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BY p. c. PENDLETON. | Devoted to Literature, Internal Improvement, Commerce, Agriculture, Foreign and Domestic News, Amusement, &c. jc. r. harlots*, printer. VOL. I. THE smaas? Is published in the city of Macon every Saturday Morning, at three dollars in advance, four dollars at the end of the year— two dollars for six months; and mailed to country subscribers by the earliest mails, enveloped by good strong wrappers, with legible direc tions. {O' No subscription received for a less period than six months—and no paper discontinued, until all arrears are paid. Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates of advertising, with a reasonable deduction to yearly ad- COr Any person forwarding a ten dollar bill, (post paid,) shall receive four copies, for one year, to be sent to differeut persons, as directed. DCr Letters, on business, eitlier to the Publisher or Editor, must come post jtaid to insure attention. POETRY. KNOWLEDGE. BY E. L. BULWER, ESQ. ’Tis midnight: round the lamp which o’er The chamber sheds the lonely beam, Is widely spread the varied lore Which feeds in youth the feverish dream— The dream, the thirst, the wide desire, Delirious, yet divine— to know ! Around to roam, above aspire, And drink the breath of heaven below! From ocean, earth, the stars, the sky, To lift mysterious Nature's pall. And bare before the kindling eye, In man, the darkest mist of all. Alas I what boots the midnight oil— The madness of the struggling mind? Oh, vain the hope, and vain the toil Which only leave us doubly blind ! What learn we from the past ?—the same Dull course of glory, guilt, and gloom ! I asked the future—and there came No voice from its unfathomed womb. The sun was silent, and the wave ; The air replied but with a breath ; But earth was kind, and from the grave Arose die eternal answer — Death ! And this was all; we need no sage To teach us Nature’s only, truth. Oil, fools 1 o’er Wisdom’s idle page To waste the hours of golden Youth 1 In Science wildly do we seek, What only withering years should bring— The languid pulse, the feverish cheek. The spirits drooping on the wing. Even now my wandering eyes survey The glass to youthful glance so dear; What deepening tracks of slow decay Exhausting thought has graven here ! To think, is but to learn to groan, To scorn what all besides adore: To feel amid the world alone— An alien on a desert shojp; To loose the only ties which seem. To idler gaze, in mercy given ; To find love, faith and hope a dream. And turn to dark despair from Heaven ! MISCELLANEOUS. From the Southern Literary Messenger. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF CAPTAIN SAMUEL COOPER. BY A CITIZEN OF FREDERICK COUNTY, MARYLAND. Terrible was the git am of his steel; 'twas like the green meteor of death setting in the heath of Malinor when the traveller is asleep, and the broad moon is darkened in tlie Heavens.—Ossian. On the evening of tlie 28th of June last, I visited Captain Samuel Cooper, of Georgetown, I). C., that I might ascertain the events of his military life. The venerable man was seated in his portico, from which we saw old Potomac rolling his waters far as the eye could reach, insensibly leading tlie imagination to the tomb of Washington, and in quick succession, re viving all the prominent events of his day. The capitol of our country, too, and the proud monuments of national glory, were immediate ly before us, which we could not behold without recurring with sorrow and indignation to the disastrous events of 1814, when a vandal foe laid them in ruins. The rays of the setting sun gilded the horizon with a beautiful lustre— the lofty oaks, which surrounded his house, were covered with the richest foliage—the feathered songsters poured forth their sweetest music—and when I was told, that this was alike the birth-day of the aged put riot, and the the anniversary of the battle of Monmouth, w here he had fought for our country, my curi osity was much excited to learn his history, lie seemed at first rather to shrink from the narration of the stirring scenes of his adventu rous career : his modesty recoiled from the task. At length I saw his eye kindling, his mental powers were quickly excited, and he thus began. “Often like the evening sun comes tlie memory of former days on my soul. I was born June 28th, 1755, in Boston, and was enrolled in Col. Knox’s regiment of artillery May 2d, 1775. 