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Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current, January 07, 1847, Image 1

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<1 311 P?r annum.
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1 J No. 34. VVtioi.R No. 1074.
3Tfje 2LftcfjftrttJ I5nqufrer,
In the Building next East of the Court-house.
Village and single Mail subscribers, $1.30,
or $1.23 per annum, in advance.
In Bundles of 20 and upwards, $125; or, it
paid for stricthj in advance, $1.00.
{ttf-The low price at which we have placed
the Enquirer, renders it necessary that our
erms should be strictly complied with.
jiM s c e U a Ul>.
Into the Silent Land !
Ah ! who shall lead us thither ?
_ Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, j
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand,
v Who leads us with a gentle hand
Thither, 0, thither,
Into the Silent Land !
Into the Silent Land !
To you, ye boundless regions
Of alt perfection ! Tender morning visions
Of beauteous souls! The Future pledge and
band !
Who in Life’s battle firm doth stand
Shall hear Hope's tender blossoms
. Into the Silent Land !
, O Land ! O Land !
For all the broken-hearted
The mildest herald by our late allotted
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand
To lead us with a gentle hand
Into the land of the great departed,
Into the Silent Land !
Immortal matron ! on the rolls of fame,
What one has gained a more resplendent name?
Great Washington was thine, in early morn,
To rule Columbia's land, of thee was born ;
In Vernon’s shades consigned, amid its gloom,
His form majestic to the mouldering tomb,
Thou wert his parent loved; thou bad st hint
From realms sublimer, and to brighter skies.
Gone to a nobler world, to regions bright,
Of pure, unclouded and celestial light;
Far known and famed, thy milder virtues shine.
Tluu art thy country's boast, their love is
Litchfield.Dec. 31, IS 16.
Rest, pilgrim, rest; their hopes for thea
Are calm and bright as summer stars.
That shine on graves where dew drops fell :
So shine their.hopes—so fall their tears.
The peace that now they deem is thine.
Lightens the sadness wliieh is theirs—
Rest, pilgrim, rest.
The grave is still. The storms of i f*— •
I’heir tumult cannot reach so deep,
Nor sorrow's sigh, nor (ear’s alarm,
Disturb the silence ol that sleep.
Nor cares about the sluinberer’s couch
For aye their ceaseless vigil keep :
Sleep, pilgrim,sleep.
But not the grave thy spirit's flight
Hath trammelled with its clinging sod ;
E’en now,we trnst.from heaven’s lar heights
It scans the path that here it trod ;
And rests, in glory, from its toil,
Safe in the kingdom of thv God.
Rest, pilgrim, rest.
Hartford, Dec. 1846. J- l w.
Are we almost there—are we almost there ?”
Said a dying girl as she drew near home—
Are those our poplar trees which rear
Their forms so high ’gainst the heaven’s blue
dome ?
Then she talked of her flowers, and thought of
the well,
Where the cool water splashed o’er the large
white stone.
And she thought it would soothe like a fairy
Could she drink from that fount when the fe
ver was on.
While vet so y< ung, and her bloom grew less,
They had borne her away to a kindlier clime—
For she would not tell that ’(was only distress
Which had gathered life’s rose in its sweet
spring time.
And she had looked when they bade her to
At many a ruin and many a shrine—
At the sculptured niche, and the pictured nook,
And marked from high places the sun s de
But in secret she sighed for a quiet spot.
Where she eft had played in childhood’s hour;
Tho’ shrub and flowre’t marked it not
’Twas dearer to her than the gayest bower.
And oft did she ask, ‘‘Are we almost there ?”
But her voice grew faint,and her flushed cheek
And they strove to soothe her, with useless
As her sighs would escape on the evening gale.
Then swiftly, more swiftly they hurried her on
But their anxious hearts felt a chill despair,
For when the light of that eye was gene.
