered them he
seemed to go into an effort to brace
himself to keep from sinking prone to
the floor. A great stream of tears gush
ed from his eyes, the storm of agony
that was raging in his heart was visible
to all our eyes. And yet the man
endeavored to be calm and dignified.
There was another gentleman pres
ent—he too an old soldier—who spoke
up, and said :
“Yes, I was there too, and I saw it.
lean take you now to the very spot
where the poor fellow was buried. I
was there only a few days ago.”
The Texan now broke down in bis
grief, and seating himself in a proffered
chair, buried his face in his hands.
But brightening up again, in a moment
he appeared to be nerving himself for
further revelations. His long search
seemed now at an end—and that end,
alas, in the grave !—in the grave where
all the paths of grief and glory alike
must end. With the facts of death
already obtained he wanted to know
all there was of the tragedy.
Could any one present tell him all?
Yes. j
teeth. There was also on his hand
when he went into the battle a gold
ring with some well known initials
on it. But the father could scarcely
hope 'o find this ring ; the supposition
being that the slayers of the man, or
some one else finding the body, had
appropriated that fine and valued
relic.
We fitted out an expedition to go to
the grave with the Texan—the young
man in my employ accompanying him
thither. Arrived at the fatal spot,
which is on the border of “The Silver
Lake” near Blowing Rock in Watauga
county, N. C., the remains were laid
bare by the careful removal of earth
aud box covering. The first thing that
met the sad gaze of the anxious father
was the parted, gaping lips, disclosing
the teeth in full, and as the vision of
the gold filling was there, in indis
putable testimony of the bitter truth,
the bereaved father fell upon his knees
and wept most bitterly, yet with some
thrill of satisfaction at finding the lost.
For some moments he remained pros
trate over all that was there left of his
dear dead boy, long lost, found at last!
A gloved hand lay across the breast
of the corpse. Taking hold of the
covering it was soon removed ; and lo !
there was the precious ring—that, also.
The stricken soldier in falling had
thrown his hand over his heart, as if
to give testimony of his fidelity in
death.
Gathering the remains reverently
together, the father placed them in a
box, and now, rejoicing in the posess-
ion of the sad relics, he bore them to a
far away resting place in the “ Lone
Star State,” where they now repose
beneath a costly shaft of memorial
tv arble.
Here’s a blessing on the name and
memory of the ill-fated youth who
sleeps the last sleep of the prisoner
that was slain.
M. V. Moore.
A Department of the Constitution.
Here are the main points in the
story:
The Confederate prisoners captured
at Salisbury in the “Kirk raid” were
being hurried through Western North
Carolina as rapidly as possible towards
a place of safety in East Tennessee.
At the time, there were several small
bands of Confederate soldiers and
“Home guards” in the country, and it
was feared by the Federals that these
would make an attempt to rescue.
Hence there was not only the push,
but there was extreme vigilance and
vigor on the part of the captors; and
there w*ere also threats of extreme
measures to be enforced in case any of
the prisoners should make a break for
liberty.
On the summit of the Blue Ridge,
some twenty-two miles distant from
Lenoir, N. C., where the Texan and I
were talking, and while the column of
captives was passing a dense thicket,
Lieutenant Shotwell sprang from the
ranks, and made an attempt to escape.
Seeing that it would be useless for him
to continue the effort—as he was still
suffering from his wounds—he stopped
before getting fairly out of sight. He
sat down on a log, and cried out to his
pursuers that he would surrender.
A squad of the guards under the of
ficer rushed up to where he was sitting,
and, notwithstanding the fact that
Lieutenant Shotwell begged that his
life be spared, he was instantly shot to
death as he sat on the log. Kirk put
the muzzle of his pistol right at the
prisoner’s face and fired. The body of
the slain man was left just as it had
fallen by the side of the prostrate tree.
His Confederate comrades were then
rushed forward with additional vigor
and speed.
This was in the early spring of 1865 ;
and nearly all the people of Southern
sympathizers in that region were either
away in the army, or were in hiding,
or dodging from the Federals then
known to be overrunning the country.
