squirrel or flitting bird, fell to the ground, where it lay unheeded
and unknown. Pelted by winter storms, it sank deep into the soft earth
where it was nourished and fed, sending out rootlets to take firm hold
of the kind mother who had sheltered it.
Soon the summer's sun called it from its underground bed and still
clinging with its thread-like roots, it pushed up a green head and
looked around the beautiful scenes of woodland, mountain and sky.
Pleased with what it saw, it lifted its head brighter and higher until
it became a mighty oak, a monarch of the forest. Birds and squirrels
made their homes in it and beneath its shade rested the weary.
All the country around belonged to and was inhabited by the Cherokee
Indians, of all known tribes the most civilized and enlightened. No
doubt their papooses swung on the branches of this magnificent tree and
played under its wide spreading arms.
With the coming of the white man, a town grew up--lovely Marietta,
still nestling amid the shadows of Kennesaw, and the Indians were asked
to leave their happy homes, and go to strange lands further West.
Bewildered and uncomprehending, they were unwilling to go, and groups
of them were often seen beneath this same mighty oak--mighty even then,
conferring with the whites, and discussing by signs and gestures,
the momentous question. When, finally, they were persuaded to accept
the proposition of the government, they met in council beneath their
favorite tree and signed the treaty, by which they agreed to leave
their beautiful North Georgia homes forever.
Within the memory of the oldest inhabitants, the grand oak became
historic. It is still standing, and has showed no signs of age, until
a fiery bolt found its lofty height and scathed it far down its trunk.
It stands in the yard of Mrs. H. G. Cole, and is, notwithstanding its
somewhat crippled condition, the admiration of all beholders. Its girth
near the ground is somewhat over eight feet, and seven feet from the
ground it measures considerably more than twelve feet around.
Mrs. Cole, though not aged herself, has seen four generations of her
own family disporting beneath this noble tree, and should it fall
because of age and decay, she and her children would miss and mourn it
as a dear lost friend.
INDEPENDENCE DAY.
Original poem by Mrs. C. M. O'Hara, Greenville, Ga., read on the Fourth
of July, 1912, at the meeting of David Meriwether Chapter:
It has been one hundred and thirty-six years
Since our forefathers laid aside all fears
Of the mother country, and boldly said:
The price of liberty in blood should be paid.
The Continental Congress in Philadelphia met
And resolved that we should independence get,
Thomas Jefferson wrote a long declaration,
Which England said was a sad desecration.
So our mother tried to exercise her right
To tax her children and forbidding the fight.
The battles of Lexington, Bunker Hill and others
Showed England that we were no longer brothers,
After the first gun of the revolution was heard
The Americans lost fear of King George the third;
They determined with Franklin together to stand
And hold fast at any cost the cherished land.
Over a century has passed, the patriots are dust,
In the homes of many daughters their good swords rust,
But the celebration of Independence on the Fourth of July
In the hearts of Americans we trust will never die.
KITTY.
ETHEL HILLYER HARRIS.
_Written for the Xavier Chapter of the D. A. R., Rome, Ga._
"Ah! woman in this world of ours,
What boon can be compared to thee?
How slow would drag life's weary hours,
Though man's proud brow were bound in flowers,
And his the wealth of land and sea,
If destined to exist alone
And, ne'er call woman's heart his own."
_--Morris._
PROLOGUE.
All day long there had been a vague unrest in the old colonial home,
all day the leaves had quivered on the banks of the Mataponi River; the
waves were restless, the dog in his kennel howled fitfully; the birds
and the chickens sought their roosts quiveringly, whimsically, and when
night had let her sable curtain down, a lurid glare shot athwart the
sky, in a strange curved comet-like shape. It was the Indian summer,
October in her glory of golden-rods, sumachs, and the asters in the
wood. But, hist! hark! what breaks upon the autumn stillness and the
quiet of the colonial household on the Mataponi, -- -- ?
It was the cannon at the siege of Yorktown, forty miles away. The
French fleet were making blazing half circles on the sky seen from
their fortifications even thus far below.
Through the long night the boom! boom! boom! continued, the simple,
loyal folks knowing nothing of the result.
