The mountain Democrat. [volume], November 21, 1863, Image 1

About The mountain Democrat. [volume] (Placerville, El Dorado County, Calif.) 1863-1943

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VOLI ME X.
fgE MOUNTAIN DEMOCRAT.
rctusirsD every satcrday morning, by
OflbWXOXS a* JANUARY
B . W. •1WICW. W * *■ «"«•
...yq -ynimr w airrawCB-One Yenr. •*: si* Month*,
T e5 Three Month*, gl 5ft; One Month (payable to the Car ,
Single Cofdee. lt»neute.
artTKRTISlNO —One Square. of 10lines, flr»t Insertion. f3;
A 50: MMH/Mn. of 10line.
ope rear. g»; Bu*lne»a Canto, of 10 line* or leee.
X.i?ionth.. «• A liberal diseaunt will be made on the
JSre rate* tor yearly and quarterly advwtteement* whieh
exceed one ■qaare.
, n . FgnrTWO —Oar Ofltoe !■ replete with all ttoe Modern
- «iu tor the heat, cub at a*d a*en> execution of
l?£ratvlcoX PRINTINQ. aoeh a* Book*. Pamphle'a. Brief*.
r«i*tie* HandhUle. Cleealar*. Ball Ticket*. Programme*. Cer
fitcatei ef Stoek nr I>ewwit, Billhead*, Check*. Receipt*,
Card*, Label*, etc., lu plain er fhney colored Ink*.
xrrattCKS BLANKS.—Affidavit*. Tndertaklnf* and Writ* of
*attachment under the new |*w, tor *a’e*t thl* Office: al*n.
AnmT «*M* *onam»rf»« form
JIS Jurt printed, a eSnplrte tortti *f MTYntS DEED.
il*e7» beautifnllj-executed MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE.
* n riSHER.No. 17m Washington atreet.opposite Mar'dre’*
Hoote. I* the only authoriied Agent for the MoCNT.UN
annCRAT, In the cMv of s»n Pranclwo. AU order* for
JbePaper or Advertising left with him mill be promptly at
tended to.
W H BROWN i* the anthnrtaed Agent of the DEMOCRAT at
"/UorntowB. Order* tor the paper. advertMug. or for Job
Jiork Jeft with him. will be promptly attended to.
rUk a P JACKSON la the anthorl**d Agent of the MftrN
TAIN DEMOCRAT at El Dorado. Order* left with him will
be promptly attended to.
- i nini RMAN la our authorired agent at Sacramento—
**ll Wwrtl.ln ( , ete.. Ml •Itt Him «iU ™,iT. im
mediate attendee.
A H L. DTAS I* agent tor lha De»ioce*t at Virginia City.
Nevada Territory.
COL. WM. KNOX la onr rothorlred agent at Orirt’T El*t —
All orders givea him tor the Democrat will be promptly at
tended te.
Office* on Colons* Street*
professional Carts, 3:tr.
“ Bis;. SHERWOOD.
ATTORNKY-AT LAW,
PtacerYttle, El Dorado Comity, California.
Office —Dorsey*, Buildinp (up-stair,), Main at.
(ma«tf J
THOS. J. ORGON,
ATTORNEY-AT-LAW,
El Dorado, El Dorado County. (ma17
F. A. HORNBLOWER,
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW,
Will practice in all the Court* of the 11th Judicial
District. OFFICE — At Pilot llill, El Dorado Coun
ty. iuayl7-3m
p. w. Sjkiuuuwc, fln. E Williams,
SANDERSON A WILLIAMS,
ATTORN KYP-AT-LAW.
Office—Donsla*!.' BuilJir.r. neat door to the t'ary
lloufe, Main street, dec d
O. w. OORDON,
ATTORNEY- A T - L A W .
Tirflnia City, N. T. Offl-e in Collins' Buildinr.
B. street. [n ■■*29
A. C. PEARLE,
ATTORNEY-AT-LAW,
Office in Douglass' Buildin* (up stairs), Main street.
Pia, rrvilie.
fel.rt *m*
JOBS Him B. C. §LO**.
HUME A 8LOSS,
ATTOBNEY 8-AT-It A W,
Offlee in C ity Block, PUcmille.
Will practice Law in 1 1*e Court* «»f hi Dorado and
adjoiciujr Countir»—in the Supreme Court, anti the
Court* of I'tak Terntor). u«19
O. D. HALL, O. YALE,
PtactrrWe, &'h /V.r •< •/*<•<>,
Practice la* in all the Court* of Utah.
Office*, at Carton and Virginia City. j»*30-tf
M. K. SHEARER,
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR-AT-LAW, AND
NOTARY PUBLIC.
at Residence. Main itreet, three
d abort Bedford Avenue, I’lacerv ill*. aulO
E. B. CARSON,
NOTARY PUBLIC AND CONVEYANCER,
AND
Commissioner of Deeds for Nevada
Territory.
Office it* the Court House, Placcrville.
[novltf}
Boohs, Stationcro, 1£tc.
~W. M. BRADSHAW,
M
— »I*LM IS —
BOOKS, STATIONERY,
VARIETIES.
.CIGARS AND TOBACCO,
ToMoOicc Block, lUain Street,
FLACERVILLE.
