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Mural Cabinet,
VOL. If.
THE CABINET
ts published every Saturday by 1\ L.
KOBINSOJY, Warrenton , Geo. at
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Ftom the Macon Telegraph.
TOE BURNT VILLAGE.
A TALE OF THE INDIAN WADS.
The Burnt Tillage lies six or
eight miles west ol La Grange, in the
county of Troup, on the west bank of
the Chattahoochie river, where the
great Wehadka Greek pours its waters
in*n that river. Previous to the year
1793. it was the great eentral point of
the Muscogee nation, the great cros
sing place of all the tr ading and nia
rauding parties of that nation west of
the Chattahoochie, the place where
the untamed savages met to ar
vnnge arid mature their plans for mak
ing hose nocturnal attacks upon the
helpless and unprotected settlers on
the borders of the white settlements,
by which consternation and dismay
Was spread throughout the land; and
th*“ sparse population of the country,
at that time, for mutual safety, were
forced to concentrate in forts, hastily
thrown up on the borders,* the place
where the scalp with its crimsoned
tresses (if many a maid and matron,
and the white locks of the little blue
eyed boy, lias been the cause of deep
savage exultation, as the warrior in
triumph would pile the blood stained
trophies, and describe to the half as
tonished and delighted women and
Children of the forest, the dying
shrieks and screams of the slaughter
ed whites. It was after one of those
predatory excursions of the Creek
warriors into the settlements of the
whites, and the ashes of many a build
ing and murdered family told of their
powers—that other plans f murder
and plunder had been arranged, and
the warriors of the nation had assem
bled at the little town of which we are
speaking to the number of several
hundred, to celebrate the Green Corn
Dance, as was their custom, and to
take the black duink. an aboiution
deemed necessary to reconcile the
Great Spirit—the enterprize in which
they were about to engage to that a
few hundred men under the command
of Col M. and Major Adams, (now’
Maj. Gen. David Adams of the county
of Jasper) who had volunteered and
resolved to strike a blow at the heart
of the nation, arrived within a few
miles of the river, and waited for the
setting of the sun to advance to its
bank, to cross and take the Indians by
surpise. Night came, and they were
halted in silence on the bank of the
river opposite the Indian town—all
was hush and still as death—not a
sound was heard, save the savage yell
and the war whoop of the Indian, with
•occasionally a monotonous Indian war
gong, burning forth mid the revelry in
w hit h all ages and sexes seemed to
i.;in. The moon had began to shed
a dim light through piles of clouds,
and the water breaking over the rocks,
had tin* appearance of the ghosts of
murdered whites, calling on their
brethren upon the bank to tsk** signal
vengeance, or admonishing them ot
great danger, and many was there,
that peatd sounds in the air— strange
ard sus aius of‘Beware.
But there was one who was unappal -
; le < ! - The night was far spent and the
noise from the other bank had ceased,;
f the voice of the wearied Indian was
[ hushed and still, all was sunk to rest,
or the little army had been discovered.
—Not a sound was heard save the;
, ripling of the stream;’twas a solemn
pause, but time was precious, the blow
must be struck, or all was lost. It
: was proposed to Col. M. and Map j
At(v*o i'twso rtiA river and ascec-i
t9u thesitdSfmu of the Indians go as,
to be. able to lead their little band to
certain victory—Col. M. declined the
hazardous enterprise—Maj. Adams
resolved to go, and sought a compan
ion, but he had i early despaired of
finding one who would volunteer to j
share his dangers—when a small and:
very Feeble man, my informant thinks, 1
whose name was Ilill, advanced from
the ranks and proposed to accompany
him—Major Adams and his compan
ion, set out together, but the force of
the current soon overpowered the j
brave Hill, and swept him down the!
stream- Major Adams sprang to his
relief, and at the eminent hazard of
his own life rescued his friend from a
watery grave—with his athletic arms
he buffetted the rapid current, and 1
bore the exhausted ilill to the bank!
which he had left fie then set out 1
alone. The ford is narrow and dis I
ficult—it passes in a direct ime across j
the river nearly half way, when you ;
arrive opposite the Island, if then 1
turns down the stream a quarter of a
mile or more, over ro( ks and shoals, j
sometimes scarcely knee deep, then
up to the neck—and the logs and limbs
of old trees drifted upon the Island,!
as was the case that night, wit! the
dim light of the moon shining through
clouds, cast upon them, had the ap
pearance of so many savages ready
to pounce upon their victim—but with
a firm step, Major Adams proceeded
and soon reached the bank in safety.
