Marshall County Democrat., November 15, 1855, Image 1

About Marshall County Democrat. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1855-1859

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THE BLESSINGS OF GOVERNMENT, LIKE THE DEWS OF HEAVEN. SHOTJj
THE RICH AND T HC POO R. JACK SON.
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VOL. 1,
gclctifb 3 octrü-
TO AN ABSENT HUSBAND. -
Deareot, come home! I cannot bear
Thv long protracted stay;
8o sad and lonley U my heart
When thou art far away!
I've tried alas! how vainly tried!
Thine absence to forget;
Yet still I ean but think of thee
With fondness and regret.
As mourns the gentle, cooing dove,
In accents desolate,
When forced by some unkindly hand
Far from her loving mate
through the chambers of my heart
Echoes a mournful tone,
Whilst every pulse affections beats,
Re-echoes "I'm alone!"
'Tilings that are bright when thou art here,
Look dark and gloomy now;
And nature seems to share my grief,
With clouds upon her brow.
The bird sings now a sadder song
Tlun e're he sang before;
And flowers have lost their sunny hue
They once so sweetly wore.
To while the weary hours away,
That lag with leaden feet,
I read thy favorite authors o'er,
Their choicest parts repeat;
But even books those voiceless friends,
Have lost all charms fur me.
And fal to cheer my heart, unless
I read them, love, with thee.
And Mu.-ic with licr voice so sweet,
I've called her to my aid,
And soft, and low, with trembling hand,
Thy favorite air I've play'd.
But ah, those tender notes have stirred
Affection's fountains deep,
And sadly hawe I left my song,
To think of thee, and weep.
Thus gloomy thoughts their dismal shade
O'er brightest object; fling;
Hot true it is, a saddening heart
Can sadden every thing!
Then, dearest come thy wife's fond heart
Still warmly beats for you,
A heart whose every throbbing pulse
Is faithful, kind, and true.
THE CHILD SEER.
A STOHV OK riONFXR LIFE IN WKSTKRN NEW YORK.
A littl story I am going to tell is a true j captain of a company of boys, armed with
story of pioneer lif in America. It is j formidable wooden guns, and fully equip
known to manv descendants of the earlv i pod as mimic soldiers. Angus was made
settlors among whom it happened, and I j
write it in that country.
One of the darkest pages in American
history is that relating to the sufferings of
the inhabitants of Try on County, New
York, during the war of the Revolution,
from the at Lacks of the Indians and Koy-1 whom they hue suspected. Upon the hill
alists, under the Mohawk chief, Brant, and about a mile away, Joseph Brant had post
the more savage Captain Walter Butler. cd a large party of his braves, where con-
harlv in the war, Lherrv allev was se
leeied as a j lace of refuge and defence for
the inhabitants of the smaller and more ex
pose J settlements. Blockhouses were built,
fortifications wen thrown up, and finally
a fort was erected, under the direction of
fieneral Li Fayette. The inhabitants of
the surrounding settlements came in, and
lived for several months as in garrison,
submitting to strict military regulations.
Among the f imilies which took tempo
rary refuge in this fort, was that of Cap
, tain Robert Lindsav, formerly a British of-
m m
ficer, brave and adventurous, who, only at
the entreaty of his wif , had left his farm
which stood in a lonely, unprotected situa
tion, several miles from any settlement.
This Captain Lindsay was a reserved, mel
ancholy man, about whom the simple and
honest pioneers wondered and speculated
not a little. His language and manner bo
spoke the man of education and breeding.
His wife, though a quiet, heroic woman,
was evidently a lady by nature and asso
""cution. Captain Lindsay had a native love of
solitude and adventure the first requisite
(or pioneer ; and for several years no oth
er reason was known for his seeking the
wilds, and exposing his tender family to
all the perils and privations of a frontier
life. But at length an emigrant coming
from his native place, in the Highlands of
Gotland, brought the story of his exile,
. which was briefly this; Captain Lindsay,
when a somewhat dissipated young man,
proud and passionate, had quarrelled with
a brother officer, an old f.-iend, at a mess
dinner. Both officers had drunk freelv,
.and their difference was aggravated by hot
. brained, half-drunken partisans. Insulting
words" were exchanged, and a duel on the
Fpot was the consequence. Lindsay escap
ed with a slight wound, but his sword
pierced the heart of his friend. He was
hurried away to a s-cure hiding-place, but
not before he had learned that in the first
matter of dispute he had been in the wrong.
Lindsay ma1e all the reparation in his
power, by transferring his paternal estate,
for the term of Ids own life-time, to the
homeless widow and vounjf daughter of
her friend. Then, with his wife's small
property, and the price of his commission,
Hoerelly 'mi;ijrjit;t! to America. He
loft his farnilv in ew York, while he went
up the Hudson, purchased a small farm,
and built a house for their reception. He
was accompanied in this expedition by an
old family servitor, who, with true High
land fidelity, clung to his unfortunate mas
ter with exemplary devotion.