No one of these dared to show himself
openly, and hence the corpse of the
slain man lay exposed for several days
there by the wayside where it had fall
en. Some time afterward, returning
citizens made a rude pine box, and,
without disturbing the remains, then
in a state of putrefaction—they placed
the covering of wood over the body,
and threw a mound of earth over all.
The grave had never been disturbed
since; one of the men present in my
store at the time referred to having
been at the spot only a few days previ
ous to the time of the Texan’s arrival at
my store. Several inquiries and replies
w r ere passed between the stranger and
the men about us—these inquiries
looking to the full and proper identifi
cation of the dead man. And although
the facts already revealed appeared
sufficiently convincing to the Texan,
yet there was visible to him a well de
fined hope that possibly, after all, his
son might be found somewhere among
the living, and that the slain officer
was some one else with similar name.
The father resolved to visit the grave,
and disinter the remains for a fuller
examination. There were, he said,
two things by which the identifi
cation of his son could be made
complete. There was a gold filling
of a prominent and peculiar character
in one of the missing man’s front
It has been stated that the circulation
of the periodicals printed in Atlanta is
greater than the combined circulation of
all the periodicals printed elsewhere in
Georgia. While we are not just now in
possession of sufficient data to establish
the pro or con of this, whether the fore
going statement is true or not, the com
bined circulation of the periodicals
printed in the Constitution Building is
greater than the combined circulation of
the periodicals published by all the other
establishments in Atlanta.
Among the periodicals printed by the
Constitution Presses, are the following:
The Daily and Weekly Constitution,
Wesleyan Christian Advocate, The
Mnemosynean, Emory Phoenix, Way of
Life, “Dixie,” The Financial Index, The
Daphnean and the Southern Traveler’s
Railway Guide.
This issue of the Sunny South was
printed by the Constitution Job Office,
and is a fair sample of the kind of work
that is done in this establishment, where
in the Job Printing Department alone
more than one hundred employees are
engaged in printing the various period
icals, books, pamphlets and miscellane
ous job work that is done by the Consti
tution Job Office. And when you add
to this number, those who are engaged
on the Daily and Weekly Constitution,
you have truly an army of busy workers,
whose aspiration is to do the best class
of work possible to be done in the “Art
Preservative.”
A few years ago, the Constitution Job
Office kept busy only five employees.
In less than eight years, it has increased
its force more than 2,000 per cent., and
has now the largest printing plant in
the South. The basement of the Con
stitution Building is filled with mam
moth printing presses, each of which is
the finest of its kind to be had, and the
equipment of type of the Constitution
Job Office is not surpassed by any office
in the country.
The successful business man, into
whose hands are committed the large
investment of capital, and the vast inter
ests of the Constitution Job Office, is
Mr. W. J. Campbell, the Manager, who
is assisted by a competent force of clerks
and book-keepers. Especially worthy
of mention are Messrs. G. W. Wilson
and W. R. Harris, foremen respectively
of the Composing and Press Rooms of
this business. To mention the names
of the compositors, pressmen and others
who retain positions in the Constitution
Job Office, because of their faithfulness
and proficiency, would require a cata
logue.
Each of the three great departments
of the Constitution is the leader in its
particular field. The Daily Constitution
is the leading daily of the South. The
Weekly Constitution is the leading
political weekly newspaper of the world,
and the Constitution Job Office is the
largest Periodical, Book and Job print
ing establishment in the South.
The officers of the Constitution, are
the following well known gentlemen:
Evan P. Howell, President; W. A.
Hemphill, Business Manager; Clark
Howell, Managing Editor; R. A. Hemp
hill, Secretary, and W. J. Campbell,
Manager Constitution Job Office.
Personal.
The paper on which this issue of the
Sunny South is printed, was pur
chased from Mr. F. G. Hancock, of
Atlanta, who is the selling Agent for a
numberof Eastern Paper Manufacturers.