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Mural Cabinet, VOL. If. THE CABINET ts published every Saturday by 1\ L. KOBINSOJY, Warrenton , Geo. at three dollars per annum , which may be discharged by two dollars and fifty cents if paid within sixty days of the time of subscribing. Advertisements conspicuously inserted a ® seventy five cents per square for the first insertion, and fifty cents for each subseqtifnl insertion Monthly inter tions charged as new advertisements JhJi ri f tsement* nut iintltcJ *c*.y*n ftunU ed in, will be inserted until forbid , and 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. I No. 48