The town was on the edge of the river
swamp, about three hundred yards
from the water, and so numerous and
intricate were the paths leading in ev
ery direction from the lord into th*
swamp, and the darkness produced
by the i hick undergrowth, that when
he readied the hill or i,*y land, lie dis
covered by the fire around which the
Indians had kept their revels and
dance, shooting up, occasionally, a
meteoric blaze* that he was far below
low the poiot at which he aimed; bend
ing his course cautiously along the
margin of the swamp, lie soon reached <
the border of the town, an Indian dog
seemed to be the only centinel, and af
ter a few half growls and barkings. ,
as though he had dreamed, sunk a
way into perfect quiet; in a few mo i
merits he was in the centre of the
town, warriors with their rifles and
tomahawks in their arms lay stretch
ed and snoring in every direction; the
earth was liter ally covered with them.
Major Adams examined the fastening
of the doors by running his hands
through the cracks and feeling the log
of wood or the peg by which they
were secured. He was convinced that
no alarm had been given, that the In
dians suspected not that an enemy
was so near. A huge Indian, close
to whom Mojor Adams was passing,
raised himself upon his elbow, grasp*u
his rifle and looked around as though
he had heard or dreamed he had heard
strange footsteps: Major A. pcrceiv
i rig him stir, sunk himself down midst
a group of snoring Indians; the warri
or perceiving nothing unusual, condu
ded he had dreamed & sunk agaiu int
the arms of sleep. Our hero proceed
ed cautiously examining with a mill
j tary eye* every point of attac k and
detonce, had arranged his plans, anu
Warrenton. May 22, 1830.
j was returning to the anxious army on
Che other lank of the river. His ex
, ertion irVeTossing the river had been
groat—[d was fatigued, and perceiv
ing an Irjdian poney tied to a sapling,
and beiijsveing that the little animal
would pursue the ford to which i‘
was moat accustomed, and pro abi
show aim one less difficult than Min
jat which he had crossed, he resolved
jto ride it p/er the river. He had n<>
j p-arpoiVoef the bell which was hun,-
I around its neck—frightened at his
approach, it snapped the rope off ba f k
with which it was fastenad--and scam
p**red off thro* the town with an hun
dred dogs at its heels, whose voices
and the tiigling bell produced a frighi
iut roar tlroogh the wilderness; the
j clattering if Indian voices was heard
in every direction. Major Adams
sprang tovards the river, but missed
his path, aid found himself surround
ed by the briars and tfai’ k under
growth of the river swamp. The
Indians passed within a few pares of
the place where he stood, half suspen
ded by the briars, in the air; and re
turning {rntn fryithea search, lie
thought he heard them speak of
strange sights and sounds, such as
told in Rome of the fall of ‘Great
CxHar,’ They returned and again j
slepf; Majr Adams proceeded in a
direct line.to the river* glided into
the stream and swam quietly and
safely to the other bank—he told what
he had seen, ami stated his plans of
attack. The little army listened a
mazed and delighted with their gal
lant leader; each individual felt that
the danger to which he had exposed ;
himself was that theirs might be les
sened—and with one voice, when or
ders were given to march, declared
that they would be led by no other
commander than their own gallant
Adams. Col. M, was fore-d to
yield. They were led across by Ma*
jor Adams, and it is needless to say*
to victory, without the loss of a
Scarcely a warrior esc* , r c 't”* —^,e to wo
was burned— bat 89 tt ® possible
the women ami children of even tub
savagb* were saved. Posts may
y>it be seen standing in the midst of
he saplings, grown up where thei
town was burned, which is all that re
mains to point out to the traveller the
place where stood the Burnt Village.
FEMALE generosity.