Mrs. Lindsay's heart sunk within her
when she found that her .new home was ßo
far from any settlement literally in the
wilderness; but she understood her hus
band's misanthropic gloom, almost amount
ing to melancholy madness and did not
murmur. Yet her forest home was very
beautiful a small valley farm, surrounded
b)' densely-wooded hills, dark gorges and
mossy dells. The house was a rough,
primitive-looking structure, containing but
three small apartments and a low chamber,
or rather loft. But it was comfortably and
securely built; and, overhung by noble
iwm and overrun bv wild vins, wH not
MT . .... f
; whose fragrance seemed to breathe of home
like the sighs of an exile s heart.
The family at the period of their taking
refuge in the fort at Cherry Valley con
sisted of three sons and an infant daughter
(the last born in America), the man Davie,
and a maid servent. Douglas, the elder
son, a lacl of twelve or thirteen, was a brave
high-spirited, somewhat self-willed boy,
tall and handsome, and the especial pride
of his mother not alone because he was
her first-born, but because he most vividly
recalled to her heart her husband in his
happy days. Angus, the second son, was
a slight, delicate fair-haired boy, posses
sing a highly sensitive .and poetic nature.
Unconsciously displaying at times singular
and startling intuitions dreaming uneom
prehended dreams, which were sometimes
strangly verified, and uttering involuntary
prophecies, which time often fulfilled he
was always spoken of as a "strange child,"
and for all his tender years and sweet pen
sive face, was regarded with a secret shrink
ing awe, even by those nearest to him. In
truth, the child seemed to be gifted with
that weird, mysterious faculty known as
second sight.
Archie, the youngest son, his father's
own darling, was a sturdv, rosv-cheeked,
curly-headed boy of five.
Etfie was yet at the mother's breast, a
little rosy-bud of beauty a fair promise of
infinite joy and comfort to her mother's
saddened heart.
As I have stated, this family took refuge
in the fort, in the spring of seventeen hun
dred and seventv-eight, somewhat against
the will of Mr. Lindsay who, as he re
mained neutral, had little fear of the In
dians and also of his eldest son, who
fancied there was something cowardly in
flying from their forest-home before it had
been attacked. The latter, however, was
soon reconciled by the opportunity afford
ed him, for the first time for several rears,
of associating with lads of his owa ae,
of whom there were a goodly number at
the fort and settlement. The sports and
exercises of the men and vouth were en
tirely of a military character; and Doug
las, who had inherited material tiste from
a long line of warlike ancestors, and who
had been instructed bv his father in mili
tarv rules and evolutions, soon became the
lieutenant ; but this was a piece of
favoritism, the child having little taste or
talent for the profession of arms,
One bright May morning, as these young
amateur fighters were parading on the
-rreen before the fort, thev had spectators
cealed by the thick wood, they were look
ing down on the settlement. It had been
his intention to attack the fort that night,
but this grand parade of light infantry de
ceived him. At that distance, he mistook
the boys for men, and deceided to defer
his attick till he could ascertain, by his
scouts, the exact strength of the place. In
the meantime he moved his party north
ward a few miles, to a point on the road
leading from Cherry Valley to the Mohawk
River, where he concealed them behind
rocks and trees. At this spot the road
passed through a thick growth of ever
green, forming a perpetual twilight, and
wound along a precipice a hundred and
fifty feet high, over which plunged a small
stream in a cascade, called by the Indians
Tekaharawa.
Brant had doubtless received informa
tion that an American officer had ridden
down from Fort l'lain, on the Mohawk
River, in the morning, to visit the fort,
and might be expected to return before
night. This officer had come to inform
the garrison that a regiment of militia
would arrive the next day, and take up
their quarters at Cherry Valley. His name
was Lieutenant Woodville; he was a young
man of fortune gay,gallant, handsome and
daring. Ie was dressed in a rich suit of
velvet, wore a plumed hat and a jewel
hilted sword, and let his dark, waving hair
grow to eavalierish length. He rode a full
blooded English horse, which he managed
with ease. This Lieutenant Woodville
lingered so long at the settlement that his
friends tried to jn-rsuade him to remain all
night ; bat he laughed, and, as he moun
ted, flung down his portmanteau to one of
them, saying, "I will call for that to-morrow."
When it was nearly sunset the
little garrison came into the court-yard to
watch his departure. Among the spec
titors were the boy-soldiers whose parade
of the morning had daunted even the ter
rible Brant. Foremost stood the doughty
Douglas, and by his side the timid Angus,
gazing with childish curiosity on the dash
ing young officer, and marking with won
dering delight his smiling mastery ovci his
Steed.