1 saw the blood of my neigh bors flow at Lexington, on tlie 19th of the pro ceeding month, and had frequently heard the great orator, Dr. Warren,thunder in the ‘Old Houth,’ against the oppressions of England, even when the British soldiers menaced him with instant death in tho holy place. Sir, (said he, rising from his scat, in a sort of ecstacy,) I yet hear his unrivalled eloquence—his pa thetic tones—rl see the people electrified and borne off to the aid of t heir country, despising the horrors of war—by tho all-powerful oratory of this second Demosthenes. 1 had previously in 1774, borne a very prominent part in the destruction of three hundred and forty-two chests of tea, in Boston harbor. And although this expedition was fraught with the best effects tQ the whole country, yet was it as nothing | when compared with the battle of Bunker Hill, I which was not surpassed in bravery or good fortune, either in ancient or modern times. “ Our army had blockaded Boston : we la bored incessantly through the night of the 16th June, ’75, to fortify our position on the summit which completely commanded the city ; and it was not until four next morning that one of the enemy’s ships first perceived our operations, 1 and played on us with their artillery. The three English generals saw that all their efforts j to dislodge us from our strong position would be vain, unless by general assault. Our lines were manned with yeomanry, many of whom had never been in battle. Putnam commanded in chief, assisted by Starke and other brave | spirits. A few minutes before the contest be gan, Warren appeared in all the pride of youth and courage. I remember distinctly his countenance, (which strikingly resembled that of the late Mr. Wirt,) glowing with patriotism and ardor—his hair tell in curls down his shoulders—his presence inspired the troops wherever lie was seen. The sun had risen resplendently, indicative of our fortunes on that remarkable day. We saw from the top of the hill tlie British shipping and barges in the bar bor—thousands of anxious spectators filling the windows, balconies, and roofs of houses of my native city—the enemy preparing for the conflict—all was big with the fate of the two nations. About one o’clock, P. M., they lan ded at Moreton’s Point, without meeting re sistance. ten companies of grenadiers, ten of light infantry, and a quantity of urtillery, com manded by Generals Howe and l’igot. On surveying our entrenchment, the British Gene ral halted, and sent for a reinforcement. They advanced in two columns. At this moment Charleston was in one sheet of flame. The I enemy gradually advanced up the hill now covered with their troops —their colors flying —music mingling with the roar of artillery— soldiers well dressed—officers distinguished by their splendid costume —whilst we waited in profound silence for their near approach ; our star-spangled banner spread out to the unclouded sun—no signs of lear in any counte nance-—all, cool and determined, were awaiting the signal. On our first fire, hundreds of the enemy lay dead before us ; their ranks were broken, and they retired in disorder to their place of landing ; their officers were seen run ning in every direction, inspiriting their soldiers for another attack. The second charge was to them more disastrous than the first. Again the survivors fled to their old position. An univerai shout of joy along our line, enlivened with the favorite air of Yankee Doodle, apprized the enemy that our arms were nerved by a superior power in our country’s cause. But for Sir Henry Clinton, who beheld the scene from Coppe’s Hill, the British army had never rallied. He fled to its succor. That enter prizing officer cheered the drooping spirits of his troops, and himself led the third and last charge. He attacked our redoubt at three : several points. We now suffered from the artillery of the ships, which not only kept off our reinforcement by the isthmus of Charles town, but even uncovered and swept the in terior of our trench, which was assaulted in front at the same instant: our amunition was exhausted—no hopes of succor —no bayonets to our guns— -the redoubt filled with the enemy —a retreat was now ordered. We were forced to pass alongthe isthmus of Charlestown and here we suffered considerably from a British ship of war and two floating batteries. Here Warren fell close by my side. 1 saw him standing alone in advanee of his troops, rallying tliein by his own glorious example. His voice was heard above the storm of battle. He reminded them of the mottoes inscribed on i their ensigns, on one side of which were writ ten these words ; ‘An appeal to Heaven ;’ and on the other ‘ Qui trunstulil sustinet ;’ meaning that the same Providence which had brought their ancestors through innumerable perils to a place of safety, would also support their de scendants. Imagine my feelings when I beheld his noble form covered with blood—wl at in dignation swelled my