ALSO — Agent for all the leading European, Atlan
tic and California Paper* and Mapaiinc*.
Vtr NEW BOOKS* received by every Steamer.
augW W. M. BRADSHAW.
PLAZA BOOK STOKE,
PLACER V ILLS,
lias ju,t received a splendid assortment
Standard and Miscellaneous Works,
stationer*, school books.
eitrr BOOLS,
tors, « 0,D r '**'
■oitTsas, iC "ttl>eoS9,
ROMAN sraisot*, KTC.,
Selected «?xi»rtf»*ly for the Corn. r J
at greatly reduced rate*. Also,
CrTLFEV,
▼louvft,
iasir books
no..
Trade, and selling
AOEN TS
For Sacramento Union, Alta California, ,
Mirror, etc.
NEWSPAPERS AND PERIODICAIS
Kept constantly on hand, and sold unusually low.
oct4 It. S. HERNANDEZ.
S. HARRIS,
Corner of Main Street and the Plata ,
ruCBtvii.il,
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALER IN
Havana Cigars, Tobacco, Books, Sta
tionery, Cutlery, Playing Cards,
Yankee Motions, Fruits, Green
.and Dried, Nuta and Candles,
AT SAD TKASCISCO TRICES.
Alto,receives by every Steauerthe latest Atlantic
and European Newspapers, Magazines and Periodi
cals, and all the WEEKLY CALIFORNIA NEWSPA
PERS and MAGAZINES. octl
ASSAY OFFICE.
COPPER,
_____ SILVER;
AND GOLD ORES
CAREFULLY ASSAYED I
A.iHVlDUON,
Main street, PlacerTille-
THE MOUNTAIN DEMOCRAT.
PLACERVILLE, EE DORADO COUNTY, CALIFORNIA, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 1863.
THE PRESSED RAN.
Many yeftrs igo, when I was a young
clergyman, I became incumbent of a par
ish on the coast. The living was but a
petty affair, when looked at from a pecu
niary point of view, and the duties were
arduous enough. There was no residence
for the vicar’s use; the lesser tithes were
small in amount, and not very regularly
paid; and the parish consisted of a large
noisy seaport, full of dirt and vie*. Un
der such circumstances, it is not surpri
sing that few could be found who were
willing to accept so uninviting a post, and
that the benefice for some months ‘went
a begging.'
My friend's shook (he ic uMs 7,
the Rev. Joseph Hawley, was gazetted to
the vicarage of St. 1’eter’s, Sallyport 1
was made to take such preferment, they
said. Within the memory of man, the
living of St. Peter's had never been held
by a resident parson. Old Dr. Stall, that
comfortable prebendary and pluralist, had
pocketed the lesser tithes for forty years,
far away in his comfortable residence un
der the shadow of Mossminster Cathedral,
and a starved curate bad done the work.
In those days, zealous clergymen wera
much more rate than at present. I was
no better than my compeers, nor do I wish
to advance anywpretension to superior
merit; but I was one of those young mem
bers of the church militant who were
piqued at the success of Whitfield and
Wesley, and grieved at the practical hea
thenism of masses of our poor country
men.
That was why I became vicar of St. Pe
ter's. They had sore need of a spiritual
guide-, those poor inhabitants of Sallyport,
and no less need of a word of sound ad
vice at critical moments in their reckless
lives.
It was the war time, the time of the
great old war against Prance and the for
midatde ruler ol Fiance, and Uiitain was
straining every nerve to cope with an an
tagonist who leagued aga'nst her ulmost
all the might of Europe. We were fight
ing too haul abroad to have ltisure furre
foi ming at home. The morality of the
seaports, in especial, was lamentably low;
there was a frightful amount of drunken
ness, and there was not much more reli- ■
giou than among some benighted tribes of
savages.
During the first few months of my in
cumbency, I had an uphill tight to wage,
but 1 persevered, and 1 was thankful for
the results of my persistency. The peo
ple, w ho first stared at me, or jeered me,
learned to respect their vicar,and in some
cases, at least, to listen to and like hirn.
Sallyport was a town that depended part
ly on its merchant shipping, partly on
trial immoral trade of privateering which
the long struggle against Napoleon had
fostered into a regular profession. Ac
cordingly, there were times when the
whole place rang with revelry, when the
fiddles played all night at the sign of the
Valiant Sailor or the King tieorge, and
when the exulting privateersmen would
lling gold and silver out of the public
house windows, to be- scrambled for by
the mob without.
There were also times when bad luck
prevailed, when all were poor and d>jest
ed, and when my parishioners w ere in de
spair. I am glad to think that I did some
good. The good they did me was proba
bly in teaching me to entertain more hope
and trust in hum m nature, however de
based, than 1 hud previously felt. They
were a kindly generous race, that am
[dubious population, in spite of all their
faults.
I had been a twelvemonth among them,
and was tolerably popular, when the old
woman in whose house L lodged came one
evening to announce that ‘Mary Wade
wished to speak to me, if 1 pleased.’
Mary Wade was shown into my little
angular parlor, w here, auiid couch shells,
stuffed parrots, ostrich eggs, and dried
cuttle fish, I w as busy with iny immature
sermon.
‘Good evening, Mary; what can I do for
Gracious, what's the matter!'’
