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[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
SEA-SIDE PHASES.
BY MRS. JtLU L. KEYES.
In childhood I had longings to behold the Ocean wide.
Dreaming often, as I wandered by a pebbly streamlet’s
side,
Os verdant banks and snowy beach, along the sunny
seas—
Where billows roll, and ever blows, the soft and balmy
breeie—
I wish’d a Fairy’s magic hand might move those hills
away,.
That gentle rills which rippled by would turn to Ocean s
spray;
But on they purl’d—the hills stood still—there came no .
flowing tide
To strew upon the beach its sheila, with rainbow colors
dyed.
But, after years, I stroll’d along a lovely Southern
Bay,
Where mournful peals of Ocean's roar resounded day by
day—
And, mingled with those mightier note* a cadence, soft
and low,
Bang out a tuneful mnsic, with the ever mnrm’ring
flow.
’Twas melody which ever—ever lingered in my ears.
First Ailing me with joyousness, then melting me in
tears.
Oh! the sound of booming breakers! they made my
heart rejoice—
They brought my childhood's wishes back, with Echo's
answering voice.
I’ve glided o’er the quiet Bay, at morn, and noon, and
night—
When sunbeams flrst illumed it—when the moon gave
silvery light;
I’ve sailed upon its bosom, when the stars in beauty
shone;
Been toss'd upon its billows when they hurl’d each other
down.
I’ve heard the sea-gull’s screaming when the Storm
King's hosts were nigh,
While furious surges, rushing, ran rolling, curling high—
And the splashing and the dashing, and the lashing gaiDst
the strand,
And the beating, still repeating, like drums in martial
band.
I have watch’d the Bay whllo sleeping, at evening s tran
quil close,
While the snow-banks kissed the waters, and the green
hills proudly rose—
All the landscape, mellow’d with a roseate golden hue,
Was melting into purple glow, beneath the ether blue.
Sure, Naiad-Queens and Wood-Nymphs here their mys
tic revels keep,
Amid the bowers upon the hills, and in the eaverned
deep.
Oh! beauteous Bay—thrice lovely Bay—Bay of a thou
sand charms!
So hallowed in tranquility—resplendent when in storms!
One night the moon and stars were hid, and silent was
the tide;
Serenely slept the snow-white hills, enwrapp'd in stately
pride;
A cloud of heavy darkness hung above the waveless
deep—
Like an ebon curtain drooping, o'er Nature’s quiet sleep
I thought of the nameless darkness —e’er God created
light,
“ When His Spirit o'er the waters moved," amid chaotic
night.
Flash’d then upon my startled view, a trembling, qulv’r
lng stream
Flickering o'er the slumbering Bay, like a meteoric
gleam.
Then the wailing winds arose, like a dirge of many
woes,
’ Wak'nlng the beach and hills from their hush’d, serene
repose.
And as lesser breakers beat, with the swiftly rising tide,
Louder beatings from the Gulf-beach, in a wilder voice,
replied.
Then the foaming, heaving Bay roll’d and rock'd in great
unrest,
And a gleaming silv’ry crowning hung upon each billow’s
crest,
Like mellow moonbeams mingled with the brilliancy of
stars,
‘ While the surf’s roar loudly thundered like the artillery
of wars.
The raging waters brighter grew, and the billows gath
er'd higher,
Till they seem'd a boiling sea of liquid flowing fire—
Then leaping, madly leap.. J, the dark'ned beach they
lash'd,
Like lighted powder bursii-ig into sudden flames, they
flash'd t
The circling beach, like darkling wall, roso 'round that
brilliant hue;
Oh! ne'er were eyes enjrrapt by snch a grand and glori
ous view!
The heavy clouds all roll’d away, as later waned the
night,
And paler, then still paler, grew that phosphorescent
light.
Again, the Bay lies mirror-like, within its peaceful
shore,
Tet billows, o'er the distant hills, still turbulently
roar—
The Storm-King now has ceased to reign—Aurora has
command,
ner saffron robes reflected on the Ocean and the strand.
