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WE give on
page 685 two
illustrations relating to the late operations against Mobile. One of these
represents General GRANGER'S army in the rear of Fort Morgan. We have already,
in a previous number, illustrated the
attack on Fort Morgan from the fleet. The
attack from the land side was not less important in the reduction of that work.
Besides cutting off the garrison from retreat, the investment by land had this
advantage, viz., that a Bombardment from stationary batteries is always more
successful than one from ships. This was proved in the bombardment of Fort
Macon, North Carolina, in 1862. There, indeed, the fleet was compelled to
retire, leaving the battle to those attacking from the shore batteries. Fort
Morgan is on the extremity of Mobile Point, and was the strongest of the
defensive works in the bay.
The other cut represents the
attack on the ram Tennessee made by the Lackawanna. The Monongahela had already
butted the ram for the second time when the Lackawanna, the pride of the fleet,
came up. She struck the Tennessee a fair blow amidships, causing her to careen
over so that the rebels feared she would take in water through her ports. " At
this moment," says our correspondent, "a lee gun was fired from the ram (whether
by accident or otherwise I do not know), and the steam rushed in volumes from
her smoke stack. The cry went up that the traitors were sinking and had
surrendered, but the words had hardly been spoken when her guns belched forth
their fierce broadside, raking the Lackawanna most unmercifully, causing all who
saw it to wince. In a few seconds the noble vessel swings broadside to broadside
with the traitors. Captain MARCHAND, full of hope, delivers every gun into his
antagonist ; their effect is scarcely perceptible against the iron sides.
BUCHANAN can not reply gun for gun. The Lackawanna's men are too eager in this
hoped for moment, and load and fire with superhuman energy. A minute more, and
they are separated, the Lackawanna as buoyant and determined as before, though
dead and dying lay upon her decks. The rebel still comes boldly on her way,
making direct for the Admiral or one of the larger ships. The Admiral, as we all
know, meets him only too gladly. Where was CRAVEN then ? Could he have had the
Tecumseh alongside this craft she would have hauled down her colors in less than
ten minutes. By this time young Captain PERKINS has worked his way close to the
ram, steering by his propellers alone, as his steering gear had become disabled
in the beginning of the fight. He fought his vessel nobly ; but the Tennessee's
heavy plating made strong resistance against his 11-inch shot. He disabled the
rebel's steering apparatus, and by continuous pounding made the splinters fly
among the rebels to their confusion. One of his shots, striking the after port,
killed one man, utterly demolishing him, and wounded BUCHANAN. Within a square
of 10 feet he planted a dozen solid shot. The Manhattan fired six shots at the
ram, one of which seems to have struck. The Lackawanna delivered the fairest
ramming blow at the Tennessee. The affair was like a tournament, the fleet being
spectators. The Monongahela rushed upon the Tennessee twice ; after her came the
Lackawanna, Hartford, and Ossipee; and no doubt every vessel in the fleet would
have punched her had not the noble PERKINS made them cry enough."
SHERIDAN IN PURSUIT OF
page 684 we
give an illustration of
General SHERIDAN leading his gallant army in
pursuit of an already routed and dispirited enemy. The General as he rides along
the line is greeted with hearty cheers. General SHERIDAN'S present head-quarters
is at Harrisonburg, from which he has been sending cavalry expeditions in every
direction. It was one of these expeditions which captured Staunton.
THE continuation of this Story is
postponed until next week.
THEY sit together at the door,
Through which, long years ago,
They passed, a newly-wedded pair,
In youth's first rosy glow.
Then her round cheek was red and
Her hair was rippling gold ;
His form was stately as the oak
But now they both are old.
The blooming cheek is wrinkled
The sweet blue eyes are dim; But,
full of love and holy trust,
They ever turn to him,
With the calm faith and hope she
felt Upon her bridal day,
When the long future,
Stretched out before her lay.
Now, in the eventide of life,
They watch the purple haze
Grow on the hills, and hang above
The land-locked chain of bays
They see the sun sink slowly down
To gladden other lands;
They feel night coming, and they
Serene, with close-clasped hands.
They know that though the dusk is
There is a place of light,
Invaded not by gloom or shade,
Or the drear, weeping night. They
wait with patience for the call,
To tread the darksome vale, Unto
the heights, before whose glow
The morning sun would pale.
How well I remember the morning
my brother Paul left Grassville for his lot of land in "the Heavy Timbers."
Every body would call our home Grassville, though we struggled long and hard for
Graceville. However, when the nickname got into the Gazetteer, we gave it up.