For Mary Wade, the instant Mrs. Sim
mons the landlady had closed the door,
put the corner of her shawl to her eyes,
and began to weep and sob most bitterly,
hut in a silent and suppressed lashion, as
if she feared to call attention toiler grief.
‘Dear me!’ said I, rising from my arm
chair, ‘I am sorry to see you in such af
fliction, poor girl. I hope your father is
not taken ill
For I knew that the retired naval quar
termaster, Mary's only surviving parent,
was very frail and old, and I could not
conjecture any more probable cau>c for
her agitation than the snapping of the
slight thread w hich bound that aged man
to file.
Mai v herself was a pretty, dark eyed
girl of modest demeanor, the most regu
lar church goer in the parish, and the
quickcst and neatest needlewoman in Sal
Ivport. The w ildest youngster in the
town would stop respectfully aside, as
Mary Wade passed along the pavement
with her work basket and her calm, hon
est eyes: and fierce termagants, whose
tongues mauled their neighbors cruelly,
w ere forced to own that old Wade bad a
pattern daughter, and the best of nurses
in his dotage.
‘O no, sir; Heaven be thanked, father’s
well; bu't I’m in grc.lt trouble, and indeed,
sir, you alone can help me.
‘lie sure that if it is in nlV power to
serve you, the will shall not be Jacking,
said I, soothingly ; though I had not i!: e
slightest idea what could have happened.
Dot I induced the girl to sit down and
compose herself a little, before continuing
licr.appeal for aid. Mary Wade sat down,
wiped away the tears that stained her rosy
cheeks, and burst out with a gasp : ‘0,
sir, it’s about Henry.’
I knew perfectly well who ‘Henry’ was,
and in what relation he stood to the pret
tv weeping petitioner. Henry Mills was
one of the finest young seamen on all the
coast ; he was as brave as a lion, and his
character was unblemished. I had heard
with pleasure that he had been promised
a place as fourth officer on board an In
diaman, and that on his return from his
first voyage I was to publish the bans of
marriage between Mary Wade, spinster,
and himself.
The young lover I had seen but twice;
he bad been chiefly absent on coasting
voyages; for although the privateer cap
tains were eager to secure so flrstrate a
hand for their vessels, young Mills had
always declined their offers. ‘Mary and
her father didn’t like it,’ the lad bad the
moral courage to reply to more than one
oily-tongued tempter, who told of French
and Spanish prizes, of neb ships embayed
among the sandy islets of the West In
dies, and of sailors who bad won a sack
ful of dollars by the flash of a cutlass, or
the snapping of a pistol. Henry Mills
was naturally of an adventurous disposi
tion, and I can well imagine that he often
looked with a sort of envy at the depar
ture of a gallant ship’s company, flushed
with hope and confidence, on the then fa
vorite errand of plundering the enemy.—
But old Wade, a very sober and religious
man, had scruples regarding this rough
and wanton trade, scruples which bis
daughter shared, and which his iutended
,SQB-\ifclaw revyeet'vtv
So, when poor Mary Wwde sobbed out
the -words, *0, sir, it's about Henry,’ I
was fairly puzzled.
‘Henry !’ said I; ‘surely he is at sea,
and out of the Downs by this time ; and
in a few months we shall hope to see him
come back from Calcutta to claim his
wife. The Clive was to have sailed a week
since.’
‘Ah, your reverence, but the Clive did
not sail.’ sobbed Mary; ‘and now my poor
dear Henry will be taken by the press
gang, and sent off to the fleet and sea, as
so many of our poor lads have been, and
he will be killed in these horrid wars. I
shall never, never see him more.’
And the girl wept more piteously than
ever, struggling the while to repress her
sobs, lest Mrs. Simmons should hear them
and grow inquisitive; for my landlady,
though a good sort of a woman, was an
inveterate gossip, and publicity would be
fatal to the plan which Mary had already
formed in her head.
A plan there was, and no bad one, to be
the device of a young woman of nineteen,
whose life had hitherto been spent in the
simplest domestic duties. But before
coming to this notable scheme, which will
develop itself in due time, I must point
out what was the danger against which it
was directed.
Men were in great request at that time
for the royal navy. The bounty was high,
hut the service, in those days of Hogging
and discomfort, was by no means so at
tractive as at present. It was on the press
gang that the Admiralty chiefly relied for
manning the fleet, and at this particular
period the man of war tender Grasper,
commanded by Lieutenant Barnes, lay in
Sallyport harbor, and her crew were busy
on shore.
As yet, the Grasper’s men had made
but few captures of able seamen, at least,
for the few sailors whom the town still
contained were hidden away most care
fully in artful places of concealment, and
did not venture to stir abroad until the
pressgang should be gone. But Mary
Wade had just learned the fact that Lieu
tenant Barnes had discovered the biding
place of a number of seamen, who were
stowed away in an obscure public bouse,
in one of the waterside suburbs, and that
this preserve of human beings were to be
pounced upon that very night.
‘And Henry’s there, sir,’ said the poor
girl, in a timid whisper, ‘he is there along
with the rest, and will be taken with
them. Oh, sir, it was so unfortunate, the
delay about his going up to London to join
iiis ship. But the Clive proved to be in
want of some repairs in her rigging or,
masts, or sotnet* ing, and is still in dock;
and the captain wrote word Henry need
not come up ; and he was here when the
Grasp, r came into port, and was obliged
to bide like the other sailors, because
Lieutenant Barnes—that cruel man — had
sent a party by land from l’idemouth to
intercept any poor fellows trying to es
cape by the road. And now they are ail
snared, like birds in a net, and in a few
hours they'll all be in irons on board the
king's ship.’