Suddenly the boy passed his hand over
his eyes, grew marble-while and rigid for
an instant, then shuddered, and burst into
tears. IJefort; he could questioned, he
had quitted his brothes, rushed forward,
atid was clinging to the lieutenant's knee ;
crying, in a tone of the most passionate
entreaty,
"Oh, sir, ye maun stay here to-night
here, wIhth a' is safe ! Dintia gang; they'll
kill V! Oh dinn.'i frilir!"
j - -
.inn . .
iiw, my iitiHT Mil. n im it rvin
me
..
gently asked the officer, looking down into
the delicate face of the boy, struck by its
agonized expression.
"The Indians. They're watin' for you
in yon dark, awfu place by the falls," re
plied Angus, in a tone of solemnity.
"And how do you know all this, my
little man?". asked the officer smiling.
"I hae seen them," said Angus, in a
low, hoarse tone, casting down his eyes
and trembling visibly.
"Seen them! When?"
"Just noo, I k:iv them a as weel a I
unpicturcsque. Under tne tasteiui care oi
Mrs. Liudsay, a little garden soon sprung
up around it where, among many strange
Dlants. bloomed a few familiar flowers,
PLYMOUTH, IND. NOV,,
see you ond the lave. It's the guid God,
r
may be, that sends the vision to save you
frae death. So ye maun heep the warn
ing, and not put your life in peril by riding
up there, where they're waiiin' for ye in
the, gloaming."
"What is the matter with this child?"
exclaimed Lieutenant Woodville, turning
to a friend in the little crowd. The man,
for answer, merely touched his forehead
significantly. "Indeed ! So young!" re
plied the officer. Then, laying his hand
gently, on the head of the boy, and smil
ing pityingly into his wild, beseeching eyes
he said. "But indeed I must go, prophet
of evil. Indians, or no Indians, a soldier
must obey orders, you know. Come, dry
up your tears, and I will bring you a pret
ty plume for your shoulder-cap when I re
turn. Adieu, friends, until to-morrow."
Saying this, he bent to loosen Angus's
hands from the stirrup; but the child clung
conclusively, shrieking out his warnings
and entreaties, until his father broke through
the crowd, and bore him forcibly away.
Lieutenant Woodville galloped off with
gay words of farewell ; but as some no
ticed, with an unusual shadow on his hand
some face.
Mrs. Lindsay took Angus in her arms,
and strove to sooth him, in her quiet lov
ing way. Yet the child would not be com
forted. He hid his face in her bosom, sob
bing and shuddering, but saving nothing
for several minutes. Then he shrieked
out. "There! There! Oh, mither, they
hae killed him ! I hae scon him ft' frae
his horse. I see him noo, lyin amang the
briars, wi' the red bluid rinning frae his
head, down on to his brw soldier coat. Oh,
mithir, I could nae help it; he would nae
believe the vision !"
After this, the repose of a sad certainty
seemed to come upon the child, and, sob-
bing more and more softly, he fell asleep ;
U..A . A Ait A! A - Ä" 1 I . ..A A 11T 1 I
out noi uiiui wie reium oi iieuienani oou-
ville's horse, with an empty saddle stained
with blood, had brought terrible confirma
tion of the vision. Js'ext morning the body
of the unfortunate young officer was
found in the dark pass near the falls of
Tekaharawa. He had been shot and scalp
ed by Brant himself.
As may be supposed this tragic verifi
cation of Angus Lindsay's prophecy ex
cited surprise and speculation, and caused
the child to be regarded with a strange in
terest, which, though not unfriendly, had
in it too much of superstitious dread to be
altogether kindly.
lhe boy instinctively shrank from it, and
grew more sad and reserved day by day.
öome regarded the prediction as naturally
resulting from the omnipresent fear of sav
ages common to settlers children dik
ing more vivid form in the imagination of
a nervous and sickly boy, and the f ite of
Lieutenant Woodville as merely a remark
able coincidence. But more shook their
heads with solemn meaning, deelarin" the
lad a young wizard, and went so fir as to
intimate that the real wizard was the lad's
father, whose haughty and melancholy re
serve w.as little understood by the honest
settlers, and that poor little Angus was
his victim : the one possessed.
The expression of this feeling not in
words, but in a sort of distrustful avoid
ance made Mrs. Lindsay consent to the
proposition of her husband to return to
their home for the harvest. Several fami
lies were venturing on this venturing on
this hazardous step, encouraged by the
temporary tranquillity of the country, and
thinking that their savage enemies had
quenched their blood-thirst at Wyoming
thus rather taking courage than warning
by that fearful massacre.
