Semi-weekly Camden journal. [volume] (Camden, South-Carolina) 1851-1852, 1851-09-02

hare loved thee dearly do | love thee, even
now, in this last, darkes! hour of my existence.
Thou vert the foremost to throw off the do
minion of old England! Never submit to the
yoke of her monarch. Even choose death to
submission-a grave to chains and servitude.
Sooner would see every member Of my State
die in her defence; aye, even as shall die ere
this days sun shall go to rest, than that she
should submit and remain in bondage and oP-
preston. South Carolina, receive my bless
ing, the last shall ever give to thee. Guard
thou the Palmetto Banner with thy life, when
death only can save it from dishonor; let thy
hearts blood crimson its snowy whiteness, but
never suffer the stain of submission to color its
glorious folds. But this is not time to cling
with such deathless affections to what is Of
"earth, earthly" The thoughts ofthis last hour
should be of thee only, my Heavenly Father"
1t was the hour OF noon Not zephyr stir
red the hot air, or ruffled old Oceans sleeping
pillows. The breeze scarcely murmuIed amid
the snowy flowers of the orange groves, or wa
we'd the white incense cups of the magnolia
The Red Cross of St. George waved not proud
y and free from the citadel turret, but consci-
Gus of the life blood that crimsoned its hutter.
ings, dropped mournfully downward, and, moro
human than its defenders, could not gaze upon
another scene of murder. The sun poured
down its burning rays upon the glowing sands
Of Charleston; mournfully dropped the hang
ing moss from the branches of the old oaks
How many dark and bloody scene had that
calm sky looked down upon, and over those
still waters, how often had the sigh ofthe lone
ly captive, the groan of the dying soldier, been
waited. 4 stiffness like death-a gloom like
the shadow of the grave, hung over the city,
That deep silence, like the calm preceding the
tornadoes Of the Indies, foretold convulsion,
but a mightier far than that of wind or water.
"'rhe still small voice" that spoke in the Mar
tyr's death, aroused the fierce whirlwind and
earthquake of human passion.
Beyond the precincts Of the city, upon worn
out common, were gathered all those who had
deserted the streets OF Charleston. There was
the gold and scarlet uniform Of the British Off
ccr the plain dress of the civilian, the peaceful
drab of the quaker, even the coperas suit of the
negro. There was not heard the shout of con-
tending armies, the roar of artillery, that attends
the soldiers DEATH No hearsc with sable
plums was there, no muffied drum, no Grape
shroaded banner, to MARI the soldiers funeral.
Instead of these were the gibbet, the rude white
pine coffin, the carriers cart. Beside that
coffin stood Isaac HAyHE, the Martyr Of Ca.
rolina. A halo seemed lowering around that
noble form, and on that glorious brow was writ
ten the strength of high and holy resolve
There was smile in his full dark eye, upraised
to Heaven, as though, like the exile returning
to his native land he had pierced the mists
around him, and WAS gazing upon his heavenly
home.
Every brow was pale; upon every face was
written the feeling of the heart-hatred, wrath
and sorrow, struggling for the mastery. But
no tears were there; that scene was too SUBJ
lime for tears The soldiers of King George
looked gloomy; even to them. voice was cry
ing "Murdcrw The executioner advanced to
raise the fatal drop. Suddenl the word "Fa-
therw was borne upon the still air, uttered in
tones of such wild agony, that even the rude
soldiers started, and the hand of the execution
er fell powcrless by his side. A boy, over
whose head scarce twelve summers suns had
shone, dashed through the crowd Beautiful
was that young face, with its dark, flashing
eyes, its raven curls, waving over broad, high
forehead, upon which the seal of intellect was
stamped.
"Father," he exclaimed, as the martyr fold
ed him to his heart, "Amcrca will avenge her
murdered Haync! England shall yet weep
tears of blood for thce~ and his pale lip quiv.
cred with scoFn as he gazed upon his fathers
foes and his own.
"My noble boy, weep for your father, but
weep not that he died for his country. Love
that country even as he loved it; with his
sword and your own life defend it. Go forth
to battle with stout heart and strong arm,
and if YOU fall, Columbia's flag will form your
winding sheet May the God of Battles, bless
you my son."
The boy turned away, and with firm proud
step passed through that host of glittering
blades, and brilliant uniforms. Every heart
was tul! of compassion for that lone, injured
child-cvery heart re-echocd the words, God
bless youw He turned to gaze upon his father
for the last time. A strange, wildlight gleam-
ed in his dark eye, and he laughed bitter, uu.
earthly laugh.
Hayne lived as South Carolina wishes her
sons to live he died as South Carolina wishes
her sons to die. He taught his country's ene-
mics, How an American could die" His
ashes sleep in narrow grave, beneath tho red
soil of his native State, but the breast OF every
Caronian is his sepulchre. His monument is
a nations gratitude, his eptaph, a nations tears.
Carolina wept stern tears for him, but Britain
;J i,o,, L.ck in drons of blood" Seventv