And the quick pulse stopped, she was almost
We saw. in ihe Central Market, a Cow
from one of whose hind quarters some,
two or three pounds of JUsh had been re
cently cut in a manner which showed
that theact must have been done deliber
meiv' The brutal devil v;ho did it must,
have first made the poor animal fast, and
C then proceeded to slice out the living
V quivering muscle, by repeated strokes of
^Thisis'the second instance of the same
iJdSitf " *«“'<• *"d r“"r *°°d
name ot our city begins to require that
ouTo&cer, should do .someth, ngto pre
vent a recurrence of it.—Sf. Louu Era.
In the limited States Circuit Court yes
terday, the case of the Post Office Depait
«ea1 w- Thompson & Co. was concluded by
iTrerdict not guilty. The two counts relied
L i. the indictment, were-the carriage of
a letter ia one instance where no pay was
a letter »u other a receipt for
moneVin~p»ynt*®t of a taUor’s bill. The
Judge ruleTihat orders, or bills accompa
nying goods, were not mailable matter with
in Unmeaning of the law-and that the
carriage of letters by the agents of defend
ants, contrary to express instructions, could
aot implicate thesa.—Bost■ Whig
It was at the battle of Brandywipe that
Count Pulaski appeared in all his glory.
As he rode, charging theie, into the
thickest of the battle, he was a warrior to
look upon but once, and never forget
Mounted on a large black horse, whose
strength and beauty of shape made you
forget the plainness of his caparison, Pulas
ki himself, with a form six feet in height,
massive chest and limbs of iron, was attired
in a white uniform, that was seen from afar,
relieved by the black clouds of battle. His
face, grim with the scars of Poland, was the
face of a man who had seen much trouble,
endured much wrong. It was stamped with
an expression of abiding melancholy. Bron
zed in hue, lighted by large, dark eyes, with
the lip darkened by a thick moustache, his,
throat and chin covered with a heavy bearu,
while his hair fell in raven masses, from
beneath his trooper’s cap, shielded with a
ridge of glittering steel. His hair and beard
were of the same hue.
The sword that hung by his side, fash
ioned of tempered steel, with a hilt of iron,
was one that a warrior alone could lift.
It was in this army he rode to battle, fol
lowed by a band of three hundred men
whose faces, burnt with the scorching of a
tropical sun, or hardened by northern snows,
bore the scars of many a battle. They
were mostly Europeans; some Germans,
some Polanders, some deserters from the
British army. These were the men to fight.
To be taken by the British would be death,
and death on the gibbet; therefore they
fought their best and fought to the last gasp,
rather than mutter a word about “quarter.”
When they charged it was as one man,
their three hundred swords flashing over
their heads, against the clouis of battle.—
They came down upon the enemy in terrible
silence, without a word spoken, not even a
whisper. You could hear the tramp of their
steeds, you could hear the rattling of their
scabboards, but that was all.
Yet when they closed with the British,
you could hear a noise, like the echo of a
hundred hammers, beating the hot iron on
the anvil. You could see Pulaski himself,
riding yonder in,his white uniform, his
black steed rearing nloft, as turning his
head over his shoulder he spoke to his men :
“Fohwakts, Burden, forvvarts!”
It was but unbtoken German, yet they
understood it, those three hundred men of
sunburnt face, wounds and gashes. With
me burst they crashed upon the enemy.—
For a few moments they used their swords,
and '.lien the ground was covered with dead,
while the living enemy scathed in panic be
fore their path.
It was on this battle-day of Brandywine
that the Count was in his glory. He un
derstood but little English, so he spake what
lie had to say with the edge of hi* sword.—
It was a severe Lexicon, but the British
soon learned to read it, and to know it, and
fear it. All over the field, from yonder
Quaker meeting house away to the top of
Osborne's Hill, the soldiers of the enemy
saw Pulaski come, and learned to know his
name by heart.
That white uniform, that bronzed visage,
that black horse with burning eye and quiv
:ring nostrils, they knew the warrior well;
they trembled when they heard him say :
“ Forwarts, Burdern, forwarts!”