The Lindsays found their home as they
had left it three months before; nothin"
had been molested ; they all speedily fell
into their old in-door and out-door duties
and amusements.
iinu w p.isseu a lew
.1 I r
1 e .i i a t i
weeks of quiet happiness. Captain Lind-
. . 1 11 1 . .
say anu nis man always took their arms
l l i i . i
A 1
with them to the harvest fields, which were
in sight of the house. The two elder sons
usually worked with their father. On the
last day of the harvest when little remain
ed to be done, the boys asked permission
to go to the stream, about two miles away,
to angle for trout.
In his moody abstractions of fearless
ness, Captain Lindsey consented, and the
boys set out in high glee. Little 'Archie,
who was also with his father for that day,
begged to be taken with them, but the lads
did not want to be encumbered and hur
ried away. Just as they were passing
from the clearing into a little cow-path
leading through the woods to the creek,
Angus looked back and saw the child stand
ing by his father, in tears, gazing wistful
ly after his elder brother.
"Ah, Douglas exclaimed he, "let us tak'
Archie wi' us. See how the puir bairn is
:
ureetinjr.
"No, no ; he'll only frighten the trout
and we canna -wait. Come awa.'
The lads reached the creek in safety,
crept stealthily along its shaded banks,
selecting their place in silence, and flung
their bate upon the water. Douglas seem
ed to enjoy the sport keenly, but Angus
was remorseful for having said nay, to his
little brother's entrn.ty.
"Oh, Doughs!" lie exclaimed, at last,
I canna' forget Archie's teaifulfice. I'm
sae sorry we left him !"
"Dinna fash yer head about Archie, but
mind yer fish!" replied Douglas impati
ently. Angus was silent for another half hour.
Then lie suddenly gave a short, quick cry,
made a stirt forward, and peered anxious
ly down intothe water.
"What noo?" said Douglas, petulantly,
for the cry and movement had scared a fine
trout that seemed just about to take his hook.
"Oh, brother," answered Angus, trem
bling, "I ha', seen 'Archie's bonnio. f u?o in
the burn, and it had sic a pale, frightened
look. I doubt "something awfu' has hap
pened! Let us gang hämo."
Douglas laughed as he replied, "It's yer
own face ye saw in tho burn, and no Ar
chie's. How could it be his, when he's
miist two mileM awa?"
I dinna ken, DoutMas. replied Angus
humblr, "but I
maun tC .eve u was -at-
chie's face. There it comes aga! And
father's and Davie's! Oh, brother, ? the
Indians !"
Shrieking out these words, the poor boy
staggered backwards and fainted. Doug
las, though a good deal alarmed, had suf
ficient presence of mind to apply nature's
remedy, fortunately near at hand ; and un
der a copious sprinkling of cold water,
Angus speedily revived. Douglas no, lon
ger resisted his entreaties, but silently
gathered up their fishing tackle, and tak
ing up their string of trout, set out for
home, walking slowly and supporting the
trembling steps of his brother. As they
neared the borders of the clearing, where
they were to come in sight of the harvest
fields and their home, Angus absolutely
shook, and even the cheek of the bold
douglas grew white.
The first sight which met their eyes, on
this emerging from the wood, was their
house in flames, with a party of fiendish
savages dancing and howling around it.
The boys shrank back into the wood ; and
crouching down together beneath a thick
growth of underbrush, lay sobbing and
shuddering in their grief and terror.
At length Angus gave a start and whis
pored joyfully. "Oh, I've seen mither,
and wee Effie, and Jenny an they're a
safe hid awa' in the bushes, like us."
"But do you see father, Archie, and
auld David?" "asked Douglas, believing at
last, in the second-sight of his young
brother.
"Xo, no;" replied Angus, mournfully,
"I canna see then ony mair. They maun
be a' dead, Douglas."
"I'll no believe that," said the elder
brother, proudly, "Father, and Davy both
naatneir guns wi tnem. uavyis no a tal
fighter, and ye ken a braver soldier could
. . f . . . . . - .
no te lound in a' the world than father."
They lay thus, talking in fearful whis
pers, and weeping silentlj', until the shouts
of the savages died away, and silence fell
with the twilight over the little valley.
Then, slowly and cautiously they crept
from their hiding-place, and stole thro' the
harvest-fields to the spot where they had
left their father and little brother and Davy.
And they were all there dead. They
appeared to have fallen together faithful
old Davie lay across his master's knees,
which he seemed embracing in death. Little
Archie had evidently lingered longest alive ;
his flesh was yet soft and slightly warm
and he had crept to his father's arms, and
I lay partly across his breast.