Now, in blue and roseate clouds, her red steeds gaily
prance.
The South Wind comes, and once again those merry rip
ples dance,
Dance lightly, to the mnaic of that softly murm'rlng
flow—
Oh! sweeter than Eollan lyre, that cadence soft and
low.
ls >
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
LIFE AT BARATARIA.
Fmf to Old Rigaud, the 2d Lieutenant of La
fille, the pirate, and to the Cheniere Canii
nada—Return—Storm at Barataria—Peril
ous Escape to Fort Livingston—Thanksgiving
and Worship—The Storm Subsides.
You ask me, my dear E.‘ E , what kind
of life we are leading, and fear that we are pass
ing a dull summer, after our gay spring. Now,
how can you imagine a hum drum time, on the
‘ Pirate Island I’ But let my answer be the
description of two scenes, which have occurred
within the last four weeks; and if variety is
the spice and charm of life, surely the periods
of which I am about to give you some account,
were not wanting in charms.
One bright morning, the adventurous Captain
W proposed a sail in his beautiful yacht,
(the Corsair) and the wind being favorable, it
was decided to form a party, and visit the little
village of , situated on the Cheniere Cami
nada, a settlement of the descendants of the
crew of Lafitte, the Rover of the Mexican Gulf.
No time was lost, messengers were despatched
to our friends, the F ’s, M ’s, G ’s,
Colonel W , and Mr. T , and in less time
than an hour, a party of ladies and gentlemen
was assembled on the beach, beneath thd walls
of Fort Livingston. Besides the Corsair , there
were two other yachts, the beautiful Dream —
Colonel W 's pride—and Dr. W ’s co
quettish-looking Petrel. Although champagne
could not be enumerated among the good things
wmm mwT&mm i nsu mu
m
stowed away in each boat, yet there was no lack
of spirits, for a merrier party could scarcely
have been found.
Swiftly gliding o’er the blue waters of Bara
taria Bay, we entered the mouth of the snake
like bayou of the Caminada, which separates
‘ Grande Isle’ from the mainland. Upon round
ing the first point in the bayou, a cabin, half-hid
by wide-spreading, mossless oaks,, was descried
in the distance, and there was a general cry of
“Oh 1 suppose we give Don Rigaud a calL”
There being no dissentient voice, orders were
issued to lower sail, and in a few moments our
little fleet was anchored within a few yards of
the shore, opposite the dwelling of Old Rigaud.
“And who?” you ask, “is Don Rigaud?”
Why, no less a personage than the Second
Lieutenant of the far-famed pirate, Lafitte.
Second Lieutenant —mind, not the first —the ter
rible, fiend-like Gambi 1 A proposition to visit
the latter —had he been alive—would have been
hailed with horror, but there was not one of
our party who had not some curiosity to see
and speak with ‘ Don Rigaud,’ as he is often
styled, of whom Captain W had recounted
many a wild legend, proving Rigaud to have
been as merciful, during their roving life, as
Gambi was merciless. Had I time or space. I
could tell of many a romance connected with
Rigaud’s name—one of a beautiful lady, her
husband, and their fair-haired boy, all of whom
the heartless Gambi had doomed to walk the
plank! But Providence interfered—the fiend
was suddenly called away. During his absence
of a night and day, the lady pleaded with Ri
gaud for mercy. He replied that he dared not
interfere; their Captain had left Gambi in com
mand ; but as he spoke, his eye fell upon the
curly-headed boy—a long past vision of the
sunny coast of Spain was conjured up—the
Rover wavered —the lady saw, and pleaded yet
more earnestly, and conquered. The next day’s
sun arose—Gamin returned—but the captives
were far on their way up the ‘ Hermit’s’ lake,
towards New Orleans! It is said that Rigaud’s
kindness was not without its reward, for that
to the beautiful lady’s husband is the ‘Don’ in
debted for his present quiet home—but this is
only rumor. Well, we landed, and proceeded
up the beach towards the house, which partook
in appearance of a farm house, and a fisherman's
cabin. Under the shade of two giant oaks was
a large yawl, while fishing-rods, cast-nets, stag
horns, shrimp-bags, and a seine, adorned the
sides of the gallery. A large and ancient
looking sea chest stood near the doorway, on
the opposite side of which was the Rover him
self, seated in an old Spanish leather-chair.