It was in the retreat of Brandywine, that
the Polander was mo»t terrible. It was when
the men of Sullivan—badly armed, poorly
fed, shabbily clad—gave way, step by *tep,
before the overwhelming discipline of the
British host, that Pulaski looked like a
battle-fiend, mounted on his demon steed.
His cap had fallen from his brow. His
bared head shone in an occasional sunbeam,
or grew crimson with a flash from the can
on or rifle. His while uniform was rent
and stained; in fact, from head to foot, he
was covered with dust and blood,
Still his right arm was free—still it rose
there, executing a British hireling, when it
lell—still his voice was heard, hoarse and
husky, hut strong in its evety tone—“For
warts, Brudern !**
He beheld the division of Sullivan re
treating from the battle field; he saw the
British yonder, stripping their coats from
their backs in the madness of pursuit. He
looked to the South, for Washington, who,
with the reserve, under Greene, was hurry
ing to the rescue, bat the American Chief
was not in view.
Then Balaski was convulsed with rage.
He rode'‘madly upon the bayonets of the
pursuing British, his sword gathering vic
tim after victim; even there, in front of their
whole army, he flun; his steed across the
path of the retreating Americans, he be
sought them, in his broken English, to turn,
to make one more effort; he shouted in
hoarse tones that the day was not yet lost!
They did not understand his words, but
the tones in which he spake thrilled their
That picture, too, standing out uom me
clouds of battle—a warrior,convulsed with
passion, covered with blood, leaning over the
neclf of his steed, while his eyes seemed
turned to fire, and the muscles of his bron
zed face writhed like serpents-ihat picture,
I say, filled many a heart with new courage,
nerved many a wounded arm for the fight
Those retreating men turned, they faced
the enemy again—like greyhounds at bay
before the wolf—they sprang upon the necks
of the foe, and bore them down by one des
perate charge.
It was at this moment that Washington
came rushing once more to the battle.
Those people know but little of the Amer
ican General who call him the American
Fabius, that is, a geueral compound of pru
dence and caution, with but a spark of en
terprise. American Fabius! When yon
will show me that the Roman Fabius had a
heart of fire, nerves of steel, a soul that
hungered for the charge, an enterprise, that (
rushed from wilds like the Skippack upon
an army, like the British at Germantown, or
started from ice or snow, like that which lay
across the Delaware, upon hordes like those
of the Hessians, at Trenton—then I will
lower Washington down into Fabius. This
comparison of our heroes, with the barbari
an demi-gods of Rome, only illustrates the
poverty of the mind that makes it.
Compare Brutus, the assassin of his
friend, with Washington, the Savior of the
People! Cicero, the opponent of Catalinc,
with Henry, the Champion of a Continent!
What beggary of thought! Let us learn to
know our great mea, as they were, not by
comparison with the barbarian heioesofold
Let us learn that Washington was no
negative thing, but all chivalry and genius.
It was in the battle of Brandywine that
•his trnth was made plain. He came rush
ing on to battle. He beheld his men hewn
down by the British—he heard them shriek
his uame, and regardless of his personal
safety he rushed to join them.
Yes, it was in the dread havoc of thajl
retreat tint Washington, rushing forward
into the very centre of the melee, was entan
gled in the enemy’s troops, on the top of a
high hid, south-west of the Meeting House,
while Pulaski, was sweeping on with his
grim smile, to have one more bout with the
eager red coats.
Washington was in terrible danger—his !
troops were rushing to the south—the Brit- I
ish troopers came sweeping up the hill and |
around him—while Pulaski, on a hill some
hundred yards distant, was scattering a
parting blessing among the hordes of Hano
It was a glorious prize, this mistrr
Washington in the heart of the British ar
Suddenly the Polander turned—his eye
caught the sight of the iron grey and its
rider. He turned toliis troopers; his whis
kered lip wreathed with a grim smile—he
waved his sword—he pointed to the iron
grey and its rider.