All, even to the sinless baby, had been
tomahawked. Yet bathed in blood as they
were, the poor boys could not believe them
dead, but clasped their stiffened hands" and
kissed their lips, felt for their heart-beats,
and called them by their names in every
accent of love and sorrow. At last, find
ing all their frenzied -.Torts vain, they aban
doned themselves utterly to grief.
lhe moon rose upon them, thus weep
ing wildly over their murdered father and
brother stained with their blood .and shud
dering with their death-chill. Never did
the moon look on a more desolate group.
Captain Lindsay's brow seemed more aw
fully stern in- its light, and his unclosed
eyes shone with an icy gleam. Archie's
still tearful face showed most piteously sad;
while the agonized faces of the two young
mourners, now bent over their dead, now
lifted despairingly toward heaven, seemed
to have grown strangely old in that time of
terror, and horror, and bitter grieving.
Thus, the hours wore on ; and, at last, from
bitter exhaustion, they slept the living
and the dead.
They were awakened by the warm sun
light, and the birds who sang ; how strange
it seemed ! as gaily .as ever, in the neigh
boring wood. The bovs raised their heads
1 1 i 1 i a ä ai i r
"'- w, viii ii .mo uz oiiici au late.
i,k i i i i. i V
;m.l llien on the .Ie;nl. in the hl-mL- cn.is.il.
" t " " " ""' I I 'V V. V I i
P
less anguish of renewed grief.
Douglas
was the first to speak, "Come brother," he
said, in a calm tone, "we maun be men noo,
let us gaug back to the fort; may be we shall
lind mither there, wi' Jenny and the bair
nie. 'gin you're sure ye saw them a in your
vision.
"But we canna' leave these here to their
lane said Angus.
"We maun leave them here, we are no
big enough to hurry them, but we'll cover
them over wi' leaves, and the branches of
the pjnes, and when we get to the fort,
we'll ask the soldiers to come and make
graves for them. Come wi me. Angus
dear."
Angus took Douglas' hand and rose ;
but soon staggard and fell, murmuring,
"Oh, brother, I'm sair faint and ill. "i
think I am dying. Stay wi' me a little
while, and then ye may cover us a' up to
gether and gang awa."
"Dinna say sic sorrowfu' things, Anus:
yer no dying, puir laddie ; yer but fainting
wi' hunger, and I the same," said Doug
las, in a tone of hopeless despondency.
Just at the moment his eye fell on a small
hand-basket, in which the laborers were
accustomed to take their luncheon to the
harvest-field. It was now lying' where the
dead had left it, against a pile of wheat
sheaves, and was found to contain some
fragments of bread and meat, of which the'
parUw k.
Somewhat refreshed, the boys set out
about their melancholy duty. They did not
attempt to move the bod ies from the posi
tions in which they had found them; they
left little Archie on his father's breast, and
faithful old D avie with his face hid against
his master's knees.
Douglas took outhis pocket-knife to sever
a lock of hair from his father's and his little
brother's heads for mementoes. "Oh !
dinna tak' that lock, Douglas," said Angus,
with a shudder : "did ye na seethe blood
on it?"
Alas ! it was difficult to find a lock on the
head of either father or child not darkened
and stiffened with gore.
When they had taken tho last look, tho
last kiss, and had completed their mound of
boughs and leaves, the two children kndt
EIT15, 1855.
beside it and prayed. Surely the God of
the fatherless was near them. Better in His
sight, their pious care of the dead, than tne
pompous funeral obsequies ; sweeter to Him
the simple prayer they sobbed into his ear,
than the grandest requiem.
It was nearly noon when the boys left the
little valley, and took their way toward the
fort. They had first visited the ruins of
their house, and searched around them and
the garden diligently, but vainly, for any
trace of their mother, and nurse, and sister.
From a tree in the little orchard they filled
their baskets with apples, and set forth.
They had advanced but a mile or two on
the dark, winding forest path, when they
heard before them the sound of footsteps
and voices. In their sudden terror, think
ing only of savages, they fled into the thick
est recesses of the woods. When their
alarm had passfcd and they sought to regain
the path, they found to their grief and dis
may that they had lost it. Still they kept
on apparently at random but angel-guided,
it seemed in the direction of the fort.
Yet night come upon them in the dense,
gloomy wood, and, at last, very weary and
sorrowful, they sank down ; murmured their
broken prayers, and clasped in each other's
arms fell into a chill and troubled sleep.
Douglas was awakened in the early morn
ing, by a touch on his shoulder. He sprang
to his feet, and confronted Brant ! Behind
the chief stood a small band of savage at
tendants, eagerly eyeing the young "pale
faces," as though their fingers itched to be
among their curls.
"Who are you?" asked the warrior
sternly.
"I am Douglas Lindsay ; and this is my
brother, Angus Lindsay."
"Is Captain Lindsay your father?"
"He was our father," replied Douglas
with a passionate burst of tears; "but ye
ken weel enough we hae no father noo, sin'
ye've murdered him. Ay, and puir auld
Davie, and the wee bairn Archie, ye divils ?"
