Staunton spectator, and general advertiser. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 183?-1849, 1847-05-27
NJ | S G E L l. A NY.
THE MARTYR OF THE SOUTH


1t is not often that great city feels. but when
this great heart of humanity, whose every pulsa
ton is life, can feel, the result is more terrible
than the bloodiest battle. Yes when those arteries
Of city, lis streets, and lanes, and alleys thrill
with the same feeling, when, like an electric
chain, Ii darts nvisby from one breast to another,
until 1t sweS ten thousand hearts, the result is ter
rible. care not whether that result is manifested
in riot, that fills the streets with the blood of men.
and women and little children, that fires the roof
over the head of the innocent, or sends the church
of God whirling in smoke and flame to the mid
night sky; or whether that feeling is manifested in
the silence Of thousands. the bowed head. the COM
pressed lip, the stealthy footstep, still it fearful
thing to see.
There is gloom to-day in Charleston
A dead awe reigns over the city Every face
you is stamped with gloom men go silently
by, with anguish in their hearts and eyes. Wo-
men are weeping in their darkened chambers In
yonder church old men are kneeling before the al
tar, praying In low, deep, mutered tones. The
very soldiers whom you meet, clad in their British
uniform, wear sadness their faces. Those men,
to whom murder is sport, are gloomy to-day. The
citizens pass hurredly to and fro cluster in groups
whisper together; glide silently into their homes
The stores are closed today, as though it were
Sunday. The windows Of those houses are closed
as though some great man were dead there is ST
lence in the air, as though plague had despoiled
the town Of IFS beauty and lis manhood.
The British Banner-stained as it is with the
best blood Of the Palmetto Sate--seems TO parake
of the influence Of the hour; for, floating from yon-
der staff, it does not swell buoyantly upon the
breeze, but drops heavily to the ground
The only sound you hear, save the hurried tread
OF the citizens, Is the low solemn notes Of the dead
march, groaning from muiIled drums WHY all
UlnOn no md Tho
eyes? Why do wing and tory, citizen and SOL
der, share -ihe gloom alike ?-Why this silence,
this awe, this dread
Look yonder, and in the centre of that common,
deserted by every human thing behod-rsing in
lonely hideousness-behod, a GALLONS.
Why does that gibbet stand there, blackeninp in
the morning sun Come with me into Wonder man
sion, whose roof arises proudly over all other roofs
Up these carpeted stairs, into this luxurious cham
Der, whose windows are darkened by hangings Of
satin, whose walls covered with tapestry whose
floor is covered with elegant furniture. All is 81
lent in this chamber.
A single glow of morning light steals through
the parted curtains of Wonder window. Beside that
window, with his back to the light, his face in the
shadow, as though he wished 10 hide certain dark
thoughts from the light, sits a young man. his
handsome form arrayed in a British uniform. He
is young, but there is the gloom of age upon that
that curling lip. His attitude is significant. His
head inclined to side, the cheek resting on the
left hand, while the right grasps parchment,
which bears his signature, the ink not yet dried
That parchment is deatt-warrant.
II you will look closely upon that red uniform
you will see that it is stained with the blood OF
Paoli, where the cry for "quarter" was answered
| by the falling sword and the reeking bayonet,-
| Yes, this is none other than General Grey, the
butcher Of Paoli transformed by the accoiade Of
his King into Lord Rawdon.
While he is there, by the window, grasping that
parchment in his hand, the door opens. strange
group stand disclosed on the threshold. A wo-
man and three children. dressed in black. stand
there gazing upon the English lord. They slowly
advance; do you behold the pale face Of that wo-
man, her eyes. large and dark, not wet with tears
but gIarIng with speechcss awe? On one side a
little girl, with brown ringleis, on the other he,
sister, year older, with dark hair, relieving a
paid face
Somewhat in front, his young form rising to eve
ry inch of it's height. stands boy Of thirteen. with
chestnut curls clustering about his fair countenance
You can see that dark eye flash, that lower lin
culver, as he silently confronts Lord Rawdon