bosom as I beheld Charles town a heap of smoking ruins—whole families destroyed—more than a thousand corpses ex posed to the sun—the groans of the dying mingled with the shouts of victory—give but a faint view of the horrors of war !” “ True,” replied I, “ but tlie contest was a holy one. You were fighting for liberty.” “lies,” he rejoined, with enthusiasm ; “ the battle of Bun ker Hill in some degree resembled the thunders and lightings of the mount were the law was delivered to Moses. The way was opened for the national glory of the Jewish and the Ameri can people, and fire of liberty glowed in our bosoms, like tlie flaming bush which burnt, but was not consumed.” The patriarch now re sumed his sent. “Did you retire from the camp after this memorable conflict ?” “By no means. Washington, on the day after this battle, had been appointed by Congress gen eral-in-chief of all our armies ; he arrived at head.quarters at Cambridge on the 3d July, and it was determined on tlie 9th, in a council of war, that Boston should be closely besieged. 1 remained here during the whole time, and on the morning of the 17th March, 1776, saw their fleet filled with troops under sail lor some other position. I was actively engaged at White Plains, New York, in October, 1776, were Washington gave proofofthat interpidity of character and military science, which he had displayed on the banks of the Monongn hela on the 9th July, 1755. Subsequently to this period, during the fall and winter of 1776, fortune seemed to have deserted our standard ; but I never once despaired. On the 25th of ! December, we passed the Delaware to surprise the enemy iu Treuton : the weather was ex- MACON, (Ga.) SATURDAY aMORNING, AUGUST 25, 1838. cessively cold—the river filled with ice—wind high—a powerful foe to be attacked by a dis pirited army—but, sir, it was a splendid affair ; | twenty-three officers and eight hundred and eighty-six soldiers were made prisoners of war! j Not a man of our troops was kiilled ; and but two wounded. We retreated from Trenton only to engage the British near Princeton, on the 2d of January, 1777, where our loss was inconsiderable when compared to that of the enemy, although we all lamented the fall of Gen. Mercer.ol Fredericksburg, Virginia, who had seen good service at Culloden, and also in the French war in this country, where his intimacy with our beloved chief began. It was not until September lit!) of this year, I had the pleasure of again encountering the foe at Chad’s Ford, on tlie Brandywine. The day was en- I livened by the martial appearance of the chivalric Lafayette, who rode along our line with Washington just before the action com menced. True we were compelled to quit the field, but be assured the battle was warm and sanguinary. Philadelphia passed into the hands of the enemy—Congress removed hastily to Lancaster—the whole country was dismay, ed—but the general-in-chief on the morning of the 4th of October, at Germantown, again taught the British a lesson which they never forgot. My own commander, Knox, displayed on this occasion the most entire coolness and interpidity, combined with the most profound skill and science. Nothing but the lightness of our artillery prevented our demolishing Chew’s house, from whence out brave comrades were mowed down with a most destructive fire. Notwithstanding the thick fog of the morning, and the derangement of the plan ofbattle from unforeseen eauses, the English army would have been captured, bad not Cornwallis, at the crisis of the contest hearing the noise of our artillery arms, arrived with fresh troops from Philadelphia. So changeable is the fortune ot war, that the affairs of nations often hang on the events of a moment! The campaign closed, and we withdrew into winter quarters at Valley Forge, on the 22d Decem ber ; and with your permission, (bowing po litely,) I will retire for the evening.” Early on the ensuing morning the good old man renewed his narration :—“ The winter of 1777-78, at Valley Forge, was the most drea ry I ever saw. Washington’s head-quarters were very near the Schuylkill, while the save ral divisions of our army were stationed at proper positions : ours was in the centre. The enemy occupied Philadelphia. While they were enjoying at their ease the luxuries of life, we were exposed to cold,nakedness and famine. Deep snows, bleak winds, combined with the almost entire want of clothing, brought on us a train ofevils and of trials which I cannot des cribe. Beyond all this, a deep laid and aborni nable plot was devised by Conway, Gates, and other disaffected generals, to deprive the com mander-in-chief of his hard-earned fame. The fate of our country now hung suspended on a single