Paul was a fine, strong fellow, five feet eight inches high, with a ruddy
complexion, and life in his eyes. His brown hair curled, his lips were loving
like a girl's, and he was what is called " a mother's boy." There is no bet-ter
recommendation for a young man. His dress was striped home-made cloth, indigo
blue and white, made in the form of a blouse, with wide pantaloons, over which
were drawn long leather boots. The blouse had a square collar, which was turned
back, and revealed a fine, white, and very neatly-made shirt. I made it, though
"I say it who should not say it." The blouse was confined at the waist by a
black leather belt. A very full knapsack, with a blanket strapped outside, a
very bright rifle and axe, completed the accoutrement of the traveler. He walked
as if his nerves were perfectly tempered steel springs, and as though all means
of locomotion were contemptible save those included in himself. He was going to
his farm in the woods, or rather to his " lot of land," which was to become a
farm when it was cleared and brought under cultivation. When he had walked
twenty miles he came to Woodville. His place lay beyond, in the nameless region
known as " the Heavy Timbers." The hard wood and heavy growth frightened many,
but tempted my "live brother," as we used to call him. As he passed on his way,
he came to a house in the outskirts of a hamlet, consisting of a saw and grist
mill, a clothing mill, and five or six dwellings. Paul was hungry—he was a
genuine hero, but heroes get hungry like ordinary mortals. At the edge of a
slope, a little before he came to the house, was a spring, and "a dear pretty
girl" was filling a bright tin pail with the crystal water. Whether the sight of
the young lady intensified Paul's hunger I can not say, but he resolved to get
his dinner at the next house, for hotels were unknown then in this region. He
had bread and cheese in his pack. still he had a fancy to rest and dine. He
knocked at the door of the wayside dwelling, a cheerful voice said " Come in,"
and he entered a neat, large, square room. Two girls—almost as pretty as the one
he had seen at the spring—were spinning ; one was spinning woolen rolls, the
other cotton roping. In each case the material was reduced by machinery to a
roll about as thick as the little finger of the spinner. The wheels occupied one
side of the room, on another a man was making shoes, and at a front window a
worn, faded, but lady like woman with failing sight was mending boys' clothes.
It was a sad fact that the boys of this family were something of the nature of a
nuisance. The neighbors said the father did not like to give them his own trade,
for he felt above it himself. Certain it is, they were not trained to useful
work, but were sometimes made to do "chores." They were imprisoned in school in
winter, and they "raised Cain" the year round. They tore their pantaloons bird
nesting, they made "elbow room" by holes in the sleeves of their jackets, they
went swimming in dark deep pools in Black River, and they were any thing but "a
real blessing to mothers."
In the country where openings
alternate with forests, and a village has six dwellings, a traveler is a sort of
irregular newspaper. Every body is glad to see somebody, when somebody seldom
comes along. There is life in the grasp of a stranger's hand in the monotony
offores life. Paul's was made to feel at home at once. The family of Mr. Joseph
Jones soon learned that he was from Grassville, that he was the son of his
father, who was a man of mark among the settlers, and that he was going to "the
Heavy Timbers" to take up and clear a hundred acre lot. The girls were not
frightened that he was going alone. They even promised to come and see him in
sugar time, as they were only seven miles from his opening that was to be, and
there were blazed trees to mark the way, so one of the boys could pilot them.
" But I will come for you," Paul
said, gallantly. Mrs. Jones looked a little more worn and weary as the young
people talked it over, and said what "good fun it would be." Poor lady ! she had
made just such a beginning with her husband twenty years since. She had helped
him clear a good many acres, but he was not persevering. They had sold out years
ago, and he had "taken up" several kinds of business. For the last years he had
worked at shoemaking. This he had also " taken up," which means, that he had
never learned the trade. He was clever, this Joseph Jones ; but there was sorrow
in that home, and he caused it. The gentler neighbors said, " What a pity such a
clever man should be unsteady!" The bolder and less kind said, " What a shame
that such a man should drink !" He was not a habitual, daily drunkard, but at
all raisings, log rollings, at Christmas, and in all times of illness and
trouble, Mr. Jones was sure to be "in liquor," so as to be useless. This
terrible unreliability had broken his wife's spirit, and almost broken her heart
and at forty she was wrinkled, gray, and. prematurely old. Some thought books
and a superior education had spoiled Mr. Jones; others said more books, a
Lyceum, an agricultural association, and competing for prizes, would have saved
Joseph Jones. But he was not saved, and his family were not blessed in him as
they should have been in a man of his education and ability.
An hour's talk, a nice dinner,
and the smiles of these pretty girls, set Paul vigorously on his way. Did he
steal any thing in that home ? He took something away with him which he never
returned, and which he hid as carefully as if it were a theft. Why is it that
the first consciousness of affection leads us to conceal? There is one name that
we never can utter freely and cheerfully, though the sound of it thrills the
heart with delight, even though it be Smith, Brown, or Jones. Paul took away a
great deal from that wayside house, with its large square working room, and its
various workers. Carefully as he concealed what he took, I have an inven-
tory of all. First, a pair of
bright blue eyes; next, a great lot of golden curls ; then red cheeks, rosy
lips, and a form full of springing grace. Emily had a wreath of trailing arbutus
in her hair, though it was June, and the blossom is always called the May
flower. In this northern region this most beautiful and fragrant bloom is seldom
seen till June. Paul carried away the wreath with the sunny curls, and to this
day he has a special tenderness for trailing arbutus. Cheerily and lightly he
went his way with his hidden treasures to his lot in the heart of "the Heavy
Timbers," and he did not sleep that night till he had explored a good deal.