At last, wearied and spent, with a prayer to the All Father to save
America, they sought their welcome couches. Among them was Kitty, the
idolized daughter of the family.
Soft! step easy! as we push aside the chintz curtains of her
four-poster and gaze upon the child, to exclaim: How innocent is
youth! Her seventeen years lie upon her pink cheeks, and shimmering
curly tresses as lightly as a humming bird in the heart of roses. Her
lithesome form makes a deep indenture in the thick featherbed, the gay
patchwork quilt half reveals, and half conceals the grace of rounded
arm and neck and breast, a sigh escapes her coral lips, one hand is
thrust beneath the pillow, she dreams!
On the chair her quilted podusouy and long stays are carelessly thrown.
Her Louis Seize slippers with red heels are on the floor, and the old
clock on the stair is ticking, ticking, ticking.
Kitty is dreaming. Of what? The greatest moment in our national
history. Dream on sweet maid, closer, closer point the hands; it nears
three o'clock Oct. 19, 1781. A wild cry, and the whole household is
awake.
Swift running to and fro,
Smiles, tears, shouts, "glory," "glory," "God be praised."
Such the sounds that faintly reach the dreaming senses of our Kitty.
And then her father with a kiss and hug pulls her out of bed with
"Awake lass! awake! awake! Cornwallis has surrendered."
In her night gown from her latticed window Kitty saw the courier
galloping through the little hamlet; pausing at her father's gate to
give the message of our conquest over the British, and then galloping
on towards the North, for he was on the direct route from Yorktown to
Philadelphia where Congress was in session.
By the time Kitty had pompadoured her hair, and donned her paviered
print gown, all the parish bells were ringing for joy. From Georgia to
Maine bells were sounding; peals of liberty and peace filled the air
with prayers and praise and service to God took up the glad hour and
over and over the refrain was sung "Cornwallis is taken! Cornwallis is
taken."
Ah, dear Kitty, and quaint little tableau of the long ago, five
generations coming and going, in whose veins beats your loyal blood
still listen and tremble and glow with pride at your legend of the
siege of Yorktown, and better still, sweetest of all the long agone
ancestors more than five nations, indeed every nation honors and makes
low obeisance to the stars and the stripes. "Old glory! long may she
wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave."
CHAPTER FIRST.
"Thinkest thou existence doth depend on time?
It doth; but actions are our epochs."
In 1784 or 85, Mr. Carlton, who had his home on the Mataponi River,
moved with his family to Georgia.
After Cornwallis had delivered his sword to Washington, a little group
of emigrants might have been seen at Yorktown; among them the families
of Edmund Byne and Robert Carlton.
Out in the blue harbour the nifty little brig "Nancy" lay, all sails
spread ready to embark to Savannah, Ga.
These two above named gentlemen, took passage with their families,
servants and household goods, and they were said to be persons of
sincere, and devoted piety, full of hope and courage. They expected to
reach Savannah in three days.
However, contrary winds set in, and the brig daring not hug the
treacherous coasts of the Carolinas sped far out to sea amid a terrific
storm. She drifted for weeks at the mercy of the waves, until the
passengers almost despaired of seeing land. If in our prologue, we saw
a pretty, and partly imaginary picture of Katherine Carlton, known as
Kitty, for she it is now eighteen years of age, we see her again and in
true historical facts receive her account of long ago, of the peril.
Thus reads her account: "One time it seemed as if the end had come.
'Twas night. The passengers were lying in their berths enduring as well
as they could the dangers of the hour, when suddenly the ship careened,
seemingly falling on its side. It was then the voice of one of those
pious men was heard amidst the howling winds 'Lord help us up,' and
straightway the ship was set upright and the danger was passed."
The little party after landing on our beautiful south Georgia coast,
sweet with golden jasmines, and long moss on the beautiful braided live
oak, proceeded up the country, in true emigrant fashion, in wagons.
Imagination, that merry, fantastic jade, will not let my pen be steady.
A thousand pictures obtrude. Kitty, her head so curly, eyes so dark and
soft, thrust from out the wagon's canvassed top, or again her snowy
fingers playing in the cool waters of a running brook, when the team
stops to feed and drink. Then Mr. Carlton, brave, resolute and the camp
fire, the smell of broiled bacon, the dog on trail of a rabbit, the
straw for seats, and weird firelight, and above all, the eternal stars
of heaven.