hair. Never shall I forget the awful scene! Washington, conscious of his own integrity, stood like a rock, firm and immova ble. I could see that his countenance was occasionally lighted up with a glow of deep toned indignation, and that he struggled hard in his own virtuous bosom, to repress his in jured spirit. The conspiracy was not entirely crushed until the last of March, 1778. Sud denly the cloud vanished—the sun shone forth with the most gorgeous splendor —and he stood like Mount Atlas, • While storms and tempests thunder on his brow, And oceans break their billows at his feet.” “ We remained at this position until the 18th of June, when our army was put in motion, in order to pursue Sir Henry Clinton, who had evacuated Philadelphia on the preceding day, and was now making his way through Jersey to New York. All was now life and joy : our officers and soldiers greeted each other with the kindest salutations, ut the prospect of entering the field of glory. I saw our chief mounted on his war horse, elegantly caparison, ed, surrouned by his staff —his eye lighted with fire—his countenance full of animation —the army catching from his bosom the spirit of liberty. Never; no, never, sir, did I behold \ so joyous a day as when we were in pursuit of the enemy on this occasion. Great skill was displayed by the respective commanders of both armies on the memorable 28th of June, 1778,when the battle of Monmouth was fought. Tlie unfortunate mismanagement of Gen. Lee deranged in some degree our plan of battle— j but the result was clearly favorable to the Americans. Three hundred of the British were slain, a like number wounded, and one hundred prisoners were taken. Wc slept on our arms with the hope of renewing the con-, fiict at the dawn of day, but Sir Henry Clinton had eluded our vigilance at midnight, and was now in full retreat. From this time I had not the good fortune to encounter the enemy in the oped field, but was actively engaged in the partizan warfare, in which detached portions of our army so often participated.” It happened that at this part of his narrative, I inquired if he knew any thing of the history of the unfortunate Major Andre. “ I am intimately acquainted with all its de tails, and witnessed the last thrilling scene of his earthly career. He arrived at Tappan on Thursday, September 28th, 1780, under the care of the late Col. Talmadge, for many years a representative in Congress from Connecticut, to whose especial supcrientendcnce ho had been entrusted by Washington at West Point, whither he had been taken after his capture, on the preceding Saturday, near Tarrx town, on the opposite batik of the Hudson. Here I ft st saw this brave and chivalric officer, then in tlie twenty-ninth year of his age. His per. son was of the m .dJIe size, well proportioned— his bearing noble—his manners polished in the highest degree—his countenance indicating deep thought and extensive literary acquire ments. Occasionally a cloud of melancholy obscured for a season the sunshine of his soul. His parents were natives of Geneva, who emi grated to London, where their highly gifted son was born, lie was bred to the mercantile business, and when about twenty years of age became deeply smitten with ,the charms of a young lady residing in the same street with himself, to whom he often addressed the sweetest effusions of his muse. His affection was reciprocated, but their union war preven ted by her parents. Chnrgrined beyond mea sure he joined the royal army, then coming to this country—occupied a high place in the esteem of Sir Henry Cl inton--was a com missioner with Col. Hyde at Amboy, on the 12th April, 1779, to effect an exchange of prisoners with the American commissioners, Davies and Harrison—and signed the articles of capitulation as aid-de-camp of the British commander, when Fort Lafayette capitulated on the Ist of June of the fame year. He had formerly fallen into our hands as a prisoner of war, and with Capt. Gordon and other officers was detained for some time in Carl isle,Pennsyl vania, where lie was almost incessantly occu pied in the perusal of books. Here, as every where else, he won the affections of the citizens of that borough, who heard with undissemblcd grief of his subsequent deplorable end. I now regretted his present misfortune the more, be cause he was the victim of Arnold, the most perfidious of all traitors, who hod now left him to expireon that gibbit where he himself should have died a thousand deaths. Every heart bled for the forlorne stranger, and Washing, ton was melted into tears. On Friday the court convened, and I saw Andre escorted from the guard house, dressed in full regimen tals, and heard him candidly and