"No, boy," replied Brant, in a not un
gentle tone, "We did not murder your fath
er. I am sorry to hear he has been killed.
He was a brave man, and never took part
with the rebels. I promised him my pro
tection. It must have been some of Cap
tain Butler's men ; they are about now. I
would have risked my life to have saved his.
I will protect his children. Where were
you going?"
"To the fort," put in little Angus eager
ly. "May be we shall find mithir, and Kliie,
and Jennie a' there. Oh! Mister Thayen
denaga, tik' us to the fort, if it's no' too far,
for we hae lost our way."
Brant who was an educated man, and
had little of the Indian in his appearance j from Oold and storm One cold, stormy day
or speech smiled U hear himself address- ,i . e ,ntn 0 t u
, , r i T i ,m the winter of 184C-0, I sat by a warm
ed by his pompous Indian name (a stroke . .
of policy on the lad's part) he replied: fire feeling rather uncomfortable as I thought
"That is easy to do. Cherry Valley is just ! of a bam that needed a little repairing, that
over the hill; only a little way off. Let i I intended some time ago should have been
, J 9 1
us go. . , ,. done on the first fine day; but it had not
baying this, and briefly commanding Ins . . . .
. l i .,
warrior s to remain where they were, until
J . . '
he should return an order received in sul
len silence by the savages, who glared fero
ciously on their lost prey the chief strode
forward through the forest, followed by the
two boys.
When they reached the brow of the hill
overlooking the settlement, he paused and
said, "I had better not go any further. I
will wait here till I see you safe. Good
buy ! Tell your brothe, that Brant did not
kill her brave husband. Say he's sorry
about it go."
The children sought to express their
thanks, but he waved them away, and stood
with folded arms under the shade of a gi
gantic oak, watching them as they desended
flic hill. '
Mrs. Lindsay's story is soon told. On
the day of the massacre she heard the firing
in the harvest-field, and from the windows
of the houe witnessed the brief struirirle, of
her husband and Davie with their fixs. The
fearful sight at first benumbed every facul
ty but one cry from her baby roused her
from her stupor of grief and terror. She
snatched the infant from the cradle, and
rushed with it into the woods followed bv
Jenny, the maid. The two women conceal
ed themselves so effectually in the thick un
derbrush that they remained undiscovered,
though the shouts of the savages came to
their ears with horrible distinctness, and
even the blaze of their burning home red
dened the sunlight that struggled through
the thick foliage above them.
When at length the party left the little
valley, it passed wi.hin a few yards of the
fugitives. Oh ! how fervently the mother
thanked God that her baby slept tranquilly
on her bosom, and by no cry betrayed their
hiding place! They did not venture to leave
their leafy sanctuary until evening. They
were on the side of the clearing opposite
the hearvest-fields, and near the road lead
ing to Cherry Valley. This they found,
and set out at once for the settlement, which
they reached in safety about midnight, and
were kindly received at one of the fortified
houses. The next day a party of brave
men, moved by the passionate entreaties of
the two women, set out on what was thought
a hopel?ss search for CapUiin Lindsay, his
sons and servant. They reached the har-
vest-field in safety, found there the bodies
as they had Ijven left, hastily buried them,
and, after vainly seeking for the missing
boys, returned to Cherry Valley, taking a
dread certainty and a faint hope to the af
flicted wife and mother.
Prostrated by her fearful beieavment,
yet not wholly despairing, worn w ith cruel
anxieties and fatigues, Mrs. Lindsay at last
slept, watched over by her faithful nurse.
She awoke in the early morning, raised her
self eagerly from her pillow, looked around
and then sank back in tears.
"Oh, Jenny," said she, "I hae had sic a
blessed dream ! I dreamed I saw my twa
boys only twa, noo, Jenny my brave
Douglas and the bonnie Angus coming
over the hill wi' the sunrise. But they'll
no' come any mair they are a' taken fra
me a but this Ave bit barnie," she mur
mured, pressiyg her babe to her bosom, and
sprinkling its brow with the bitter baptism
of h r fears. For some minute h' lav
thus, weeping with all that fresh realization
of sorrow and desolation which comes with
the first awakening fromdeep after a "great
bereavement. Then she arose and tottered
away from the bed, saying "Lif- the widow
Jenny, I maun look on the hill of my dream."
Jenny obeyed, and supported her mis
tress, as she looked out on the lovely land
scape, kindling in the light of an August
morning. "Ah, Jenny, she said, "it is a'
I dreamed the yellow corn on the hill side,
and the dark pines above the soft blue of
the sky the clouds a' rosy and golden, and
the glory of the sunlight spread a' abroad
like the smiles o' the Lord on this wicked
and waeful world. And look! look !