There was but one moment:
With one impulse that iron band wheeled
their war horses, and then a dark body,
solid and compact, was speeding over the
valley like a thunderbolt sped from the heav
ens—three hundred swords rose glittering in
a faint glimpse of sunlight—and in front of
the avalanche, with his form raised to its
fall height,a dark frown on his brow, a fierce
smile on hislip, rode Pulaski. Like a spir
it roused into life, by the thunderbolt, he
rode—his eyes were fixed upon the iron grey
and iis rider—his band had but one lookj
one will, one shout for—WashJ£(;ton !
The British troops had et-circled tho
American leader—already thoy felt se
cure of their prey—already the head ol
that traitor Washington,seemed to yawn
above the gates of London.
But that trembling of tho earth in the
valley, yonder. What means it ?
That torrible boating of hoofs, what
does it portend ?
That ominous silence—and now that
shout—not of words or of names, but that
half yell, hnlfhurrah, which shrieks from
the Iron Men, as they scent their prey 1
What means it all 1
Pulaski is on our track 1 The terror
of the British army is in our wake !
And on he came—he nnd his gallant
band. A moment and he had swept over
the Britishers—crushed—mangled, dead
and dying they strewed the green sod—
he had passed over the hill, he had passed
the form of Washington.
Another moment! And the iron banJ
had wheeled—back in the same career
of death they came ! Routed, defeated
crushed, the red coats flee from the hill,
while the iron baud sweep round the form
of George Washington—they encircle
him with theii forms of oak, their swords
of steel—the shout of his name shrieks
through the air, and away to the Ameri
can host they bear him, in all a soldier’s
battle joy.
It was at Savannah that night came
down upon Puluski.
Yes, I sec him now, under the gloom
of night, riding forward towards yonder
ramparts, his black steed rearing aloft,
while two hundred of his own men fol
low at his beck.
Right on, neither looking to the right
or left,he rides, his eye fixed upon the
cannon of the British, bis sword gleam
ing over his head.
For the last time, they heard that war
“ Forwarts, Bruden, forwarts ?"
Then they saw that black horse, plun
ging forward, his forefeet resting on the
cannon of the enemy, while his warrior
rider, arose in nil the pride of his form,
his face bathed in a flush of red light.
That flash once gone, they saw Pulas
ki no more. But they found him, yes be
neath the enemy’s cannon, crushed by
the same gun that killed his steed—yes,
they found them, the horse] and rider
resting together in death, that noble face ^
glaring in the midnight sky with glassy
So in glory ho died. He died while
America and Poland were yet in chains.
He died in the stout hope that both would
one day, be free. With regard to Amer
ica, his hope has been fulfilled, but Po
Tell me, shall not the day come when
yonder monument—erected by those
warm Southern,hearts, near Savannah—
will yield up its dead 1
For Poland will be free at last, as sure
ns God is just, ns sure as he governs the
Universe. Then, when re-created Poland
rears her Eagle aloft again, among the
bannersof nations, will her children come
to Savannah, to gather up the ashes of
their hero, and bear him home with the
chaunt of priests, with the thunderofcan
non, with the tears of millions, even as
repentant Fiance bore homo her own Na
Yes, the day is coming when Koscius
ko and Pulaski will sleep side by side,
’neath the soil of RE-CREATED PO
The Battle of Hohcnlinilen.