Upon our approach he arose, and recognizing
Captain W , whom he had known for many
years, he advanced and welcomed us with a
shake of the hand and a smile—such a smile 1
It was a grim show of the longest teeth ever
seen in a human head! I rather trembled as
our hands touched, for notwithstanding the re
puted kindness of our Rover, none could tell if
there was not blood upon his hand—a brother’s
blood. Tall, gaunt seven feet looked down upon
five feet for a moment, and then the latter passed
by. Having invited us into his neat, little par
lor, the old man ordered coffee and cordial to be
brought, of which, from courtesy, we partook.
The cordial glasses were old-fashioned, and gilt.
I wondered whence they came. The parlor fur
niture, too, caused my thoughts to wander to
the Rover’s youtiger days—what seemed newest,
was plainest, while the old had a look as if not
intended originally for so humble a dwelling,
and whence might they have come ? Quien
sabe ? was the silent answer to my silent ques
tion. While thus engaged in wild imaginings,
my eye caught that of the aged Lieutenant fixed
upon me, and romance fled afar. I longed to
askhim of his former Captain, but did not dare,
for nis visage does not encourage one to intro
duce a subject which he always avoids.
Our stay was not prolonged to any length,
and after a farewell shake of the hand, our boats’
heads were again turned up the winding bayou,
the banks of which are lined with the finest
oaks to be found in Louisiana.
The village of the Caminada is situated on the
mainland, and is comprised of a long row of
houses, some short distance from the banks of
the Bayou. Its increase in population is but
slow, although it is considered of'suffieient im
portance to be visited by politicians. Some
years previous to our present visit, I spent seve
ral days over at this spot—when the only inhabi
tants of the magnificent live oak groves, were
the descendants of the Gulf Pirate-crew—per
haps, even some of the aged crew themselves.
The cheniere at that period had a wilder—and
to my eye, a more attractive appearance, than it
now wears. The men, tall, dark, and daring
looking, chiefly spent their time in boats, which
were models of beauty. The women would rove
the woods, gun on riioulder, or paddle their
light canoes over the glassy bosom of the Bayou,
in search of fish, while around them the young
folks would frolic in the water, as if in their na
tive element. When night approached, large
fires were seen kindled far up,towards the Saut—
for what purpose, I pretend not to say, but it is
rumored, that more than one gallant vessel had
been led to ruin, by the bright beacons. But to
turn from the past to the present visitour
boats having arrived opposite the village, were
anchored a’s near as possible to the shelly shore,
and we preceded to the Hotel de Roudeau, where
we refreshed ourselves with orgeat and caramel,
while listening to Monsieur Roudeau’s account
of the last Saturday’s ball. We then took our
way towards the beautiful live oak grove,
i through which we strolled until summoned to a
[ sumptuous repast, the preparation of which had
engrossed the attention of Monsieur F .
1 The sight of the fish, fresh and smoking, shar
pened our appetites; and the courtboullon—
Monsieur’s favorite dish—was delicious. A
noisy merry group were we ; and the oak
grove echoed with song& suited to the occasion.
The rural banquet over, we returned to our
boats, and as the sun bade the world “good
night,” we once more found ourselves beneath
Livingston’s walls.
A week sped by—each day of which was full
of mirth, wbenlol “a change came o’er the
spirit of our dream.” Instead of the bright,
laughing sun, dark, heavy clouds, and fearful
gusts of wind hushed our tongues, and filled
our hearts with anxious forebodings. The terri
ble hurricane that swept over Demiere lie,
(Last Island) had commenced.