But we must hasten, though the chronicle, which is reliable, states
that it took five weeks to reach their destination in Burke County.
As they approached the Northern border of Wilkes County, the trees grew
taller, and the red oak, the white oak, burch, and maple, the crimson
honeysuckle, and wild violets and muscadine vines took the place of
yellow jasmine, and moss and whispering pines.
It was indeed a forest primeval, a virgin soil, and a new land. So on
the last day of their tiresome journey, early one morning, they came to
a creek. There was no bridge, and it was plain that the stream had to
be forded.
The wagons were moving slowly along. Katherine and her sister walking
in front. A discussion arose: "What about the girls? Here! come Kitty!"
or "Stop, Kitty! don't take off your slippers; you can't wade." About
that time up rode a gallant revolutionary soldier named Captain John
Freeman, who boldly said "I'll take Kitty" and in a trice he had the
fair young lady behind him on his own horse, and the limpid waters of
our clear Georgia stream were laying its flanks as he proceeded across
the stream.
CHAPTER SECOND.
"The wagons have all forded the brook as it flows, and then the rear
guard stays--
To pick the purple grapes that are hanging from the boughs."
--_Edward Everett Hale._
While our heroine is riding along in the dewy morn of the day, and at
the same time enjoying the beauties of nature and no doubt with her
lithe young body leaning against the Captain, causing his heart to beat
a double quick, we will go on with our narrative.
Captain John Freeman was a native Georgian, a Revolutionary soldier,
he was present at the siege of Charlestown and Savannah, a participant
in the battles of Cowpens, King's Mountain and Guilford Court House,
at the battle of Kettle Creek, and also at the capture of Augusta in
Georgia.
In most of his adventures in the Revolutionary war, Captain Freeman had
with him a colored boy named Ambrose, who lived to a very great age
and was well known to the younger generation as "Uncle Ambrose." He
had his own cabin in Athens, Georgia. Incidents in regard to him were
handed by tradition. He had on his left arm the scar of a sabre cut,
made by British dragoons when General Tarleton's men were attacking
and endeavoring to get away with the American trooper's horses that
had been left at the camp, and which it was in part, the duty of the
boy Ambrose to keep. The British dragoons had possession of the horses
for awhile and Ambrose a prisoner also, but by a rapid retaliation the
horses and servants were recovered. Old Ambrose used to tell about
having been present at the siege of Savannah, when Count Pulaski, one
of the American Generals, was killed. He said that he was back in the
edge of the pine, or timber when the American army charged on the
British fort and breastworks. He described Pulaski as mounted on a
spirited horse, with a great white plume in his hat, and how gallantly
he led the Americans in their advance. He saw Pulaski when he fell from
the horse, and was present at the point to which he was brought back,
mortally wounded.
CHAPTER THIRD.
"Blessed with that charmed certainty to please
How oft her eyes read his;
Her gentle mind, to his thoughts, his wishes, inclined."
ANONYMOUS.
As might be guessed, in a few short months after crossing the creek
together on horse-back, Captain John Freeman led Kathrine Carlton to
the altar.
In regard to her after-life, she was a wonder for those times, a great
reader and a fine housekeeper, a fine raconteur; yet with all, the soul
of hospitality. She had a healthy, strong mind; was imperious in her
bearing, a devoted member of the church, a power in her family, and
section.
Captain Freeman was a wealthy man, and took her at times in a carriage
to the Mountains of North Carolina on a pleasure trip.
She bore him one child, Rebecca, of a temperamental nature, and of deep
piety like her mother. This child was the author of many lovely poems.
Captain Freeman did not live to be very old. After his death Mrs.
Freeman met losses which she bravely bore, Rebecca married Shaler
Hillyer and from this union sprang all the Georgia Hillyers. And to
this day "Grandma Freeman" is almost a sainted word in the family, so
strong was her character and so deep her love for others. She lived to
be eighty-nine years old. In her bedroom was an old time tall clock
that Captain Freeman had brought over from England when he brought his
blue china dishes. As she drew her last breath, a beloved niece looked
at the clock but it had stopped. That clock is still owned by one of
her descendants, and it is not a legend but a fact, that when anything
important happens, in the family, if it is running, it stops, if it is
not running, it strikes.
