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About The independent press. (Eatonton [Ga.]) 1854-???? | View Entire Issue (July 22, 1854)
ran aiwaiiEir *. ,t.a.turnEiiiToi!.f VOLUME I. Select lotto. >l/ yn SELECTED FOR THE INHErEN«ENT PRESS. Memories of the Heart. she cy* must be dark that so long has been dim. Ere again it may gaze ujxm thine, But my heart has revealing of the* and iky home. In many a token and sigh. I need bill look up with a vow to the sky. And a light like thy beauty is there, Ami I hear a low murmur like thine in reply, When I pour out my spirit in prayer. And though like a mourner that alts by the tomb, I am wraped in the mantle ot care; Yet the grief of my bosom, (Oh! call it not gloom) Is not the black grief of despair! 15v sorrow revealed as the stars are by night, Far off a bright vision appears, And hope, like the rainbow a creature of light. Is born like the rainbow in tears. I know thou art gone to the house of thy rest, Then why should my soul be so sad ? I know thou art gone where the weary are blest, ( And the mourner looks on and is glad) Where love has put off in the land of its birth, The slain it had gathered in this, And hope the sweet singer that gladdened the earth, Lies asleep in the bosom of bliss. I know thou art gone where thy forehead is starred, With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul, Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marred, Nor thy heart be flung back from its goal, I know thou hast drank of the Lethe that flows, Through a land where they do not forget, That sheds over memory only repose, And takes from it onlj regret. In thy far away dwelling wherever it be, I believe thou hast visions of mine, And the love that made all things as music to me, I have not yet learned to resign. In the hush of the night, on the waste of the sea, Or alone with the breeze on the hill I have ever a presence that whispers of thee, And my spirit lies down and is still. f tTalf. _ | FOR THE INDEPENDENT PRESS. THE PHANTOM RABBIT. i . [CONCLUDED.] CHAPTER 111. After dinner found Col. Graham and his two young friends again seated in his library. The Colonel proceeded as follows : “One night in August, after I had been in bed about an hour, a few min utes past ten, I was awakened by the haying of my old watch-dog, Caesar. — ] heard the clatter of horse’s hoofs up on the rocks in the avenue which leads up to my dwelling. The rider was evidently in great haste, and it was not long before he hallooed at the gate. I ordered a servant to go and see what was wanted. Pretty soon lie returned, telling me that one ofDe Bu run’s negroes was at the gate with a message to the effect that his master was expected soon to die, and had sent for me to go and she him, with all speed. 1 had been about the only rnan of the neighborhood with whom the owner of Kenilworth had anything to do, since his scttleme in the coun try. As the old gentleman was igno rant, to a great extent, of the method of farming, adopted by Georgia Plant ers, he not un frequently called upon me for aid and counsel. I was there fore, sometimes, a guest, at Kenilworth, and a kiud of intimacy, or, I should rather say, interest, had sprung up between the inmates of the old man sion and myself. When, therefore, 1 received a summons to stand by the death-bed of Deßurun, 1 could not re jfist the call. Arising hastily and putting on my clothes, I ordered my horse and start ed for Kenilworth. “I received orders from my master to bid you be in haste,” said De Bu run’s servant, as I reached the gate. “Very well,” replied I; and oil'we started in a gallop. As we started, fleecy clouds began to veil the moon, which was shining in all her splendor. Now again they would pass off, and leave her rays to do their message to earth, without 1 .locking up their way, or offering any resistance to their fairy flight. Alter nate light and shade wore the face of fair Cynthia as we proceeded, eacli contending with the other, until it was apparent that the latter was about to win the mastery. A heavy black cloud began to marshal its forces in the Southland with thunders for its music, and the, lightning for the flash of its arms, it covered the sky with its dense columns. Gem after gem strick en fronf the crown of the heavens, un-' ;3l Mcdilii |oivntal;—tofitcra fort, folita, nub (general Iffecllium. til all was shrouded in utter darkness. A vivid flash of lightning bursts through the dense pall, and shows us the heavy architecture of Kenilworth mansion. The servant accompanied me to the most retired part of the build ing, and knocking at the door, old Pe dro opened, and gave me admittance, while the negro slave retired., A howl of despair hurst upon my ear as I entered the room, as if I had disturbed the lair of some demon, or some one damned. 