1 was myself much alarmed by thisan
nonneement. I had long taken a good
deal of interest in this humble pair of lov
ers ; though I had but a slight acquaint
ance personally, with the young mariner,
I still regretted much to hear that his
prospects of happiness should be thus
nipped in the bud, and Mary's distress
would have moved a more callous obser
ver than myself.
I tried to comfort her, by suggesting
that Henry Mills would be released on ex
hibiting his written proofs that he filled
the post of fourth officer in an Iudiaman;
but Mary replied that this chance was de
nied him; he had no written appointment
to show, nothing but the captain’s letter,
and Lieutenant Barnes—a hard, over
bearing man, detested by all the seafaring
population of that coast—would laugh
his expostulations to scorn.
‘I heard, sir,’ said the girl, ‘that the
Lieutenant was specially anxious to get
my lierry into his clutches. He has got
a list, soun how, of most of the Sallyport
men, and he knows there’s no sailor
among them all,except perhaps Minns and
Hatchet, who are away to South America,
to compare with my dear Henry, and they
do so want men to fight the dreadful bat
tles, and ’
Here she broke down altogether.
‘But what can I do to assist in this mat
tery’ asked I, in great perplexity, for
Mary kept sobbing out incoherent assev
! orations that ‘I alone—I alone, could save
them both, if I pleased.’
‘Of course I will do all I can,’ said I, as
I paced the room; ‘but I own I can see no
way out of this distressing atfair. I fear
it would be of little use to speak to the
ollicer; he is a severe man, and not very
scrupulous, or report does him great in
justice. If I were to go to the place,
and then give warning to the men con
cealed— ’
‘Ah ! no, sir; it is too late for that,’ said
the girl, shaking her head. ‘Before I
heard of what was to bo done, which
came about through a neighbor's child
overhearing the talk of the men-ol-war’s
men, every- way was beset and guarded.
I dared not go there. I don't even think
t'ue poor lads know their danger, and,
my dear sir, they don’t know they arc
sold.’
‘Sold!’ I exclaimed.
‘Yes, sir,’ answered Mary. ‘The child
I spoke of heard the tender’s crew boast
ing among themselves how they had trap
ped the wariest of the merchant seamen
at last, and how the landlady of the Blue
! Dolphin—to think any one should be so
; base—had betrayed the poor men that
were in hiding, to get fifteen guineas from
i the Lieutenant.’
This treachery did not much surprise
ine, for I knew that the crimps, at whose
houses sailors Were hidden until they
could safely go on board their ships, not
' unfreijuently gave secret Information to
the pressgang, when bribed sufficiently.
However, I again declared my readiness
to do all in my power, while avowing that
I could suggest no resource in the dilem
ma. Mary, however, was prepared with
a scheme, 'which at first seemed crude
and rash to me, but which I willingly
agreed to essay, in default of any other
plan.
‘ Thank you, sir, a thousand, thousand
times, whether you succeed or not in sa
ving my poor Henry. I will pray to God
for you till my dying day, dear Mr.
Hawley.’
So saying, Mary Wade dried her eyes,
wip$d away the glistening stains of tear
drops from her face; and tripped demure
ly from the room and down the passage,
wishing Mrs. Simmons a goodnight as she
went by, in a quiet, cheerful tone, as if
her heart were not full to bursting of an
agony of hope and fear.
She was gone, and I had inv work to
do. I felt rather nervous about it.it was
so foreign to my usual mode of life ; it
was an errand of mercy, no doubt, but it
hardly seemed of a clerical nature. I
was putting away my unfinished sermon,
and bad my hat on, and my greatcoat,
ready to sally forth, when Mrs. Simmons
came, truj to the usual hour, jingling
with the tea-tray.
‘Lawks, Mr. Hawley, I’d no idea you
was going out any more,’ said my landla
dy, with just a shade of tartness in her
tone ; ‘ and without your tea, too; what
a pity you let me toast the crumpets.’
Batchelors of mild disposition are not
uncommonly a little henpecked by their
landladies, housekeepers, or indeed nny
middle aged female with whom they have
anything to do, and I was a very punctu
al man in general, and given to early
hours. So, I daresay, I winced some
what at Mrs. Simmon’s remark; but
briefly excusing my apparent caprice on
the ground of a visit to a parishioner
who was in some danger, I hurried out.
It was a dark night in foggy December,
not very cold, but damp and raw. The
streets of Sallyport,unclean and ill-paved,
presented a most gloomy appearance as I
groped my wav along them by such fee
ble light as the wretched oil lamps,
sparsely hung in the main thoroughfare,
afforded. I knew the Blue Dolphin, a
house of resort for merchant seamen, in
rather an out-of-the-way nook, but I had
never visited the neighborhood save in
broad daylight; and it cost mo some
trouble to find it on the night in question.