“In the latter part of the French
revolution, a young man who was
< losely pursued by a body of gens,
.|‘Hrmeßj in the streets of Paris, stop
pod at a door in which stood a young
.female, and requested to be concealed.
There uas no time to consider, as the
soldiers were close at hand. She con
ducted him to a back building, and
locked him in. She had scarcely
done this when the soldiers passed.
As it happened, the very body of gens
cParmps who had pursued the young
man, were invited by the owner of the
house, to take up their quarters for
the night, and were put into a room in
the same building in which the refugee
had taken shelter; and as they occu
pied the room next the entrance, he
could not escape without passing thro’
he room where they lay. In this di
lemma, the young lady resolved to ex
trirate him if possible. She waited
until she thought the soldiers were all
asleep, and passed through the room
without waking any of them acquain
ts the stranger of his peril, and told
him that if he would consent, she
ould conduct him to a neighboring
hurch, of which her uncle kept the
keys, and secreted him until all dan
‘er waß over. He consented. She
onk him by the arm and they entered
the room where the soldier* were^
sleeping, when, in passi g, b st, k
his foot against one <<f th m wim
lumped up, seized the y-.ung an •<!
demanded who it w s; when t “ ung
lody, with great presence of niitnt u
awered, it is only 1, who came to seek
■or’—fortunately she had nothing
*iore to say, as the soldier, hearing a
female voi( **, let go the arm. They
’asged on, and entering the church,
he conducted him to the door of a
ault. which was curiously concealed
>ohind the altar, told him to enter
dere, and she would bring him food
daily, until he should be able to ven
ture. in safety. She gave him the
lamp, and shutting the door immedi
ately returned to the house. He de
scended into the vault, und seating
himself on a tomb stone, he there be
held recorded the names of his own il
lustrious ancesters, who had moulder
ed into dust ages ago. He was over
powered with fatigue, and fell asleep,
and did not wake until the morning
ofthe second day, when he perceived
that his benefactress bad not been
there, and he began to fear that some
thing had happened to prevent her
coining again. He waited in trmr’
and anxiety until night, but still she
came not; he laid huuself down in des
! pair on a tomb-stone, resolved to en
dure the lingering death which await
ed him. He sunk into lethargy, from
which he was awed the. third morn
ing by his benefactress calling on his
name, but it seemed as il anim tion
had ceased, for be was unable to move,
or articulate a sound. He heard the
dreadful sound of the door as it fell;
lie uttered a faint cry, and rushed up
the steps. Fortunately, the young
1 lady had not hft the *pot; she raised
the door, entered the vault, and res
tored new life to the sufferer. She
informed him that she had been unnb'e
to go to the church since his conceal
ment, on account of the vigilance of
the guards who were stationed at lic*r
uncle's, but that she had made ar
rangements by which she coultl supply
him with food daily; she prepared to
depart, and had just asscended the
steps when they heard persons enter
ing the church. She immediately
i closed the door of the vault, and tho
next moment they hrard the steps ol a
body of soldiers passing about tho
church, and who were searching fr
some refugees whom they suspected
were concealed there. They were
conducted by the unsuspei ting uncle,
who led them to every part of the buil
ding to prove his innocence.
“Their footsteps where often heard
by the trembling couple below, pas
sing over the vault, but they did not
perceive it. When she left the vault
with repeated assurance of daily sup
plying him with victuals; She per
formed her promise, and in a few days
conducted him from his place of con
cealment, and he whb enabled to reach
his home in safety.’
MOURNING APPAREL,
We are pleased to learn that the pub
lic mind is undergoing a change on the
subject of mourning apparel. What no
tion can be cherished either by civilized
or savage nations, more ridiculous than
that which would convey the idea that
the feelings of pleasure or pain, of joy or
grief, may be truly represented by the
color of certain articles of clothing? But
it is a matter of consolation that this
absurd fashion is now discountenanced by
some of the greatest and beet men in f.uF
country. Some towus and many reig
ious societies aDd individuals have pub
licly expressed their disapprobation ot
the practice; and we may aoor have he
satisfaction of numbering it mo g the
absurdities which are remembeieti utl;
i as the follies of peat agee.
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No. 48