1 pou a bed of death lay the owner of Kenilworth.— He raised himself in the bed, and, fast ening his eyes'upon me, which gleam ed from his dark brow as the lightnings from the cloud which then veiled the heavens, his withered lips gave vent to the sound which fell with so much hor ror upon my ear. I was oppressed, nay, even appalled. My cheek blanch ed and my heart quailed before the un earthly shriek. “How dare you, fiend .of hell,” said the old man, “to disturb me thus?” “Master, good master,” said Pedro “this is Col. Graham, for whom you sent.” The dving man looked puzzled and bewildered, but, then, as if recovering himself, he became more quiet, and, extending me his hand, said : “Col. Graham, my friend, I am glad to see you. Take a seat here, by my bed-side. Oh! the agonies of hell are upon me ! Wo ! ico ! wo !—Back, fiends! down, demons ! 1 defy .ye all! Come with your scourges, clank your chains, and thou, too, black dragon, whose breath is the flames of hell—l spit upon }mu as you breathe your fiery sulphur in molten showers upon my bed. But oh, save me from that accursed, foul fiend of a rabbit that gambols upon the foot of my bed there !” And the dying man, who had risen upon his couch in an attitude of de fiance before, now turned his face to the wall, and buried his head in the bed-elothes, shrinking and cowering before the form of a rabbit which did actually appear upon his bed, and which I myself saw, though the appar ition of fiends and demons was invis ible, save to the eye of Be Buruti. Af ter a minute or two the phantom rab bit leaped off of the bed, and, in doing so, became invisible. “Is he gone, Pedro ?” said the old man, without stirring. “Gone, master,” was the laconic re ply of Pedro. “Then open the desk, there, Pedro, and give me the MS.” continued De Bunin. The mulatto slave complied with his master’s request. “Has not Dr. Anderson arrived yet?” asked De Bunin with some impa tience. • Before Pedro could answer, some one knocked at the door, and the old slave admitted Dr. Anderson. “Doctor,” said De Burun, “I have | not sent for you to facilitate my way ! to hell with your damnable pills and i potions. I feel as if 1 were going to die soon, and I wish you to tell me how soon the event will take place. None of your hypocritical cant, now, about hoping I will get well. Feel my pulse •examine me, well, and tell me how many hours J have to live.” Dr. Anderson was a man eminent in medical science, and eminent in all the feelings of the heart, and sentiments of the head , which make a.man. lie was a man , though possessed of many eccentricities. Therefore the rough salutation and speech of De Burun did not have the effect upon him which it would have had upon weak minds.— He offered nothing in reply—his cheek did not flush, nor did he think of turning upon his heel and leaving the room. Oiinhe contrary, lie advaneed to Dc Bunin’s bed-side, and, making his examination, he thus replied to the query which had been propound ed him: “You cannot possibly live twenty four hours. Probably in the next six, you will be. a corpse. Indeed, from the nature of your affliction, which is disease of the heart, you arc liable to die at this very instant while I am speaking to you, dropping into the arms of death as suddenly as if a thunderbolt fell upon your bosom. And all the physicians on earth can’t prolong your life one second.” * “Well 'spoken, and to the point, said De Burun. Now, Doctor, : name ' lour fee—do yen hand it to.him from EATONTON, GA., SATURDAY, JULY 22, 1854. the desk, Pedro, and show him the door, as I wish to be alone with you and Col. Graham.” “I charge nothing for my services, sir, ’ replied Dr. Anderson, as lie start ed towards the door. “One.moment, yet, wait, Doctor,” said Deßurun—and then, turning to his slave ho continued ;—“Pedro, hand me the cheek in the desk, there, on the Bank of tlic State of Georgia, for one thousand dollars, made payable to myself or bearer.” Pedro obeyed, handing him the cheek. “Dr. Anderson, take this cheek as your fee. You must have it.” “As you will,” said the Doctor, who was truly an eccentric fellow. As lie spoke, he drew from his pocket a cigar, and, twisting up the check in his fingers, as De Burun handed it to him, lie applied one end to the candle, and then proceeded to light his cigar. Upon doing this, as he passed me, he muttered out something about the “damned old sinner,” which startled me almost as much as De Bunin’s fiend ish howls, and left the room. De Bu run gazed upon him in mute astonish ment, and seemed to think he had met his match once ere he died. After Dr. Anderson was gone, the sick man handed me the MS. which lie had made Pedro give him from the drawer, and said: “Col. Graham, you have been a friend to me, and I have still one other request to make of you. I wish you to take this MS., read it to me now, and when I am dead, aid Pedro here to carry into execution the few simple directions which it contains relative to my burial. I will not yet ask you to promise to do so until you have read the paper. Go on now with that.