Oh, mercifu' God there are the bairns."
This history, fortunately, has nothing to
do with the terrible massacres and burnings,
which a few months later, desolated Cherry
Valley and the neighboring settlements.
Mrs. Lindsay and her children were then
safe in the city of New York. Immediatly
on the close of the war they returned to
their friends in Scotland.
Among the Highlands, Angus Lindsay
lost his delicacy of health, with it, gradually
his mysterious faculty ; yet he was ever sin
gularly sensitive, thoughtful and magina
tive ; and when he grew into manhood,
though not recognized as a seer or a prophet
he was accorded a title which comprehend
ed the greatest attributes of both Poet.
Mrs. Lindsay returned to the family es
state with her children ; but the widow of
her husband's friend was not deprived of her
sad sanctuary, to which she had finally a
dearer, if not a more sacred right, as the
home of her daughter, the wife of Douglas
Lindsay.
Preparation for Winter.
Messrs. Editors: Having received so
much benefit myself, by being reminded in
the Genesee Farmer, occasionally, of the
importance of preparing for winter, I may
be pardoned for endeavoring to do to others
the same kindness I have so freely received.
I always intended, as of course others do,
to be fully prepared for every emergency,
as much as possible ; but, somehow or oth
er, always happened to be a little behind,
and had to work in very unpleasant weather,
which with a little forethought might have
been done easier and better before. Then,
ofien on account of the unpleasantness of
out-door work, many things remained en
tirely undone, and much loss was the con-
! sequence, and perhaps suffering to animals
I been done, and the snow was covering my
J
1 i ... i .1 i i t. .i 1:1
nay mow, auu wie uarn looweu line a Kin.tn
pala? inside the stible that Avas not quite
as I knew it ought to be, and might very
well have been. As I observed, I felt rath
er uncomfortable at these thoughts, and took
up the Genesee Farmer to read a little and
forgot my bad feelings, when the first thing
that attracted my attention was an article
headed "Prepare for Winter." I laid
down the paper and really felt cross at be
ing reproved in that way, and said some
thing about it being very easy to write, but
those that wrote such fine things didn't do
any letter than those of whom they were
finding fault, with many more things of this
character that lam not now foolish enough
to repeat. But, afier a time my good sense
began to show me the truth of the matter,
and in a little while I thought it was about
right. In about an hour I had resolved to
go to work at the stible at once, in spite of
the wind and the snow. bY I put on my
thick coat and mittens, called the boys to
my assistance, (who wondered what new
streak had taken me,) got hammer and
nails and boards, and fixed up the stible in
pretty good order in about two or three
hours. Next day went at the barn, repair
ed it in every place where repairs were need
ed, or where an improvement could be made,
shoveled out the snow, and then sat down
to enjoy my reading, feeling, I can assure
you, more like a man than Iliad felt before in
many a day, comfortable in body and mind.
I have endeavored since to keep a little
ahead of the times and seasons, and find
great benefit from the practice. Now, broth
er farmers, if you profit by my example, it
will add to you honor and happiness.
(hnescc Farmer.
Stkppkd Out. Lijjht thoughts of death
seem epidemic in the south. Jokes are
heard in the funeral cortege, as in - the holi
day processions as bells sound alike for
deaths or marriages. A yearly visitor in
New York p;ave a case in point just now.
Messrs. L. k L. wore both subscribers to
a periodical be collected for, and some two
years since ho called at their well known
and familiar oflice :
"Is Mr. L. within ?"
No, sir; he has stepped out."
Indeed ; hut his partner will do as well."
"Hut he has stepped out, too, sir."
"Then, with your permission, I'll wait
for one or the other."
"If you stop for either, you must stay
till doomsday, for both have been buried
these six weeks."
Tho old acquaintance left in silence, and
at night recorded tho sad fact so coldly
told with like moisture in his eve with
vhieh he n.'irnded it juM now.
NO. 1.
The Slavery Qnestion Onr Platform.
It seems to us that to every intelligent gentle
man, who has been at all accustomed to watching
the working of our political system, it must oe quite
clear what ground the Democratic party, and in
deed the whole country, must henceforth occupy in
regard to the question of Slavery in the Territo
rier. Men may differ, as they do in fact di Ter
as Democrats at the time differed concerning the
propriety of the repeal of the Missouri Compro
mise, but that has become a qu?stion of the past
The repeal has been consummated. That issue
has ceased to have any vitality, except what grows
out of a desire in some quarters, to punish some
body for their action concerning it The question
now is, not as to pat, but future action. What
policy shall hereafter prevail in relation to the sub
ject of Slavery, in the organization and govern
ment of new Territories? Shall Congress under
take to legislate for the Territories and determine
whether the relation of master and slave shall
therein be tolerated? Orthall the people of the
Territories be left free to settle this matter for
themselves? These are the two alternatives pre
sented for our selection and decision. Can any
well imformed politician or statesman entertain the
least doubt concerning the conclusion to which the
.American people will arrive? Think what we may
of the past, agitate as demagogues may to gain a
partizan adantage for the present, does any one
fail clearly to perceive the line of policy which
the country will adopt for the future? We pre
sume not We should impugn the intelligence of
the reader to suppose otherwise.