This day night, (Saturday) a week ago, our
household—consisting of four different families
—after a merry evening, retired to their rooms,
and soon, all were hushed in sleep. But about
three o’clock A. M. our dreams were rudely in
terrupted by the angry voices of tie wind and
waves. Louder and louder grew the strife, and
when the day once more returned, there could
be seen no spot of dry land, upon which to rest
the soles of our feet Fearfully howled the wind
—and mountain waves swept over our little
Island, bearing on their white crested tops im
mense logs, from which our strong quarters stood
much endangered.
Every preparation was made for our taking
refuge in the fort, about a mile distant, but we
lingered, fearing to venture forth, until a crash
was heard, and Dr. W hurrying in, de
clared he would delay no longer, for one of the
front pillars was down. In an instant all was
bustle and confusion; then two and two, linked
arm in arm—for singly we could not stand—we
stepped into the water, waist-deep at times, to
to the ladies, and commenced a march, fraught
with no little danger from the billows and the
logs borne up on them; the wind, too, beat the
rain, which felt mere like hail, into our faces,
nearly blinding us. At last, however, through
the mercy of Providence, we reached the ele
vated sides of the fort, and walking for some
distance around the convolvulus-covered glacis,
we finally effected an entrance into the unfin
ished fortification, where we found assembled
our friends and the other temporary sojourners
on “ Grande Terre.” A large fire having been
kindled in an apartment, in which a black
smith’s forge had been disepvered, the women
and children gathered around it to exchange
their wet apparel for some more comfortable
clothing; while the gentlemen busied them
selves in cleaning out and preparing a number
of the half-finished apartments for the accomo
dation of the different families.
When all were settled in comparative com
fort in their several quarters, and quiet, at least
of mind, was somewhat restored, it was pro
posed by the elders of the party, for all to unite
in the services of the day, (it was Sabbath.)
There were within those walls Romanists, Pres
byterians, Baptists and Episcopalians. But
each heart felt at that moment, when the voice
of the Mighty Jehovah was heard in the raging
tempest, that all looked to the same “ Tower ”
for refuge, the same “ Covert ” for shelter from
the storm. One of the largest of the vault-like
rooms was selected, and all, of every age and
color, having been called together, the service
was begun, and every heart seemed hushed, as
the words “ The Lord is in His holy temple, let
all the earth keep silence before Him!” resound
ed through the arched apartments. Never had
our beautiful Liturgy sounded to me so solemn
—never had I felt the force of its prayer for all
occasions and purposes. The presence of the
Lord seemed indeed in our midst, and the thought
cheered the dismal scene, and lent only the
greater earnestness to each prayer—of thanks,
and of petition. The service was ended with a
hymn—“ Christ our Refuge,” and as the voices
resounded throughout the cavem-like apart
ment, falling £fhd rising with the swell and lull
of the wind, seeming, at times, to die along on
the distance, I was reminded of the many de
scriptions given of the secret meetings of the
early Christians. To convey to you the mag
nificent, sublime, though awful appearance of
the deep, as wo beheld it from the walls of the
fort, is au impossibility. Each hour the gale in
creased, and as the dark veil of night fell around
us, its fury was truly fearful I And often, a
sound, as of minute guns, was borne to us across
the tempest-tossed sea during the dreary watch
of that night; for no eye, save that of child
hood, was visited by sleep until the dawn of day,
when the violence of the wind abated; and as
the morning advanced, dry land once more be
gan to appear to our longing eyes.
Another week has passed; and once more
from the windows of our old quarters do I look
upon a quiet sea. Can it bp the same, that, but
a week since, was foaming, boiling and angrily
beating with such vehemence against the very
dwelling within which I am now seated, calmly
gaziDg upon its lazy swell? The sun shines
brightly, making all things smile with its glad
dening influence; and we, too, can meet the
smiling face of Nature with corresponding joy
ousness ; for, although the tempest raged around
us, our “ Covert" sheltered us in safety till the
storm had passed by, and not one was missing
of all our number..
Farewell! “ a word that must be” until we
return to “ Persimmon Grove,” our sweet, quiet
home on the banks of the “ Father of Waters,”
whither we will wend our way as soon as our
yachts (which were driven upon the other side
of the island, during the first night of the hur
ricane,) can be repaired.