— It contains a .succinct history of my life.” I took the MS. and saw that it had been lately written. It was in the hand-writing of Dc Burun, with which I was acquainted, from some business transactions, and was remarkably bold and clear to have been written by so old a man. I have the MS. now in my library, and will get it and read you some extracts.” Col. Graham arose, and, going to a drawer, took out the MS. and pro ceeded to read some passages from the autobiography of John De Burun, to Jack and Frank. It ran thus : “l was born in England, in the year 177—0f an ancient and noble family. The Dc Bunins were the ancestors of the celebrated poet, Lord Byron, to whom lam nearly allied. They fol lowed William the Conqueror from Normandy to England, when that country bowed to the yoke of a for eign prince. They afterwards became fierce Barons under the name of Lords of Ilorestan Castle, and amongst other warlike achievements, took part in llie crusade to the Holy Land. Ralph de Bunin’s name ranks high in Dooms day-book among the tenants of land in Nottinghamshire long prior to the time th t my ancestors became the Lords of Ilorestan Castle. From some cause or other most of the De Bunins changed their name to Byron. Our branch of the family refused to make the change, and hence my name in which I glory, is still Dc Burun. The De Burun family w<3re always noted for their pride of birth. The poet Byron was prouder of his blood than he was of having been the auth or of Manfred and Childo Harold. — Arid TANARUS, John de Burun, had this day rather he the old and stricken man that I am under the curse of Heaven, with the mark of Cain that there is upon my brow, than the plebian presi dent of the these United States. Another characteristic of our family has ever been the unqontrolablc pas sions of their hearts which, up to this time when their blood is nearly extinct, has driven them to crimes of the dark est and deepest dye. I, myself, am a murderer, live times told, In England, when I was about twenty-live years old, I had a mistress in London, with whom I one day was, when a vile plebian came up and claim** cd her before my face;’ Blunged in crime, as I already was, though yet in nocent of blood, I could not brook this insult. Had the being who aroused my anger been my equal in birth, my manner of revenge would have prob ably been different from what it, was. But for an accursed churl to seek to board me in my den, —I < not stand it. My brain re led with pas sion, and springing up>n the worm who had insulted me, I >1 tinged a dag ger to the centre of Is. heart, and stamped his head benc£ h my heel as he lay dead before me. To avoid the sentence f the law and my own feelings of rc norse which soon overtook me, I fifn to'Cuba.— Necessity, as well as a Tlisposition to drown the voice of mJ conscience, drove me to business, at I money-ma king. And, notwithstanding I gpeiic ffiuou of my time in reveiy and dis sipation, still wealth accumulated fast upon my hands, especially; after I be come possessed of Pedro, w 1 3, although a slave, has for a long ti e been my most intimate companion, I id through my command, a sharer of ny crimes. When I was a little abc > r e sixty, I married, through the influ nee of her father, who was himself inj uenced by my blood and wealth, a beiutiful lady who was then quite young! The fami ly of Donna Francesca, r| r wife, was of noble Spanish blood, her father having, on account of I >me whim, left Spain and settled in 0 iba. Fran ccsca, at the time I mark :d her, was 7 it loving a gay young cavsier by the name of Don Alfonso. After I was united with the object of hisWfections, he crossed the Atlantic, anTjremained upon the European eontinenWor about two years. At the end of hat time he returned to Cuba. In thjpiean time Donna Francesca had give*. birth to a daughter, whom we called Inez. Her beauty, gayety and vivacity were not at all impaired by this eve it, and thcr first tiling I knew, she was mgaged in an intrigue with the Dor/whom she still loved to idolatry. • T.V<; result was Francesca died by poison! and Alfon so had to fly again across tile Atlantic to escape my wrath. For fifteen or sixteen years after this, I continued to live upen the island, a widower, as I now an, employing a matron for Inez, who raised her from the time she was twelje months old, and attended to her education. This woman died just befo'e we removed to this place. At the end of the fif teen or sixteen years, ] got into some difficulty with the Spanish authorities upon the island, and deemed it best to remove with my daughter to this coun try. Before doing so, however, I had betrothed her as a bride to Don Alva rez, a youth of wealth and liable blood, and a relation of Donna Francesca.” “Here,” said Col. Graham to the young men, “follows an account of De Bunin’s removal to .tHi.