Laying his pack down on a good dry camping-knoll, he took his rifle and threw it
up in the air, and caught it as it came down, many times in merry play that
night, because his heart was full of companionship. He found a hill-side against
which to build his camp, and the early morning shone on him with axe and shovel,
hard at work clearing a space for his shanty. His shovel had a sheet-iron blade,
and he had carried it in his pack with some screws, which helped him to fit a
wooden handle—holes having been drilled for the screws. Before noon the hill was
partially dug away, and posts set with crotched tops to hold poles, on which a
thatched roof of birch-bark and hemlock-boughs was to be laid. When this was
done, Paul shot a partridge. When it was dressed he broiled it. Perhaps he
smoked it a little, but, with bread and salt from the pack, it made an excellent
dinner. He then peeled birch and gathered hemlock boughs, and before he slept he
had a comfortable camp. He was much happier alone, with the angel in his heart,
the owner of the sunny curls, than he could have been in a log house at the next
opening. He had sundry adventures in his forest solitude. He cleared his land,
leaving a knoll for his house, and he left some grand old forest trees in the
places where he would have set them had not nature forestalled his labor of
love. Trees to most of the settlers were only enemies, to be got rid of. They
spared none but the maples, for sugar. Paul left groves of young trees, though
it cost him much care in burning. Others turned the growth of ages, and which
none can recall to shade the naked land, into ashes, and then into salts, and
then into money. Paul had his time of making salts, a time of tire some and
profitable interest, but his beautiful home at this day is embellished with a
glory of trees.
One Sunday morning Pau was
getting ready to go to church at Woodville—notwithstanding the common property
in the curls and other treasures, he felt more as if he had them when he saw
them in church—this morning he made a kettle of maize meal mush for his
breakfast, and set it out of doors to cool, while he shaved ; for no one was
hirsute in those days who was within hailing distance of civilization. Presently
he heard a series of horrid grunts, and looking out he saw a bear who had put
his head into the kettle of mush without leave, and who was caught by the bail
falling over the back of his ears, the bail having been accidentally left
upright. As Bruin was trapped Paul split his head with his axe, and had enough
to do that day to dress the carcass. No doubt Emily was disappointed in not
seeing him at church, and Paul was disappointed in having plenty of bear's
grease, a barrel of salted meat for winter, and a grand bear skin for his bed.
Day after day our hero went on
felling trees, burning them to ashes, and then, with a leach tub made of a
hollow log, he leached his ashes, and he boiled away the by in a huge cast iron
caldron kettle, and made salts. Salts are always silver to the settler. The land
is cleared of trees when this money is earned, and gold comes of the rich
He built a house of hewn logs,
and the neighbors helped him to roll it up when the time came, and then lie put
a neat paling around a goodly space for a garden, with the house in the centre.
His fence, the first of the kind in that region, was made by driving sharpened
poles into the ground. Next spring he planted scarlet runners, and his fence
became highly ornamental when it was festooned all over with vines in bloom.
He planted currant bushes and
strawberries, plum trees, and even rose bushes, among the great black stumps. He
went on for a year improving his farm, and dreaming of an Emily for his Eve, all
that time, without saying a word to the young lady. He had seen her at church,
and he had called at her home, but he had never found opportunity to speak of
his love or his hope. At last, with his cage built, he determined to try to
catch his bird. One bright morning he found himself in Woodville, and not alone,
for the people were all smartly dressed, and out in the street. Paul asked a lad
where the people were going, and he said, "To the wed-ding, be sure."
" At Mr. Joe Jones's."
Paul gasped out, " Which of the
girls is going to be married?"
" Why, the prettiest one, be
sure." The boy starting to run lest he should miss the show.
Pau! sank down on a rock by the
way-side. What eared he now for his pretty hewn log-house, with real glass
windows, twelve seven-by-nine panes in each? What cared he for pole paling,
scarlet runners, rose bushes, and fruit, and great trees, and groves of trees,
and sugar orchard? His Eve was lost to him. The bears might eat him instead of
the hasty pudding, if it pleased their appetite to do so.
He sat still in his misery, till
the thought struck him that he ought to go on and wish the happy couple joy.
Like a good, generous youth he rose, and with a sad heart and faltering steps he
entered the house of feasting. The clergyman had just married the couple, and
was making a long prayer for their happiness, when Paul found himself at the
door of " the best room" in Mr. Jones's square house, which no one ever dreamed
of calling a cottage. The happy couple were standing together looking what is
called cheap. Their awkward and sheepish appearance made the joyful revelation
to Paul that the bride was Miss Seraphina Elvira, and not Miss Emily Letitia
Jones. How Paul wooed his Emily,
or how happily she was won, I can
hardly tell. Years have gone by since that happy wedding. Sons and daughters
have grown in my brother's home. That faded mother has lived many years with
Emily, a setting sunbeam upon her children and her grand-children. Though she is
sixty years old, she is fairer and fresher than she was twenty years ago. It is
sad to think that the kindest thing Joseph Jones ever did for his wife and chil-
dren was to die. The bird-nesting, out-at-elbow boys took warning by their
father, and all came to good. There are no heavy timbers now, but one of the
finest farming counties occupies their site.
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