“Merrie Will.”
Island of Grand Terre, La., August, 1856.
—-♦♦y-
We give below a sketch of scenes and
incidents, transpiring upon our Southern frontier
towards the close of the last war with Great
Britain. It is written —the author does not say
so, but we think there is intrinsic evidence of
the fact in the matter and style of the composi
tion—by one who “was there. ” We suspect that
he was among “ them rifles,” one of the rank
and file, and that he handled his weapon, as an
actor in the scenes he writes about, even more
skilfully than he handles his pen now, when,
after the lapse of some forty-five years, he es
says, with very permissible garrulity, to “fight
his battles o’er again,” in the columns of the
Field and Fireside.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
BORDER WARFARE IK GEORGIA.
BT TUB AUTHOR OF “BARNET BUNN,” “SKETCHES OF THE
SOUTH. 11
Messrs. Editors. —l am just in receipt of your
kind attention in sending me the first number of
your interesting periodical, and sincerely wish
that your patronage may be equal to your enter
prise and diligence; and have requested my son
to inclose you the amount of your subscription.
I have met with persons in Georgia, who never
heard that British troops had possession of the
Islands of St. Simons, Jekyl, Cumberland and
the town of St. Mary’s, during the war oflßl2 ;
and offer you the following sketch of the Border
Warfare in Camden County, Georgia.
Chapter I.— The Scout.
In the war of 1812 Captain Wildhome, was
ordered with a company of mounted militia, to
occupy the then stockade fort at Trader’s Hill;
now the flourishing village of Centerville, on
the head waters of St. Mary’s, in Camden County,
the most exposed and frontier post on the sea
board of Georgia—while Captain Crawford, (the
brother I believe of the late Honorable and dis
tinguished W. H. Crawford) was stationed with
a company of Regulars at Camp Pinckney, lower
down the river, as it was rumored, and general
ly believed, that Woodbine, Nichols, Ambrister
and Arbuthnot, were reernting an Indian and
runaway negro force in Florida, to invade
Georgia with the buesom of destruction, to co
operate with the British troops, under Rear-Ad
miral Sir George Cockburn, in an attack on St.
Mary’s, and ultimately on Savannah.
The men were in want of provisions, and the
Captain sent out two experienced woodsmen
and stockholders, to drive in some steers for the
use of the camp, as most of the farmers had come
into Trader’s Hill for safety, while we re
ceived neither.rations or pay for our services
and had to furnish ourselves with every thing I
They were riding along what was then known
as the Massausuka trail. A large lightwood
tree had fallen parallel with the winding cow
path, through an open and extensive pine bar
ren. On approaching this fatal tree, they re
ceived a deadly fire from behind it, killing both
men and horses. Captain Wildhome, finding
his men did not return, the next day at dawn
they mounted, and sallied forth on a scout, tak
ing the Massausuka trail, soon discovered the
mutilated remains of his slaughtered men, with
their ears, noses, hands and feet cut off, and
pinned to the trees; stripped with horrific bar
barities. On examining the log which formed
their breastwork, it was conjectured that at
last thirty Indians had been concealed behind it
A pursuit was resolved on, and the trail follow
ed until it entered the St. Mary’s, at what was
then known as McGirth’s Fonl, named after a
noted robber and tory of the Revolution. The
guide assured our Captain that the ford could be
passed, and the troops were ordered to enter
the river in single file, to present as small a
front to the enemy as possible, supposed to be
in ambush on the Florida side, then a Spanish
province, which it was' said the Indians and
runaway negroes ruled, or did as they pleased.