After twice losing ray way among narrow
alleys, paved with sharp pebbles, and
where the crazy wooden dwellings,caulk
ed and pitched like so many fishing
smacks, were tapestried with nets and
perfumed with herrings, I at last found
! myself within sight of the creaking sign
board, on whose ground of faded pink the
Blue Dolphin displayed his cerulian scales
and courted custom.
As I approached, two men, wrapped in
those rough blue coats which sailors call
‘ gregos,’ and with glazed hats slouched
over their faces, sprang forward from un
der an archway on the right; while two
more, who might have been twin-brothers
to the Grst couple, emerged from a blind
alley on the left. I heard their cutlasses
clink as they moved, and I saw the brass
bound stock of a pistol peeping out of the
breast-pocket of the man who caught me
rudely by the wrist. The pressgang !
‘What cheer, brother! 1 ’ growled my
captor, holding me fast. ‘ Whither so
fast, at this time ’o night?’
‘ What sor,t of fish have you netted,
Bill ?’ said another deep voice. ‘ Is he
worth picking up to nibble his majesty's
biscuit, eh ?’
• lie’s only a Jand lubber; don’t you
twig bis shore-going logs?’ grumbled
the redoubtable Bill, whose grip was like
the pressure of a vice. ‘Still, he might
do for a waistcr, if not for one of the af
ter-guard.’
I now recovered from the first shock of
surprise. I proclaimed my name and
sacred calling, demanded my instant re
lease, and warned them that they would
be punished if the)' molested a clergy
man.
The men grumbled between their teeth
| some allusion to ‘gammon,’ and ‘a cock
that wouldn’t fight,’ when, luckily for
me, a little sunburned imp of a midship
man came on the scene,followed by three
seamen, one of whom had a lantern.—
The moment I saw the light glinting on
the boy’s gold-laced cap, 1 knew deliver
ance was at hand. I renewed my appeal.
‘Avast, you fools!’ cxcluinied the
youngster. ‘Lift the iantern Suiithers;
throw the glim on the chap’s face—so. —
Bill Jeffreys, you dunderheaded son of a
sea-cook, let the gentleman go. I beg
your pardon, sir, for these fellows’ blun
der, but generally, in the dark, all’s fish
that come to our net. Hope they hav’nt
hurt you ?’
I hastily assured the little officer .that I
was none the worse lor the rough hand
ling of his followers, took my departure
at once,and in two seconds more was tap
ping at the door of the Blue Dolphin.
No notice was taken of the knocking
until I ventured to rattle the latch up and
down, and to rtip smartly with my foot
against the panels. Then, indeed, there
was a great stamping and shuttling to be
heard inside ; a light appeared at a lattice
overhead, and the window was cautiously
opened, while a female voice said, ‘Who's
there ? You can’t come in, for were all
just gone to bed.’
‘ To bed at nine o'clock, Mrs. Smart! —
Your usual hours must have been strange-'
ly altered, I should say,’ answered I. ‘Be
so kind as to admit me at once. I must
speak to some of the men who are here.’
‘Men!’ exclaimed the voice from the
upper window. ‘ You’re talking of what
you don’t understand. There’s no men
here but my husband and the lame
hostler.*
‘ I must see the persons I seek,’ I re
plied with energy, but still in a cautious
tone. ‘ You ought to know my voice.—
I am Mr. Hawley, the vicar, and I will
and must be let in.’
A good deal of consultation took place,
in alternate whispers and growls,between
Mrs. Smart and some one I guessed to be
her husband, the landlord ; and then the
light was withdrawn, and the treacherous
iandiady came down to admit me, fawn
ing and apologising for the delay in a
manner that sickened me, cognizant as I
was of her having sold the liberties of
her guests for a bribe.
I was at once ushered into the long low
room, opening on the stable-vard, where
the concealed sailors Were assembled.—
Through a cloud of tobacco smoke—the
room itself being dimly lighted by a sea
coal fire and a coop's: nV won lamps fed
vritb coarse whale oil—I could make out
that about thirty men were present.—
These were, for the most part, strong,
able-bodied sailors—some mere lads, oth
ers with grizzled hair and weather-beaten
faces; but the nautical garb and bearing
of all were plain enough.
They were gathered in knots of four or
Bve, conversing, drinking their grog from
tumblers and pannikins, or moodily puff
ing their clay-pipes. My appearance at
first created some stir, but several of the
men knew me, and told the others they
need not fear—‘it was only Mr. Hawley,
the good parson of Sallyport.’ Poor fel
lows I as they respectfully made way for
me to pass them, I loathed the treachery
which had betrayed them to the kidnap
pers, and I would have warned them to
Hec, had flight been possible ; but I well
knew that every avenue was guarded,and
that, although the merchant sailors were
well provided with bludgeons and knob
bed sticks, they had little chance against
the trained attack of the press-gang. I
therefore turned to the corner of the
room, where a tine-looking young sailor,
taller by the head than any there, and
with a very pleasing expression in his
handsome, honest face, sat alone, lost in
melancholy thoughts. I approached.—
* Henry Mills,’ said f. in a subdued tone,
* I wish to speak with you apart from the
rest. You may remember me, Mr. Haw
ley, the vicar of Sallyport. I was asked
to come by some one who takes an inter
est in you.’
‘By Mary, sir, was it?’ asked the
young man, springing up. ‘ Have you a
message for me, sir, from the dear girl ?’