But to return to the Bynes: to show that we are journeying on to meet
those who are journeying on to meet us.
Mr. Bynes' daughter Annie, she who came in the brig "Nancy" with Mr.
Carlton, married a Mr. Harris, their daughter married Mr. Hansell, and
his granddaughter, the beautiful golden haired Leila, a noted belle and
beauty, of Atlanta, Georgia, married a Mr. Llewelynn P. Hillyer, of
Macon, Georgia, the great grandson of Kitty Carlton.
If the writer may be pardoned for saying so, she is the granddaughter
of Junius Hillyer, the grandson of Kitty Carlton; and she also pleads
guilty to the soft impeachment of having married Hamilton Harris, a
relative of the Byne family, too.
Two shall be born the whole wide apart and time and tide will finally
bring them together. Affinity, congeniality, fate! What?
Hurrah for the brave little sailing vessel, the nifty, white winged
brig, "The Nancy."
BATTLE OF KETTLE CREEK.
No battle of Revolutionary times was more instrumental in making the
surrender of Cornwallis, at Yorktown, possible than was the battle of
Kettle Creek. As it was at that period of the war the only American
victory in the far South, and though it seemed unimportant, it was a
prominent factor in holding the militia together and stimulating, them
to fight to ultimate victory.
After the battle of Monmouth, the largest engagement in the North
closed, the scene drifted to the South. Georgia was practically subdued
by the British in January, 1779. General Provost, commanding the
British in South Carolina, and Commodore Parker and Lieut. Campbell, on
the sea, had captured Savannah and being so encouraged, made plans to
aid the Tories in crushing all patriots who dared to resist.
On February 14th, 1779, at War Hill, Wilkes County, Georgia, the battle
of Kettle Creek was fought. Between four hundred and five hundred
Americans were in this engagement under Col. Pickens, against seven
hundred men under Col. Boyd, a British officer, who was secretly
employed by the British to organize a band of Tories in South Carolina
and who was on his way to join the British Army and had planned to take
Augusta on his route.
Col. Boyd was mortally wounded in this battle. As soon as Col. Pickens
heard of it he immediately visited his opponent and offered him any
assistance within his power. The dying man left with him keepsakes and
letters which were promptly delivered to his wife after his death.
In Vol. II, Wm. Bacon Stevens' History of Georgia, New York, 1847,
Bishop Stevens gives the following account of this battle:
"The enemy having effected a passage into Georgia, Pickens and
Dooly, now joined by Col. Clarke, resolved to follow; and they
accordingly crossed the Savannah on February 12, 1779, and camped
the following night within four miles of the enemy. Forming the
line of march in the order of battle, the Americans now prepared
once more, at a great disadvantage of numbers, to contest with the
Tories for the supremacy of upper Georgia. Much depended on this
battle. If Boyd should be successful in driving back the Americans
under such men as Pickens and Dooly and Clarke, he might rest
assured that no further molestation, at least for a very long time,
would follow, and all would yield to the British power, while on
the other hand should the Americans be successful, it would not
only crush the Tory power, already so galling to the people, but
protect them from further insult, and give a stimulus to American
courage, which a long series of disasters made essential. It was a
moment big with the fate of upper Georgia.