They had nearly reached the opposite bank,
when their horses suddenly plunged headfore
most into a deep channel, and those who were
not unhorsed swam out Dashing up the steep
bank without a deadly fire, so their agreeable
surprise and relief. They pushed on and soon
discovered the night fire of the Indians still
burning. As it was believed that a large force
was collecting somewhere in Florida, by Wood
bine, Nichols, Ambrister and Arburthnot, it was
deemed rash, with so small a number,, to advance
further into an enemy’s stronghold. After dry
ing themselves by the Indian fire, with sentinels
posted around to be prepared for a surprise, en
joying their rations of dried beef and corn pones,
(an article Sir Robert Peel subsequently declared,
in the British Parliament, he had heard that
com meal, red maize, was capable of being made
into a sort of bread that may be eaten by man,)
the troops resumed their march to the river,
with a vidette, at rifle range, to avoid an ambus
cade. They had not proceeded far, when an In
dian jumped from a tree, threw off his blanket,
striking his chest with both hands, shouting at
the top of his clear, shrill voice, that echo waft
ed far away through the listless pine woods,
and beckoning violently, “ Ihanuh-kinnatch 1”
which some said was: “ Come here, my friend."
On approaching, he extended both hands, mut
tering “Tintanehu kinnaleh,” (Let us shake
hands, my friends ?) This ceremony over, he
took a bottle from his breast, grinning at it,
hissed (for an Indian seldom laughs) “ Stetee
tech,” (Do you drink ?) He was mildly told to put
it up and go with them. Waving his hand to
wards the river, he sulkily grumbled “oottch,"
,(go on !) One of the men, finding his rifle hid
in the grass, took it up, when the wily savage
grappled with him and was soon thrown, when
he plaintively said: “ Hiskinneesch ohhoowhe,"
(give me to kill deer 1) He was ordered to fall
in, and the march was resumed, but no effort
could elicit any information from him, and he
strode on with all the dignity of wounded pride.
A halt was ordered amidst the deep shade of
the wooded bank, just as twilight cast a deeper
shade over all, to enable the men to secure their
saddles and wallets to their backs and secure
the Indian, preparatory to a swim, was the next
moment interrupted. While all were busy, a
shout arose that Ihanuh-kinnatch was gone!
Sure enough, he had dashed into the thicket,
like one of his native chestoos (rabbits), and
pursuit was useless after an Indian in a cane
brake, as he dashed off just as they were about
tying him. It was a fortunate incident for fron
tier Georgia, as it was reported he was a spy sent
by Woodbine to ascertain if any troops were sta
tioned on the St. Mary’s. This fellow's escape ap
prised them of the fact that delayed their invasion
until Gen. Jackson broke them up at St. Mary’s,
capturing Ambrister and Arburthnot, on whom
papers were found proving their agency in fur
nishing arms and ammunition of war, offering
bounties for every scalp. A court martial sen
tenced them to be hanged, thus relieving South
eastern Georgia from an awful and murderous
invasion, for which the gallant old hero, (al
though instructed to conduct the war in Florida
to the best advantage,) was himself threatened
with arrest and trial, and rebuked for entering
a neutral territory, as if the war could be
brought to a close, if Negroes and Indians were
permitted to murder and plunder our people and
retreat to Florida. Our captain had to be very
vigilant, ordering sentinels to stand or conceal
themselves behind trees, and if they saw any
thing like an Indian creeping towards them, to
fire without challenging, and run to the stock
ade, as none but Indians would creep up and
shoot them if walking on their post.
In a bright moonlight night, when every eye
was closed in profound sleep save the watchful
sentinel, the report of a gun, that echo floated
through the lonely pine barren, until it died so
far away In the distance it could not be ascer
tained from whence it came, until a sentinel
rushed in and said, a red thing came creeping
up, and as it got to the edge of the ravine, he
fired 1 They remained under arms until day be
gan to diffuse its brightening beams over the
eastern sky, when all rallied out, entered the
ravine below, so as to take him in the rear, and
marched up, or, rather, crawled through the
thicket, until they came to a large red sow with
a ball in her skull and five buckshot in its body,
the whole cartridge. All awarded the cool
sentinel with the credit of a capital shot. The
laugh was often renewed while they enjoyed
their nice pork steaks, wishing he would make
many more such shots.
Chapter ll. —The Heroine of Camden.