‘ Hush!’ said f, coming nearer, ‘hush ! 1
I cannot tell you what I have to tell, un
til you promise to obey my instructions
in all this business. I cannot save you
unless you will do so—unless you will
promise not to be rash. And it was to
ask that I would render you a service
that your sweetheart, Mary Wade, came
to me this night.’
‘ Bless her kind little heart!’ said Mills
warmly; ‘ but, indeed, sir, there’s no
special danger; we’re safe here, and the
Grasper’s crew can’t find us; and early
to-morrow— ’
‘ To-morrow will bo too late,’ whisper
ed I. ‘I cannot explain matters here.—
A hasty word would ruin all. Let us
have a lew minutes' talk in some quieter
room than this.’
‘ Well, sir, if you wish it. The tap’s
quite empty, and wo can talk there all
by ourselves. There's a lantern in the
passage, and I can unhook it os we go by.’
The conversation lasted about ten min
utes, for every moment was precious.—
At the end of that time young Mills, his
oilskin-covered hat slouched over his
face, and the collar of his monkey-jacket
turned up so as almost to conceal his
mouth and chin, returned to the long low
room, and sat down in the same secluded
corner, apparently lost in thought
And almost at the same inement, the
Rev. Joseph Hawley, incumbent of the
Parish of Sallyport, quitted the public
house, acknowledging, in the curtest and
most laconic fashion, the profuse civili
ties and verbose good-wishes of the land
lady of the Blue Dolphin.
The man-of-war’s men were hanging
about the archway and the blind alley as
thick as bees, and humming fortli a note
of preparation ; but as the gleam of their
lantern felt on the long great coat, the
white neckcloth, umbrella, and beaver
hat of their late captive, they opened
their ranks and let him pass.
‘Good-night, your reverence! pleasant
dreams, old boy !' said the young mid
sbiptCLan, with a giggle at his own wit,
and the seamen gave a smothered laugh,
which ceased as an important looking per
sonage in a cloak, with cocked-hat and
clinking sword, came up — Lieutenant
Barnes himself. But even the Lieutenant
had no power to stay a minister of reli
gion, and Mr. Hawley went on his nay
unmolested.
The proceedings of the vicar of Sally
port that night were very singular; he did
not go home to his lodgings, his tea and
crumpets, but hung about the dark streets
till the hour of ten, when the royal mail,
witli horn and clash of hoofs and wheels,
rcdcoated guard and bluff coachman,came
dashing through Sallyport; and then who
should appear at the coach-door, just be
fore it drove off from the office, but the
Rev. Joseph Hawley.
He modestly announced that ho was
going to London. An inside place was
vacant; he occupied it. ‘No luggage, sir? |
All right, Thomas.’ Up jumped the red- :
coated guard, crack went the whip, twang j
went the horn, and off rolled the coach j
towards London. The pressgang exam
ined the royal mail two miles out of Sal
lyport, hut found no runaway seamen.—
What, to them, was the name of the Rev.
Josepli Hawley in the waybill, or the pres
ence of the Rev. Joseph Hawley in the
interior of the vehicle! At exactly ten
minutes to ten, the men-of-war’s men and :
marines, with clubs, cutlasses, and crow
bars, broke into the Bluo Dolphin public ;
house, and captured every man there.— j
This was not effected without a dreadful ]
fight. Bones were broken, many wounds '
and bruises exchanged, and more than |
one pressed man was taken senseless on
board the Grasper.
But Henry Mills made no resistance ;
he was taken as easily as a lamb is secur
ed by the butcher, and the captors were
half disappointed that so gallant and pow
erfully built a young man should have
shown the white feather.
However, when Lieutenant Barnes, at
half-past eleven o’clock reviqwed his pris
oners on the deck of the Grasper, by the
light of a f hip's lantern, he found out with
dismay that the prisoner in the pea-jacket
and glazed hat was not Henry Mills at all,
but the Rev. Joseph Hawley, M. A., vicar
of Sallyport; and he made the further dis
covery, that Henry Mills having changed
clothes with his friend, the clergyman in
question, was already far beyond danger,
speeding as fast towards London as four
active horses could convey him.
I pass over the oaths and lamentations,
both loud and deep, of the crestfallen
Lieutenant Barnes. But the laugh was
against him. and ho was glad to go to sea
in the Grasper before nightfall on the fol
lowing day. Half a year later, I had the
pleasure of uniting in holy matrimony
the hands of Henry Mills, third officer in
the Olive. Indiaman, and pretty Mary
Wade.
Tkcth Is mighty and will prevail.
From tie Hew Hsmpoilro Itua lid CMOS.
Ulnki' Conscript Pens.
The man who hag been sent from Mas
sachusetts into this State to sec to “catch
ing” and “ taking care ” of conscripts,
and whose august and sublime presence
graces the capital of New Hampshire, has
been engaged,with a large retinue of sub
alterns, in constructing a huge pen upon
the fair grounds in which to confine men
who were most unfortunately born white,
upon our soil,and have hitherto been sup
posed—foolishly—to have some rights
worthy of respect among their fellow men.