- country, and an account of what occurred between Harry Johnson and his ’ laughter, with which you are acquaincd, up to the time that the old man attempted to take Harry’s life for kiss ng his daugh ter’s hand, after rescuing her from her perilous situation, when sic was thrown from her horse. It seer s that De Bu run, from the frequency with which his daughter rode and p omenaded to wards the house of Hari ds father, and from other trivial circumstances, began to suspect what was going on between his daughter and her loter. lie had therefore followed Inez at some dis tance and unobserved by her, on tlic morning on which she was thrown from her horse, and the result of his espionage is known.” A Col. Graham, therefore, skipped that portion of the MS. which gave an ac count of matters which he had already detailed, Elnd comnfmeed at the point of history where h’e had left off:—to wit, where Harry started to his father’s house, and De Burun and his daughter to Kenilworth, after ihe adventures which followed tlic stinging of the horse by the hornets. He continued to read as follows: “As I was returning with Inez to my dwelling after this disgraceful af fair, not a word passed between us. —■ After we got to the house,, however, I took her to one of the innermost apart ments of the dwelling, and reproached her with the infamy which ; she had brought upbn my house. I considered this act of my daughter as sinking my name to a deeper pitch of degradation than .that which it reached when Don na Francesca indulged in the., intrigue with Don Alfonso ; for he was of pa trician blood. And though my name was dishonored, it was not disgraced by being connected with that of one from the rabble. Os this, however, of course, I said nothing to Inez—for she' was ig norant of the crime of her mother, and Uiemur..ler committed by. her father— of which last none but Pedro, was cog nizant. She little dreamed even that I had ever committed the murder which I had in London. Os these things I was determined she should re main ignorant to her death.. But, as I was saying, I reproached Inez with'the infamy which she. had brought upon my house? I fold her that if she was guilty of such conduct again she should die by her father’s hand. And I farther assurred her that nothing but the blood of her ple bian lover would appease my wrath. — I know my wrath, and the storm which agitated my bosom must have been terrible; for poor Inez shrunk before them as tlic dove shrinks be fore the stoop of the falcon. Falling at my feet, and clasping my knees, she begged my forgiveness, while floods of tears laved her cheek. I saw she would have interceded for Johnson, but that she dared not do so. This only increased my anger, and feeling an ir resistible propensity to plunge my steel in the bosom of my child, I rush ed from the presence of my own daughter, to prevent my becoming her murderer. I tried for twenty-four hours to quell my wrath, and endeavored, by all the means in my power, to think of some other subject than that which had wrought me up to such a pitch of fury. I even laid aside my intention to seek an opportunity to kill Johnson. Still if one had presented itself, I would have shot my stiletto into liis heart with all the frenzy of ahyena. Things might have passed on in this way, and all might have gone on tolerably well, until I should have given my daughter and my wealth to Don Alvarez, when I would have been willing to die, had not that hell-hound Johnson made another attempt to win the hand of my daughter, as he had already seduced her heart. The next day after Johnson had sav ed the life of my child, as I was going up the stairs which led to the room of Inez, I saw, lying upon the steps, a note, done up very neatly, and direct ed to Inez Dc Burun. Stooping down I picked it up, and on reading it, found it was from Johnson, and that it reques ted an interview with my child that night, at a place on the banks of a riv er which ran hard by Kenilworth.