The great principle of non-interttntion w ill pre
vail. It has already been established and is in ac
tive operation. It is in entire harmony w ith our
political system, which clusters around the central
government only such powers as are neceary to
maintain a common nationality, and leaves to local
legislation the formation or modification of domes
tic institutions, and fhe general control of the in
terests and action of society and individuals, so far
as they are the subjects of govermental regulation.
Slavery must follow the general rule, and the peo
ple of the Territories, as do the people of the
States, must determine in view of their own inter
ests and responsibilities, whether it shall exist a
mong them. Upon this broad principle the Demo
cratic party of the Union can stand. It furnishes
a platform upon which Democrats of the North
and Democrats of the South can meet in harmony
and unite in support of the great doctrines of re
publican government and in advocacy of measures
of national concern, leaving each free to act w ith
the people of his Territory or State, according to
his views of its domestic government, in disposing
of the question 'f slavery and all other local ques
tions arising therein.
The idea of a restoration of the Missouri Com
promise is entirely speculative and visionary. There
is not the slightest probability of its accomplish
ment, and those politicians who attempt to main
tain such an issue, if they are sincere, if indeed
they arc more than mere demagogues seeking par
tizan or personal advantage at the expense of dan
gerous excitement, exhibit little discernment and
forecast as to the probable current of popular
opinion, and little know ledge of the philosophy and
true theory of our institution.-.
The idea, also, of refusing to admit new slave
States, in case where, after full and fair opportuni
ty for deliberation and action, unaw ed by exter
nal dictation or control, the people of a Territory
have unmistakably decided to tolerate tdavery, Is
utterly untenable, and there is net the fclightest
probability that it will ever be carried into section.
The people about to become a State have the same
right to shape this, as all other features of their
constitution, and if Congress can rightfully control
this, it can all others. For ourselves we stand,
and we hardly trench upon the ground of prophesy
in predicting the clearly foreshadowed result, that
the Democratic party, and the country will stand
upon the broadest principle of submission of this
whole subject to the action of the people of the
States and Territories. Thus slavery becomes a
local instead of a national matter. Tims Congress
ceases to be the tribunal for its discussion; thr
national government is divorced from it, and the
country is relieved from a dangerous and other
wise constantly recurring agitation.
There are two extremes which meet in repudiat
ing this wholesome doctrine of popular sovereignty.
The one believes it is the duty of the national
government to carry slaver)- into the Territories
and protect it there. The -ther holds to the creed
that the same power should prohibit its cntraiK"
and zealously exclude it. The very fact that these
theories are conflicting and necessarily bring thr
sections of the Union into hostility to each other
ought to raise the prcsumtion of their unsound
ness, and that some other principle more m accor
dance w ith our political pystcm is applicable to the
question. The great preponderance of conservative
opinion among men both at the south at.J the north,
w ill be to the harmonizing and democratic doctrine
of investing the people of the States and Territo
ries with the attribute of gc'f government in rof
pect to this, as well as all other domestic matter1.
Such arc the views which we entertain upon thi
subject, and which this journal, under its jTesent
and former conductors has uniformly istaincd.
We believe they are approved by the great mass
of the democrats of the State, with steadily in-
creasing unanimity and emphasis of opinion, and
upon them the Democrats of New York will be
content to stand side by wde with their brethren
of the w hole Union. Albany Argut. .
Anti-Scuatciuno Machine. The Yan
kee who invented the "Patent Hen Persua
der," has found bis match in another who
has brought out 9.T1 invention called the
tlJoto)t Xcver J"rilhij Garcin Preserver
or Ihn Walker" It consists of a small in
strument, something lika a spur, only con
siderable longer, which is attached to the
part of the hen's leg, pointing at an angle of
15 decrees towards the ground. When the
hen, with this instrument on her legs, en
ters the garden in the spring after the seeds,
she puts her toot forward to scratch, the
"walkers" catche in the ground and forced
her forward; and thus she is walked, in her
efforts to scratch, entirety out of the garden.
The Oswego Palladium says an agency has
been ojk ntvl ... Oswego for thesale of these
machines. It must 'x'
about Oswego, even for
tors. o V, . ' .
itiTHe who often changes h
soup in a basket.
iT Immoderate pleasures sh
existence more thananv remedies csr
!ng it. 9
V
i
'X