Captain Wildhome now conducted his scout
along the wooded bank of the St. Mary’s, which
sucks off the surplus water from the great Oka
fanoke Pocoson, in order to ascertain if the
prowling and 6tealthy enemy had recrossed the
river that night, after their pursuit into Florida.
For a similar act General Jackson was threat
ened with arrest and trial, destroying his confi
dence and breaking up his friendly intercourse
with Mr. Calhoun, subsequently. They were
scouting through the extensive pme woods,
when they discovered the mouldering ruins of
a settlement, every house of which lay in ashes.
On looking around, the keen eye of the scout
detected moccasin tracks, which were traced to
a thick hammock on the river. All dismounted,
picketed their horses and slowly approached the
apprehended hammock, so as to draw the fire
of the Indians supposed to be in it. The order
was now given to advance from tree to tree and
enter the thick at open order, which was prompt
ly executed. They had not penetrated the
thicket far, when they heard a low chopping.
Every knee was bent, —every rifle, musket and
double barrel gun was trailed, to creep up cau
tiously in the direction of the chopping sound,
when a man was discovered with hia back to
wards the invading party, with a hatchet, chop :
ping a stake on the side of a tree. He was
dressed in agreen r homespun, Indian frock
fringed with black, his raven black hair flowing
down his back; and so confident were all that he
was an Indian, that Bill Cone, who was next to
our captain, whispered: “Let me take a drag
at 'im, captain, vid ‘spitefully Sally,’ an us I
don’t send daylight thro’ his skull, then say, old
Bill ain’t up to the mark by a longshot, an
then we’ll do a nice little skrimage vid de
tothers.” And with that he raised his rifle,
cocked it,' and was about to take aim, when the
man turned round, whose keen woodman’s ear
had caught the light click of Bill's old 1 spiteful
Sally,’ shouting, at the top of his voice, “ I’m a
vite min! I’m no tarnel Ingin—l tell ye vone an
haul I”
Captain Wildhome now called to his men
“ come in, boys!” and soon they gathered round
the man, and followed him to bis camp in the
midst of a thick hamrock on the winding banks
of the St. Mary’s. It was his house that wgs
burned ; finding Indian signs about, he and his
wife and children at once gathered up their little
all, putting it on board of their canoe, paddled to
this hamrock ; but his wife finding she had left
her milk-piggin at the house, dashed back to re
cover it, and on turning round the corner of the
house saw a rifle leaning near the door; she
cautiously crept on, seized the rifle, peeped ip
and saw an Indian warming himself before the
very fire they bad just left burning. The temp
tation was too great to be resisted, even at the
risk of her life; she leveled the rifle, fired, and
the Indian tumbled into the fire. She shoulder
ed the rifle and the way, she said, she pitched
back for the hamrock was a caution, and it was
her moccasin trp'-ks that led them there. “ Well,
said she, “I lost me piggin, but I got a rail nice
rifle for it, an’ don’t you reckon, Cap’n, that was
a first rate swop; still, me ole man, I wouldn't
take a Kyowan kat for me trade.”
- •
Chapter lll.— The “ Scrimmage."