"Boyd, with a carelesness evincing great lack of military skill and
prudence, had halted on the morning of the 14th of February, 1779,
at a farm house near Kettle Creek, in Wilkes County, having no
suspicion of the near approach of the Americans, and his army was
dispersed in various directions, some killing and gathering stock,
others engaged in cooking and in different operations. Having
reconnoitered the enemy's position, the Americans, under Pickens,
advanced in three divisions; the right under Col. Dooly, the left
under Col. Clarke and the center led by the Commander himself, with
orders not to fire a gun until within at least thirty paces. As
the center, led by Pickens, marched to the attack, Boyd met them
at the head of a select party, his line being protected by a fence
filled with fallen timber, which gave him a great advantage over
the troops in front. Observing this half formed abatis, Pickens
filed off to a rising ground on his right, and thence gaining the
flank of Boyd rushed upon him with great bravery, the enemy fleeing
when they saw their leader shot down before them. He was sustained
in this charge by Dooly and Clarke, and the enemy after fighting
with great bravery, retired across the creek, but were rallied by
Major Spurgen on a hill beyond, where the battle was again renewed
with fierceness. But Col. Clarke, with about fifty Georgians,
having discovered a path leading to a ford, pushed through it,
though in doing so he encountered a severe fire and had his horse
shot down under him, and by a circuitous route rose upon the hill
in the rear of Spurgen, opening a deadly fire. The enemy hemmed in
on both sides, fled, and were hotly pursued by the victors, until
the conquest was complete. For an hour and a half, under great
disadvantage and against a force almost double, had the Americans
maintained the now unequal contest, and though once or twice it
seemed as if they must give way, especially when the Tories had
gained the hill and were reinforced under Spurgen; yet the masterly
stroke of Clarke, with his few brave Georgians, turned the scale,
and victory, bloody indeed, but complete, was ours."
THE DARING EXPLOIT OF GRACE AND RACHAEL MARTIN.
At the beginning of the War of the American Revolution, Abram and
Elizabeth Martin were living in Ninety Six District, now Edgefield
County, South Carolina, with their nine children. Seven of their eight
sons were old enough to enter the army, and were noted for their
gallantry and patriotic zeal. The wives of the two eldest sons, Grace
Waring and Rachael Clay, during the absence of their husbands, remained
with their mother-in-law.
One evening the news reached them that a courier bearing important
despatches was to pass that night along the road guarded by two British
officers. Grace and Rachael determined to waylay the party and obtain
possession of the papers. Disguised in their husbands' clothes, and
well provided with arms, they hid in the bushes at a point on the road
where the escort must pass. Darkness favored their plans and when
the courier and his guards approached they were completely taken by
surprise by the suddenness of the attack. They had no choice but to
surrender. The young women took their papers, released the soldiers on
parole, and hastened home to send the important documents to General
Greene by a trusty messenger.
The paroled officers returned by the road they had come and stopping
at the home of the Martins, asked accommodations for the night. The
hostess asked the reason for their prompt return. They replied by
showing their paroles, and saying they had been taken prisoners by two
Rebel lads. The ladies rallied them on their lack of courage and asked
if they were unarmed. They said they were armed but were suddenly taken
off their guard.
They went on their way the next morning without a suspicion that
they owed their capture to the women whose hospitality they had
claimed.--_Grace L. Martin, Piedmont Continental Chapter, D. A. R._
A REVOLUTIONARY PUZZLE.
These old rhymes were written in the early part of the Revolutionary
War--about 1776. If read as written they are a tribute to the king
and his army, but if read downward on either side of the comma,
they indicate an unmistakable spirit of rebellion to both king and
parliament. The author is unknown:
Hark, hark, the trumpet sounds, the din of war's alarms
O'er seas and solid grounds, doth call us all to arms
Who for King George doth stand, their honors shall soon shine
Their ruin is at hand, who with the congress join.
The acts of parliament, in them I might delight,
I hate their cursed intent, who for the congress fight
The Tories of the day, they are my daily toast,
They soon will sneak away, who independence boast,
Who nonresistant hold, they have my hand and heart
May they for slaves be sold, who act the Whiggish part,
On Mansfield, North and Bute, may daily blessings pour,
Confusion and dispute, on congress evermore;
To North and British Lord, may honors still be done,
I wish to block and cord, to General Washington.
SOUTH CAROLINA IN THE REVOLUTION.
(Prize essay written by Miss Leota George of Sandy Springs in
competition for the medal offered by Cateechee Chapter, D. A. R., to
English class in Anderson College, S. C.)
South Carolina had a large share in winning American independence.
Several decisive battles were fought on her soil. For the struggle she
furnished far-sighted statesmen, brilliant leaders for the battlefield,
and troops of patriotic, devoted men. Her daughters brought to the
conflict immeasurable aid, comfort and influence. The men of South
Carolina saved their own state and were able to give invaluable aid to
their countrymen in other sections.