fearlessly acknowledge before that tribunal all the cir cumstances necessary to establish his guilt. On his return from the court, on this day, lie wrote to Sir Henry Canton, at New-York, a most touching letter, in which he reminds his late chief of his perilous situation, and recom mends to bis especial care a widowed mother and three orphan sisters. Home, with all its enjoyments, was now unspeakably dear to his affections. He beheld, in his mind’s eye, over the broad Atlantic, the forms of those who were dear to him by every tie of humanity, and anticipated their unspeakable sorrow when the intelligence of his ignominious death should be announced. Sir Henry Clinton was almost frantic when he found that all his efforts to obtain the release of Andre were unavailing. On Saturday, General Greene, president of the court, held a long conference with General Robinson of the English army, at Dobb’s Ferry, in which this interresting case was canvassed at large. No effort was left un tried on tlie part of the Bri.ish commissioner to maintain tlie position that the laws of war did not condemn the prisoner. Greene urged that he had been convicted, by a court properly constituted, as a spy, aiding Arnold in the per petration of an act of treason of the deepest dye, and that however much his untimely fate was to be deplored, still it was irrevocable. Washington so instructed him prior to this interview. During this day I visited him, in company with other officers. Our sympathies increased, as the fatal hour was hastening on when his earthly career was to end forever. He was, however, tranquil, and occasionally cheerful. Fie seemed at first to be buoyed up with the hope that he would be exchanged for Arnold, and such also was the ardent desire of every officer and soldier in our army. It be. itig ascertained, however, that Sir Henry Clinton had rejected every proposition which could lead to the surrender of Arnold, the order for his execution, at five, P. M., on Sun day, Oct. Ist, 1780, was issued in the morning orders of that day, but the protracted discus sion between Generals Greene and Robinson, prevented its consummation until twelve o’- clock, M., of Monday. During the Sabba'h he dictated and sent to Washington the most touching letter ever written by man, imploring him merely to soften his last moments by as suring him that he should “ not die on a gib bet.” Never before was the illustrious chief of our army placed in a more trying situation. It was universally reported and believed in camp, at the t me, that he shed tears on signing the death-warrant of the brave but un fortunate captive. The stern, unbending laws of war, pointed to an ignominous death only, and he possessed no power to change those laws. Monday morning the sun rose clear ; all were busy in preparing for the tragic scene before us : large detachments of troops under arms: nearly all the general and field offi cers, except the commander-in-chief and his suite, were mounted on horseback, in their appropriate costume ; an immense concourse of citizens thronged every avenue ; melancholy sat on each countenance ; the scene was aw ful! Sometime before he left his quarters, 1 went in company with Capt. Lecraft, of New York, to bid him farewell. lie was in the act of shaving himself, standing before a glass as we entered the door. Seeing that we paused, he turned round and pleasantly observed, ‘ Come in, gentlemen ; you perceive I am now in the suds —but 1 shall soon be relieved from this predicament.’ Soon after he bade adieu to nil immediately' around him, in the most affecting manner. He was escorted from the door to the place of execution, (about three quarters of a mile distnnt,) by two of our offi cers ; one was a Mr. Samuel Hughes of Balti more, if my memory docs not decieve me ; the name of the other I have forgotten. Andre walked between them, dressed in full uniform. How wonderful aud mysterious are the dis. pensations of Providence ! A few years be fore, and tliese very officers were prisoners of war in Quebec, where Andre was town Major; and they had been treated by him with kind ness and humanity—now they were compelled by the inflexible code of military law, to aid in taking uway the life of their aimable and hap less friend ! 1 kept very near his person until the scene was finally closed. lie seemed elevated above his misfortunes. Not a feature of his countenance changed. He smiled as he bowed gracefully to many of our officers, with whom he was acquainted. Ills step, firm and soldior-like; his bearing, lofty and firm ; —and while the assembled t irong was dissolved in grief, no tear coursed down his cheek. When he ascended the cart, Maj. Jos. Puttin gall read the death warrant. The executioner appeared to do his office, but Andre ordered him to retire. When the rope was adjusted about his neck, with his own hand, without any assistance, I distinctly heard him saw, ‘ In a few minutes I shall know more than any of you.’ After he had bandaged his eyes with a white handkerchief. Col. Scatnmcl said, ‘You can now speak, if you wish.’ Raising the handkerchief, lie replied with a firm voice, ‘ I pray you to bear me witness that I die like a brave man.’ After the body was interred, and his clothes delivered to his servant, to carry to New-York, the dead march was played, and we retired to quarters, overwhelmed with the sad scerets of this memorable duy. I have been told that a monument wcas long ago erected to his memory, in Westminster Abbey, and that his ashes was disintcrcd in 1821, by Mr. Buchanan, British Consul at New-York, and removed to England, at the suggestion of the late Duke ofYork.” “ Is it true sir, as related by Lee, in his in comparable narrative of the enterprizc of John Champe of Londoun county, Virginia, that he deserted prior to the execution, in order to seize Arnold and bring him alive to camp?” “ No, sir,” he replied, “On the contrary, Champe did not leave us until the night of the 20th of October, and was then sent to discover how far the suspicions of Washington were well founded, as to some of his chief officers, whom he had been induced to believe were concerned in tho treason of Arnold. The agent mentioned by Lee, to whom Champe was introduced in the city of New-York, and whose information was conveyed by him in cypher to the American general, was Sam Francis, a negro man, who kept a tavern in that city for some time prior to the battle of Long Island, and who remained there during the whole period of seven years, while the city was held by the enemy. Washington’s head quarters were at one time at SamS house, prior to the evacuation of New-York by the Americans, in 1776. He formed for his colored host an inviolable friendship. The house abounded in good cheer. Francis was uniformly polite and prompt —very observant of passing events—thoughtful and tactiturn as Champe himself—kept his day book and ledger with his own hand—was a genuine patriot, as well as an admirer of the American chief. There is no doubt in my mind that Washington himself gave Sam the key to the cyphered letter, and that he had received advices through this channel, of the movements of the enemy long before Champe’s adventure. Sir Henry Clinton and his principal officers lodged at his tavern during all their residence in New-York, occupying the very rooms where Washington and his staff had often slept. Sam became as intimate with them as he hnd previously been with our chief. They little supposed that Sam was in correspondence with the head of the American army, nor did he give them the opportunity of suspecting that he was noting their conversations at his table, or searching with inquisitive eye the workings of their minds, frequently displayed in their thoughtful visage. Never did he once betray the confidence ro posed in him, or mislead his friend during this eventful and interesting period of our history. I was present in New-York at Francis’ tavern, on the 4th of December, 1783, and saw Wash ington once more greet his faithful confidante. An affecting scene now occurred. The war rior was about to separate from his compan ions in arms. His chief officers advanced to receive his last embrace and final blessing. My own faithful commander, Knox, under whose banner I had often met the enemy, first grasped his hand : both were overwhelmed with strong emotions : these stern chieftains, unmoved amidst the shock of battle and the groans of the dying, were now subdued by the tide of grief rushing on their souls. No word was uttered to break the profound silence of this majestic scene. Walking to White Hall, attended by a numerous concourse of admiring and weeping spectators, he entered a bargo which was to transport him to Paulus llook. It was manned by twelve seamen dressed in white. I yet see the noble form of that immor tal man, as he stood erect in tlie barge and waved his hat in bidding adieu to the multitude thronging the ahore. Surely no man ever served under such a commander !” “ Pray, sir, what became of Sam Francis “Congress on the recommendation of Wash ington, presented him with a farm on the Raritan, where lie lived many years, and died universally esteemed for his virtues and patriotism.” “ Have you detailed all tlie events of your militajy life ?” “ No, sir,” he replied ; “ I omitted to men tion, in its proper place, that I witnessed the convention of officers at Ncwburg, on the 15th NO. 44.