Captain Wildhome was ordered to hasten
down to St. Mary’s, as the British had landed on
Cumberland Island, and the next day they were
there, reconoitering the position of the enemy,
whose fleet of barges lay along the Cumberland
shore. It was predicted that they would effect
a landing at King's Bay, and recommended that
the 9 pounders at Point Peter, where the Reg
ulars were stationed under Major Massias, Cap
tain Tattnall and others, should be in battery
raking Backriver causeway, charged with mus
ket balls, with the Mititia and Regulars flanking
them in a thick but all was neglected,
and in the morning the Regulars met the invad
ing army under Commodore Barrie, in a thick
wood near Point Peter, when the action became
general, as it was only a word and a blow with
the gallant Tattnall, and I’m not so sure but
that the blow would come first. Captain Tatt
nall had seized a rifle from one of his men, jump
ed up on a log to look over tho thick palmettos,
“ to get a fair shot, (as he said), at the red coats,”
and had fired, and was about jumping down,
turning round for that purpose, when a heavy
discharge from the enemy’s column, formed
eight deep in front, knocked the gallant Tattnall
some feet off the log, hitting him in the should
er; but he was soon up and off again, when a'
black platoon charged into the scrub to bayonet
a man who had been shot in the arm and fell,
and called out for quarter. “ Blacky no kum na
bush to gi' dam yankee quatta,” shouted out the
bloody platoon; but ere they could reach the
wounded soldier with the point of their bayonets,
a well directed fire from our gallant Rifles pros
trated most of the black assailants around the
wounded man, and the rest fled to join their col
umn. As one of the Rifles had got his ball
choked and was driving the iron rod against a
tree, he heard a noise behind him, and, on turn
ing round, saw a British officer on horseback,
about firing at him; the ball of his pistol struck
the point of the diamond on his cap, causing the
ball to graze his scalp and knock him down, but
the rifleman rose on his knees aud took a “ de
liberate drag,” as he said, in the iron rod, ball,
and all, at the officer as he was riding into the
road, “ an’ by jings 1” said he, “if I didn’t miss
’im clean.”
Chapter IY.— The Battle on the St. Mary's, and
• the Interview.
Admiral Cockbum had ordered a flotilla of
barges to ascend the river and bum a small saw
mill, some distance from the river, on a pine
barren pond, owned by Major Clarke, who had
gone on parole to visit his mill, and had not re
turned. If they had ever lauded, they would
have been cut to pieces before they got to the
mill; and never was there a more indiscreet act,
or a more wanton sacrifice of human life com
mitted by an inexperienced British officer. The
Patriots, under Major Dill and Captain William
Cone, opened such a galling fire on them from
the Florida shore, that they immediately re
treated, and at every bluff were greeted with
the same killing fire, until the last was passed.
A little boy, the son of General Ashley,
would run down to the edge of the bluff, fire,
take off his hat, wave it in the air, hurrah 1 and
walk back I The barges, crowded with men,
would fire at him, and not a shot hit him. Seve
ral barges had to be towed down, every man on
board killed or wounded. Bill Cone said the
only coat he had was thirty miles off, as he had
thrown it off in the first attack, had waded
swamps and bogs that distance before the battle
ceased, making a direct course from bluff to
bluff over creeks, lagoons, Swamps, and pine
barrens.
The overwhelming force of the enemy had
compelled a retreat of the Regulars under Major
Massias and Captain Tattnall, and the militia,
under Col. Scott and Major John Hardee. The
former pushed on to Savannah, and the latter to
Brown’s Ferry (now Colonel Owen’s plantation
on the Great Satilla, or as the Spaniards more
beautifully call it, Saint Ilia.) It was reported
that the enemy had landed at Fairfield, the
beautiful residence of the gallant Gen. John
Floyd, whose patriotic devotion to his country’s
service had fired his noble soul, and roused all
the energies of his “ Amor Patriae” to fling
aside the comforts and sweets of a loved home,
for the privations of a tented field; and with
the chivalric Bourke as his aid, had promptly
accepted the command of the troops stationed
at Camp Covington near Savannah, for its de
fence and protection. Capt. Wildhome got per
mission to hasten down with his company, and
marched all night to try and cut off the enemy’s
barges; but, before they reached the landing
place, they had killed several beeves and hogs,
and tackling their men to them, like so many
dray-horses, had dragged them down and em
barked. Hoping to intercept them at Cabin
Bluff, they dashed across on their fine horses,
and at daylight descried a barge pulling forDun
geoness. Every man leaped from his horse,
and soon occupied the palmetto scrub along the
river’s bank, kneeling down with cocked rifles,
eyeing tho approaching barge as a panther
would a feeding doe. As it gained the right
bank of the couchant band, the order to fire
wps given, and as soon executed, and the group
of officers who were standing up at the stern,
soon disappeared, calling out at the top of their
voices, “ Pull across, boys, for the dam, bush
wackers have rifles,” and they were soon out of
range.
On returning to Fairfield, a trusty servant,
who had been left to take care of the house,