This pen of Ilinks’ is constructed of wood,
well secured and picketed with iron* It
is several feet high, and bears a strong
'resemblance to" those imaginary pens
which the Abolitionists have been telling
about for several years as scattered all
over the South for securing the poor
downtrodden slaves. How pathetically
they have talked and wept crocodile tears
over the miseries of these slave pens of
the South. Uow they have stirred up
the feelings of our people. How they
have expatiated in the pulpits and ros
trums and through the newspaper press
upon the horrors of humanity incarcera
ted like impounded beasts, down in Vir
ginia nnd the Carolines. The)’ have
turned the world upside down and con
structed a literal hell upon earth with its
lurid fires glaring defiance to Heaven all
on account of a subject matter of which
they were as ignorant as an unborn child.
They have sneaked into the churches, in
to the parlors, drawing-rooms, nurseries,
boudoirs and sculleries, crept into the
prayer meetings nnd sewing circles, de
fied the Creator and desecrated the best
of his works, all about the slavery and
slave pens of the South. They befooled
one-third of the people and elected an
Abolition President who never received a
single vote in ten States of the Union,
because his platform was a declaration of
war upon sovereign States, and upon
their clear constitutional rights, as ex
pounded by the Supreme Court. They
got up this war, deluged the land with
blood, and converted our heritage of free
dom and equal rights into a huge Golgo
tha of human skulls. Now they are
building slave pens for our white citizens,
binding them in manacles and thrusting
them in like hunted beasts, because they
have no business to be white unless they
have three hundred dollars to pay for the
luxurious privilege. Ilinks thinks he is
doing a smart thing. He is a Massachu
setts scurvy politician, educated in the
Jacobinical school of Sumner and Garri
son, in mental capacity a plcbian, in
physical manners a flunkey. He is our
New Hampshire slave driver, imported
for this special occasion, under the aus
pices of our Gilmore administration. He
strides our capital like a gorgeous Colos
sus, and no free citizen, or no citizen
heretofore considered free, has the right
to ask “ Why do ye so V” It is a part of
t.ie war policy, the military necessity of
the federal administration to overthrow
the free States of the North in order to
subjugate the slave States of the South,
to make conscript slaves of our own
white citizens in the great work of giving
“freedom ” to the negroes of other States.
The work goes bravely on and Hinks’
conscript pen is receiving its victims.—
Detachments have been sent from this
city during the past week to swell the
solemn throng. And still they come.—
These ample acres where cattle and hogs
were wont to be displayed to gaping, in
telligent crowds in times just past, are
now the arena of a dilferent kind of ex
hibition, with an enticing premium of hu
man blood as the only stimulant for cora
petitjon.
Granting, for the moment, all the pre
tended necessities of the Conscription,we
have the right to demand that our citi
zens who are forced to take upon them
selves the dangers of the war, shall be
treated like men having human feelings
and emotions, and not like brutes or gal
ley slaves. But we hear no word of pro
test from any administration satrap. No
administration newspaper has a breath of
fault to find. The shoddy contractors,
official plunderers and thieves, look on,
and like the Pharisee thank God that
they are not as the poor conscript, hut
they fast twice a week and give tithes of
all they possess, sublimely inspired with
in their halls of damask, with walls fes
tooned from the fruits of plunder at the
South. What has become of that vast
exuberance of human compassion and
sympathy which throbbed their bosoms
in behalf of the happy and contented ne
groes of the plantation ? It still runs in
frothy channels, the pestiferous malaria
of the land, the brave man's scourge, the
patriot’s hate, the banc of liberty, the
curse of humanity. Until this is’check
ed, dried up forever, there is no hope for
our country or our race.
Wno was Petek f—There ore few po
sitions of more delicacy than in interro
gating Sunday schools, especially young
scholars. This is shown by experience
of a clergyman who was opposed to hav
ing any mirth in Sunday schools He
thought it injurious to all and unneces
sary to the entertainment of the children.
He offered to address the school and show
how they could be well entertained seri
ously. The following dialogue ensued.—
“Children, I am going to tell you about
Peter. Who knows who Peter was ?” —
No answer. “ Cannot any one—those
large girls—tell me who Pe'er was ?”—
“ I can,” -said a littlo fellow over in the
corner. “ Ah, that’s a good boy. Now
you come up on the platform by my side,
and stand up in this chair and tell those
girls who Peter was.” Jimmy did as he
was bid and in the shrill voice of child
hood repeated, “Peter, Peter, was a
pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldn’t
keep her." At this point he was request
ed to stop, but not before the full point
was taken by the school, and Mother
Goose’s poem appreciated.
Mr. Toot coming home late one night
from “ meeting,” was met at the door by
his wife. “ Pretty time of night, Mr. Toot,
for you to come home—pretty time, three
o’clock in the morning; you, a respectable
man in the community, and the father of
a family I" “ ’Tisn’t three—it’s only one,
I heard it strike ; council always sits till
one o’clock." “My soul! Mr. Toot, you’re
drunk—as true as I’m alive you’re drunk.
It’s three in the morning.’’ " I say, Mrs.
Toot, I’m sure it’s one, because I heard it
strike one as I came around the corner,
two or three times."
NUMBER«.