The Iser ami the Inn, as they flow from
the Alps towards the Danube, move nearly
in parallel lines, and nearly forty miles
apart. As they approach the river, the
space between them becomes one elevated
plain, covered chiefly with a sornb/e, dark
pine forest—crossed by two roads only ; while
the mere country paths that wind through
it here and there give no space to marching
columns. Moreau had advanced across
this forest to the Inn, where, on the 1st of
December be was attacked and forced to re
trace his steps, and take up his position on
the farther side, at the village of Ilohenlin
den. Here, where one of the greal roads
debouched from the woods he placed Nev and
The Austrians, in four massive columns
plunged into this gloomy wilderness, design
ing to meet intheojen plain of Hohenlin
deu—the central column marching along
the high road, while those on either side
made their way thro’ amid the trees as they
best could
It was a stormy December morning when
these seventy thousand men were swallowed
fiom sight in the dark defiles of Hohenlin
deii. The day before it had rained heavily^
and the roads were a'most impassible; but
now a furious storm darkened the heavens,
and covered the grouud with one white un
broken surface. The bye-paths were blot
ted out, and the sighing pines overhead
j blooded with their snowy burdens above the
rank.*, or shook them down on the heads of
the soldiers as the artillery wheel* *rnote
against their trunks. It was a strt.nge spec
j tacle, those long dark columns, out of sight
| of ear-h c*k<rf, stretching through the dreary
| forest by themselves; the fallen snow, sift
ing over the ranks, made the unmarked way
still more solitary. The soft and yielding
mass broke the tread of the advancing hosts,
while the rumbling of the artillery, and arn.
munition and baggage wagons, gave forth a
muffled sound, that seemed prophe tic of some
mournful catastrophe. The centre column
alone had a hundred eannoa in its traiu,
while behind thc*e were five hundred wag
ous—the whole closed np by the slowly mo.
ving cavalry.
Thus marching, it came about nine o’
clock upon Hohenlinden, ami attempted to
debouch into the plain; when Grouchy fell
upon it with such fury that it was forced
back into the woods In a moment the old
forest was alive with echoes, aud its gloomy
recesses illumined with the blaze of anil
*ry. Grouchy, Grandjeau, anl Nry, put
firth incredible efforts to keep this immense
force from deploying into the opeu field.—
The two former struggled with the energy
of desperation to hold their ground; and
although the soldiers could not see the ene.
emy’s lines, the storm was so thick, yet
they took aim at the flashes that issued from
the wood, and thus the two armies fought.
The pine tress were cut in two like reeds by
the artillery, and fell with a crash on the
Austrian columns, while the fresh fallen
snow turned red with the flowing blood. In
tiie meantime, Riclienpanse, who had been
sent by a circuitous route with a single di.
vison to attack the enemy’s rear, had ac
complished his mission. Though his di
vision had been cut in two and irretrievably
separated by the Austrian left wing, the
brave general continued to adv ance and with
only three thousand men fell boldy on forty
thousand Austrians- As soon as Moreau
heard the sound of his cannon through the
forest, and saw the alarm it spread amid the
enemy’s ranks ho orderad Ney and Grouchy
to charge full on the Austrian centre.—
Checked, then overthrown, that broken col
umn was rolled back in disorder,and utterly
routed. Campbell, the poet, stood in a tow
er and gazed on this terrible sceae, and in
amidst of the fight composed in part that
stirring ode which is known so far as the
English language is speken.
The depths of the dark forest swallowed
the struggling hosts from sight; bat still
there issued l'urlh from its bosom shouts and
yells mingled with tha thunder of cannon
and all the confused noise of battle. The
Austrians were utterly routed, and the fright -
ened cavalry went plunging through the
crowds of fugitives into the woods—the ar
tillerymen cut their traces, and leaving their
gwns behind, mouuted their horses and gal
loped away—and that magnificent column
as if sent by some violent explosion, was
hurled in shattered fragments on every side.
For miles the white ground was sprinkled
with dead bodies, and when the battle left
the forest, and the pine trees again stood
calm and silent in the wintry night, pier
cing cries and groans issued out of the gloom
in every direction—sufferer answering suf
ferer as he lay and withered on the cold
snow. Twenty thousand men were scatter
ed there atnid the trees, while broken car
riages and wagons, and deserted guns,
spread a perfect wreck around.
[From Views A-Foot; or, England *e*n
with Knapsack and Staff By
J. Bayard Taylor.]
“ Tho chimes, the chimes of Mother-land,
Of England, green and old ;
That out from fane and ivied tower
A thousand years have tolled !”