— lie pleaded the love which was con suming him, and urged also, as a. rea son for gratifying his wishes, that he had saved her life the day before, and had spared that of her father when it was in his power. The note stated that Antonia, my daughter’s maid, was the bearer, and requested an an swer to be returned by the same mes senger. As soon as I had read the note, I folded it up, and dropped it again just as I found it, and passed on to another room, up stairs. I knew that my daughter had dropped her note on the steps, and that when she found she had lost it, she would make search for it and find it again. Soon after I got in to the room, up stairs, I heard the nervous step of my daughter on the stair-case, as if she was greatly agitated. She passed quickly down the steps, and when she got where the note was, stopped for a moment, and picked it up. She continued, then, down the steps, as if to get something, and then turned round, after a minute or two, and ran again up stairs/ displaying much pertubation in the very • sound of her footsteps. She was not aware that I had seen the note, and was pro bably rejoicing that it had escaped my attention. As soon as I had read the note, my course was immediately resolved upon. I determined to have Antonia watch ed, and if Inez did not agree, in the answer she would probably send John son, to meet him, I intended to cause her to write him another, in which she would consent to an interview with him, so that I might avail myself of the opportunity to take liis life. I or dered Pedro to keep his eye upon An tonia, and if he saw her leave my house, and .go in the direction of John son’s to seize her, and search her for -a note which she would probably car ry with her. Late in the evening, Pe dro apprehended Antonia, as she start ed on lier errand, and brought her back tome, in such a direction as that it was impossible for Inez to sec it, to. gether with the note’which she bore with her. Upon reading this not<3» I, found that mV daughter Had agreed to * meet Johnson at the place appointed by him.- After I had found out what answer was returned to Johnson, I ordered Pedro to take Antonia to another slave, make her enter his cabin, and, while he stood without and listened, to com mand her to say to this 4lave. that he must take the note to Johnson, and let him know that she, having no oppor tunity to carry it herself, had sent it by him. This she was to say to the slave, and nothing more, under pain of death. I was afraid to trust Antonia to go to Johnson, lest she should tell him that the note of Inez had been intercepted, and thus frustrate my plans. Pedro took Antonia to the slave’s cabin and everything was done as I ordered it. Antonia dared not say one word more to the slave than she was directed to say, as she knew that Pedro was out of doors listening, and would assuredly report anything which she might utter, more than she was ordered to say. As soon as she had delivered her mes sage, and came out of the door of the cabin, Pedro hurried her away into my presence, and reported that my orders had been obeyed. A short time after she left, the slave, to whom the note was given, performed the task commit ted to his charge. My next object was to prevent An tonia’s communicating with Inez. For tune, or the devil, favored me in this also. Antonia’s mother was quite sick, at the quarter, and needed con stant nursing, and, at night sitting up with. So I told Inez I would send her maid to perform this task. My daughter very readily consented, and under pretence that Antonia should go and sit up with her mother, I or dered Pedro to lock her up in one of the rooms of Kenilworth mansion. The place where Inez and J ohnson had agreed to meet each other, was a most romantic spot upon the bank of the river, near my dwelling. There were several large rocks overhanging the waters of this stream, one rising above the other, so that the lower rock was concealed by the upper ones.— Around these was a cluster ol dense oak trees, with under-growth and vines leaping from the shrubbery to the branches of the oaks, so as to form a bower, lit for fairies to dviell in. About ten o’clock at night, after I had lain down, not to sleep, hut to watch, Inez softly left the house, and proceeded to the place of meeting.— I followed her, at a distance, and, when she reached the bower, Johnson was already there. While both were standing upon the lower rock, Inez commenced first. Said she to Johnson: “Let mo tell you, at once, we can never marry. We meet to-night to part forever. But one thing could have induced me to meet, you here, and that is gratitude. You saved my life on yesterday, and spared that of my father. I come now to warn you that unless you flee'from before my father’s wrath, your life will pay the forfeit. He is bent on killing you. As for my passion and yours, I entreat you, that by the love with which my bosom yearns for you, and by that which burns within your heart for me, you urge it not. For my sake, and as you prize your life, fly, oh, fly from my father’s auger. I came but to tell you this, and now upon the instant I must return to my father’s dwelling.” “Inez,” replied Johnson, “your ap peal is not in vain. To-morrow. I go to the bloody field of battle, there to lay downniy life upon the altar of my countiy. I only wished to gaze once