A Rebel Pobtbait or Jam. bmmmr
The following pen m4 ink portrett-ia from
the ChaHa»eegnSf|pi We should judge
that it was not ftTJom cortnctZl-
Abraham Lincoln is s mb above the
medium height. 'HepoMkfhe six foot
mark by an inch or is nw
boned, shamble knock
kneed, pigeon-toed, s<mHHH, s shape*
less skeleton is a very tuBgb, eery dirty,
unwholesome skin. His hair is or was
black, and shaggy, his eyes dark and Bre*
less, like a coal grate in winter time. His
lips are large and protrude beyond the
natural level of the face, but are pale and
smeared with tobacco juice. His teeth
are filthy. In oorjovenile days we were
struck with Virgil’s description of the
ferryman who rowed the disembodied
souls of men over the river of death.—
Lincoln, if our memory fail us not, must
be a near kinsman of that official of the
other world. At all events they look
alike, and, if a relationship be claimed
when Abraham reaches the ferry, be will
be able, we do not doubt, to go over free
of toll. In the next place, his voice is
coarse, untutored, harsh—the voice of
one who has no intellect, snd less morsl
nature. His msnners are low in the ex
treme, and where his talk is not obscene
it is senseless. In a word, Lincoln, born
and bred a rail-splitter, is a rail-splitter
still. Bottom, the weaver, was not more
out of place in the lap of Titania than her
on the throne of the ex-republic.
Tns Lincoln Administration.— For two
years and a half Mr. Lincoln has been
President of the United States. What
miserable and disastrous years they have
been to our country ! "How much of
prosperity and happiness have bens. de
stroyed— how many bright hopes have
been scattered to the winds 1 Of how
many States may it be ssM, with trnth,
that Mr. Lincoln found them a garden
and has left them deserts; of how many
flourishing institutions that he found in
reality, and left them but a name; of bow
many families that he found them united
and prosperous, while tbey are now de
cimated by war and divided by faction (
The exchequer of America was full, and is
empty ; her credit was high, and is all
but extinct; snd the evil of to-dsy is re
garded by those who can foresee and cal
culate the future as altogether light and
endurable compared with the disaster*
which are looked for from to-morrow.—
And yet, another year and a half must bo
endured before the people will be able to
escape from the despotic rule of the pres
ent f Administration whose imbecility and
mismanagement have brought so much
distress upon them. Patience I
The Voice of Aroostook, Maine.—
The following comprehensive resolution
« as passed by the democrats of Aroos
took, Maine !
Resolved, That whilo our beloved
country was governed by Democratic
principles snd Democratic rule, it showed
to the world a people prosperous, happy
and blest beyond example. Two years
of Republican Abolition rale has garner*
ed as its fruits i
A violated Constitution.
Two hundred thousand new mods
graves.
Three hundred thousand cripples.
Four hundred thousand orphans and
widows.
A national debt of fifteen hundred mil
lions of dollars.
A burden of taxation far above the re
sources of the people.
A shinplaster currency.
An almost utter prostration of all busi'
ness except official swindling.
A whole nation impoverished, demor*
alized and disheartened, and, worse than
all, fast becoming infidel to the elemen
tary principles of free government.
Toe Result of Street Education.—
Keep your children off the street
By that we mean, do not let them make
acquaintances on the sidewalks. If they
frequeut the public schools, you must es
tablish a sort of verbal quarantine at yonr
own door, and examine the youthful
tongue once a day, to see if it has not got
a secretion of slander upon it
Mrs. Careful's little son Manfred came
running into the paternal mansion the
other day, shouting to the cook :
“ Now, then, old girl, let’s see you slap
up that dinner 1”
“ Why, Manfred 1” began his astonish
ed mother, “ where did you learn such
language 7 Who have you been playing
with r
“ Me." said the hopeful; “ I play with
Dick Turner, ’cause he’s a bully boy with
a glass eye ! That’s so."
The fond mother was about to express
some astonishment at the optical mister*
tune of Dick, when the son continued :
“ Ma, I’m going to buy a plug. Jem
Smith wears one, and I'm as big as he."
“ A plug !" gasped the mother.
“Yes, sir-ec, a plug. I’ve got the
spondnlics salted down in my box, sure.
It’s bound to come."
The mother at this juncture ordered
the youngster up stairs, and sent ter *
man-servant to interpret the slang.
A sailor went to a watchmaker, and
presenting a small French watch to him,
demanded to know how much the repair
of it would come to. The watchmaker,
after examining it, said :
“ It will be more expense repairing
than the original cost."
“I don’t mind that,” said the tar, “I
will even give you double the original
cost, for I have a veneration for the
watch.”
“ What might you have given for it ?"
said the watchmaker.
“Why,” replied the Ur, “I gave*
fellow a blow on the head for it: if
you repair it, I will give you two.’*
All Equal Herb.—It is related of the-
Duke.of Wellington, that once when he
remained to take the sacrament at bin
parish church, a very poor old Man bad
gone up the opposite aisle, and reaching
the communion Uble, knelt down dose
by the Duke; some one— a pew owner,
probably—came and touched the poor
man on the sbolder, whispered to move
further away, or iu visa and wait until
the Duke bad received the bread and
wine. But the eegle eye end the fsiek
ear of the great oommander caught th*
meaning of that touch and that whisper.
He clasped the old man’s hand held Ufa,
to prevent his rising, and in a reveren
tial undertone, but most distinctfr, aw}
“ Do not move—we are all equal hath.*'