I have often thought of Coxe’s beautiful
ballad, when, after a day spent in Waterloo
Place, I have listened on nay way homeward,
to the chimes of Mary-le bone Chapel,
sounding sweetly and clearly above all the
Strand. There is something in their silvery
vibratiou, which is far more expressive than
the ordinary tones of a bell. The ear be
comes weary of a continued toll—the sound
of some bells seems to have nothing more in
it than the ordinary clang of metal—but
these simple notes, following each other so
melodiously, fall on the ear, stunned by the
ceaseless roar of carriages or the mingled
cries of the mob, as gently and gratefully as
drops of dew. Whether it be morning, and
they ring out louder and deeper through the
mist; or midnight,-when the vast ocean of
being beneath them surges less noisily than
its wont, they are alike full of melody and
poetry. I have often paused, deep in the
night, to hear those* lories, dropping down
from the darkness, thrilling, with their full,
tremulous sweetness, the still air of the light
ed Strand, and winding away through dark,
narrow lanes and solitary courts, till the ear
of the care-worn watcher is scarcely stirred
with their dying vibrations. They seemed
like those spirit voices, which atsuch times
speak almost audibly to the heart. How
delicious it must be, to those who dwelj
within the limits of their sound, to wake
from some happy dream and hear those
chimes blending in with their midnight fan
cies, like the musical echo of the promised
bliss I love these eloquent bells, and I think
there must be many, living out a life of mis
ery and suffering, to whom their tones come
with an almost human consolation. The
natures of the very cockneys, who never go
without the horizon of their vibrations, is
to my mind, invested with oru hue of poetry
London Newspapers.
It is stated that when tho London Dni
i ly News, was started, it had a capital of
£150,000, but that in six mouths it pass
ed in a tottering condition into the hands
of tha present proprietor, Mr. Dilkofthe
Athenaeum. The reduction of the price,
however, ftorn live to twopence halfpen
ny, lias run up the circulation, audit is
expected wilt ultimately make it profita
ble property.
L ist year, says a writer in the Journal,
the “ Morning Herald” made a hundred
thousand pounds, by railway advertise
ments. It mantains a corps of reporters,
amounting to eighteen, who until within
the last fortnight have had seven guineas
u week each. The salary of each is now
(ive guineas a week. The “ lleruld”and
the “ Standard” are evening papers, be
longing to the same person, whose name
is Baldwin.
The editor of the Morning” Chronicle”
is a Mr. Doyle, who married the daugh
ter of the proprietor, Sir John Eusthoope.
Mr Doyle i* a son of the Emerald Die,
und was educated in Maynooth for the
priesthood. He is a very elegant scholar,
an able writer and a polished man. Ho
receives a thousand pounds a year for
his services. The "Times,” which is
the leading Intelligencer of Europe, has
3(j proprietors, the chief of whom is Mr.
Walters, whose income is between forty
and fifty thousand pounds a year. Tho
political editors are Mr. DeLornd and his
sons, and the city editor is Mr Alsagcr.
A'. Y. Mirror.
JC5»The U. S. Senate has confirmed
the nomination of Hon Geo- Bancroft,
as Minister to England—and of John R.
Brodhead, E*q- of New York, as Secre
tary of Legation to the same Court. Also,
of Hon. Nathan Clifford, of Maine, as At
torney General of the U. States.
,—u ^ - IB
Seme years ago, when there was a con
siderable military force stationed at Fort
Leavenworth, a young officer whoee tal
ents and integrity had secured the un
bounded confidence of the government
and his superior officers, so as to obtain
for him the office of Commiseary 'ard
Paymaster of that station, appeared’be
fore the Commander of the garrison, with
the complaint that he had been robbed.
He declared that his pocket book hed
been taken—that Jus cheet had been bro
ken open, and a largeamount of hie own
and of the government funds taken there
from. V\ hen asked whom he suspected,
he said that his first Sergeant had disap
peared, and As ha had placed great confi
dence in him and allowed him free ac
cesa to his room, he strongly suspected
that he was the thief.