more upon your angelic features, and bid you farewell forever. And now go, and may the blessing of Heaven ever attend you.” As he said this, he pressed her hand in his, and, gently raising it to his lips, dared'again to kiss it. I was within ten feet of them, and yet was concealed from their view. I had nearly suffo cated with rage. When residing upon the island of Cuba, I had frequently gone on hunting excursions to the prairies of South America. Jn the pursuit of wild cattle, there, I had be come quite skillful in the use of the lasso. I resolved, before leaving my house, to make the lasso avail me against Johnson. Taking one'along with me to where Inez and Johnson were to meet, I threw, it over the head |of the latter, just as he kissed my {terms, $2,00 A YEAR. NUMBER 14. daughter’s hand. Giving my rope a jerk, and choking him to the earth, I rushed forward with the ferocity of a tiger, and plunged my stiletto into his bosom. One thrust was enough to take his life, but not enough to appease my anger. Thrice more did my steel find his vitals. Inez shrieked, and when she saw her lover was dead, knelt down in a fren zy of grief, and kissed the pallid lips of the corpse before her, essaying with her hands to staunch the blood so swiftly flowing from the gaping wounds. As was her grief, and in proportion to the love she showed for Johnson, so was my anger, and, ere I was aware, and without intending it, my stiletto pierced the heart of my child. I did not meditate the murder of my daughter. It was done in a mo ment of passion. Wo! wo !! wo!!! Cutting up the rope with which my lasso was made, I fastened stones to the bodies of my victims, and hurled them from the rock into the waters below. As I was about to return home, I saw a rabbit frisking in the moon-beams near me, and thus one living object had witnessed my deeds of blood.— I felt a strange sensation of horror — horror different from that which I felt before —at the idea that even a dumb brute was a witness against me. This rabbit gamboled on before me until I reached the house, and then entered it with me. I tried to catch it, but could not, It escaped me, until next morning, and then I ordered Pedro to take it and kill it. lie caught it and carried it out, chopped its head off with an axe, and gave it to one of the dogs, which devoured it. As he returned to fell me what he had done, I saw the same rabbit following close behind him. Cursing the old slave from my heart, 1 asked him why he had not ex ecuted my orders, lie averred that he had, and, upon my pointing out the object behind him, he seemed thunder-struck, and made an effort again to catch the rabbit. Whenever he was on the point of placing his hands upon him, he vanished as if in thin air. From that time to this, the phantom rabbit has haunted me, and continually turned my memory to the scene on the river bank. Pretty soon a black dragon, breath ing from his mouth and nostrils flames of. sulphury fire, became my compan ion, and he ever whispers in my ear, “wo! wo!! wo !!! ” This phantom is invisible save to my eye, while the rabbit may be seen by all. The next morning, after the tragedy on the river bank, report went out that Johnson had eloped with Inez. There was yet one other act of re venge which I had to consummate. Or dering Antonia to be carried to the centre of a dark and gloomy swamp, upon the stream near Kenilworth, I , had a hickory sapling bent down by i four athletic, and strong negro fellows, and, tying a grape-vine around her neck, hung her as I -would a dog.- There was no danger of detection in this as no one ever penetrates the dark recess where the deed was done. As to disclosure by the negroes, I told them the same fate would be theirs if : the thing should ever get out. This as eflectually sealed their lips as death itself could have (Jone. , . * * * -x- Jr» W '* ■ V ■ - When I am dead, I want a marble slab placed over my grave with the name “John De Burun”. upon it| in brsso relievo. In the same way must be placed, just below this name, a black dragon, breathing flames from|this nostrils, with a scroll issuing from liis mouth, bearing upon it the words “wo! wo!! wo!!! ” This must be done. For the direction of the sculptor, I give & below a drawing of the dragon as I wish him represented upon the mar- j blg t ” Among various other accomplish-!., ments possessed by De Burun, he had a knowledge of the art of drawing, f which enabled him to represent, ah most to the life, the figure which Kel wished execuikl upon the slab ofj marble that was to be placed over hisj grave. .. . , Alter I had finished the MS., which J occupied about an hour in the rcadin&J the gray-headed, murderer,, who had lain quite quietly while J wasjjffcr forming the task he had assignc®iie, started * suddenly up, ayf from Jjfeye ry and said