Tho Colonel immediately ordered eev
eral officers and men to take different
routes and pursue and arrest the fugitive
Sergeant. They were soon on hie track
though from tho start the deserter had of
them, thero wag but little hope of his ar
rest. The Lieutem-ant who had been
robbed also volunteered to pursue thv
thief, and mounting his horse took adif
lerent rouiefrom ihe other pursuers. Af
ter a long and severe ride, the Sergeant
was at last overtaken, in the road on foot
his horse foundorod. He was immediate -
ly arrested and searched, and on his per
son was found the sum of two hundred
dollars, which gave strong if not conclu'
sive proof of his guilt. When he wa r
taken back to the fort, a private was sent
to inform Lt. T-of the capture.—
The private mot the Lt. returning a few
miles from the fort, when he informed
him that tho thief had been arrested.—
The Lieut, exhibited some little confu -
sion at tho Announcement, but expressed
his gratification at the arreet. As he felt
greatly relieved by the information com •
municatcd, he remarked to the private,
that he would take a bye-path and ride
over to a g'oeery in the neighborhood tr»
buy some presents for the men. In ths
meantime he ordered the Eoidierto return
immediately to the fort. According! r
they parted, taking opposite courses. Li.
T-never returned to tho Fort, nor
was he afterwarde seen in the United
States. His relatives all believed him t v
have been killed, either by his own hand
or by that of some of the desperate chat
acterswbo hang upon our frontier.
The Sergeant was brought up for exam
ination. The damning proofs were e.v
hibited to him—the money, his flight, &c ,
hie only reply was, “ where is my accu
ser—bring him before me and you shell
see which is the thief.” But Lt. T_.
could not be round. The Sergeant then
confessed that he had been bribed by I.t,
T-to’deserl and take upon himscit'
the infamy which justly belonged,to th<»
Lt. himself, who was a defuulter to th>v
Government,’and wishing to cover hia
crime by the altedged robbery of th#
Sergeant. That be had given him twu
hundred dollars and a horse, to fly from
the fort, which after a severe conflict who
conscience, ho at a last consented to do,
but that before he bad goue many mil- .s
j his horse broke down, and he whs thj.v
overtaken and arrested.
m». . v ...
j There were few person* who would b
lieve this ingenious story of the Sergeant,
end the fact that ho had committed a se
rious crime, though perhaps not the on
ho was charged with, prevented the few
who believed his story from intefaring in
his behalf. He was accordingly <leliv
ered over to ’he officers of Justice, aud af
ter a fair trial was found guilty and eerr
to the 1'enitonliary for seven yeare(wheru
he now is.
On the first of of October last, as tli»
first division of the Mexican army
marching out of the city, tho force of
Oen. Worth was drawn up in line ti
salute them. One of the officers of th.*
•infantry, who was standing in from
I of bis company, observed as ho thought
' a familiar face in the Mexican rauks_ii
| was thal of a Colonel in one of tha Mex
ican regiments. As the Mexican force
halted for the rear to come up the Am
erican officer left hia post, aod havin
looked up an old brother officer, both aj -
proached the Mexican officer, and closely
I eyed him. As soon as the Mexican’s eye
; fell upon the Americans, he was observ
| ed to grow deadly pale, end to pull his
cup over his eyes aud turn away. But
the Americans had seen enough to satis
fy them that th? Mexioaa Colonel wa*
no other than the renegade Lt. T
for whose crime a poor man now suffer*
the imfamv of imprisonment in the psn.
itentiary of Missouri. An inspection
of tha Mexican military roll an.l inqu:
ry among the Mexican officersconfirmu
the truth of the personal observation of
our officers.
We understand that this evidence wil|
be laid before the Executive for the pur
pose of obtaining a commutation of the
punishment of the unfortunate Sergeant,
the victim of the infamous treachery un i
villainy of this base officer* who to the
crime of having disgraced hia counts}’}
'• - • .» '• • h M ' ^.i.*i****J "* '}

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