The southern enterprise. [volume] (Greenville, S.C.) 1854-1870, 1857-06-04
MiarRllaneuua RRaaiug.
[From the Charleston Mercury.]
The Grave of Osceola,


ing in June that the little ferry boat Massa-
soft drew up to the wharf Of Sulivan's Is.
land. 1t was the first time we had ever Wis
tied this spot, so celebrated in the history of
Carolina. Often when reading of the fierce
conflict Of the 2sth Of June, 1875, had we
pictured the little fort of Palmetto logs
the white waves beating against the founda.
tion-the Palmetto trees Scattered around
its walls; but it was in imagination only.
The reality was now before us--the Palmet.
toes were waving gracefully in the soft sea
breeze; and there, with massive walls and
frowning guns bristling from each bastion,
stood not the fort of logs but-the modern
Fort Moultrie. To one who has never Wis.
tied this renowned fortification, the sight is
well calculated to awaken the beh holder's at
teniion. Far out on the oceans bosom the
white sails Of merchantmen may he seen
duttering in the breeze, as they bear the rich
products of our land to foreign shores. On
the opposite side may be seen the tall s,ee.
Piles rising from Charleston, and rejecting
the dazzling sunlight from their giIded tops.
Mount Pleasant, with all its varied beauty,
lies to the right while Castle Pincknev and
Fort Sumter rise as from the bosom of the
waves.
Snch was the scenery that greeted us on
the morning of our first visit to Fort Moul.
trie. With what deep emotions we entered
the dark archway that led lis within lis
walls Visions of old Moultrie and his pine
of Thompson with his wonted coolness-
of Jasper proudly catching ,he old Palmetto
Banner, and amid the shower Of grape-shot
kissing around him. firmly binding it to the
broken staff-constantly floated before us.
But now the scene was indeed changed.
Instead Of few small guns mounted on
wooden ramparts, huge grinning cannons
were seen firmly arranged in warlike array
on those massive walls. Soldiers and Off
GERS in gay uniforms were seen lounpinp
around the terrible engines of war, or drill.
ing their respective squads, forming strik
ing contrast with the imagined appearance
of those stern veterans of '76, who knew no
company or drill, but knew so we'll how to
defend the rights of their country.
We had spent some time in viewing the
scenery from the ramparts Of the fort, when
some of our party commenced reviewing the
outer works, myself among the latter mum
Der. On our first arrival we had noticed on
the western side of the fort simple marble
slab, bearing on its face some slight inscrip.
ton, but none then thought it worthy of no.
uce, in contemplation of the more majestic
scenery and now, as we drew near that
simple marble, what was our surprise to find
that II covered the last resting place of one
scarcely less brave than those who had bled
there eighty years before-it was the grave
of OsceoIa! Here, meath the walls of For,
Moultrie. the brave defender of his country
found his last resting place. The simple
marble slab, bearing the name of" Osceola, ,"
is all that is left to tell where the warrior
sleeps. True, some warm hearts, displaying
a humanity quite rare, had planted over the
spot weeping willow, which sheltered from
the night dew the warriors grave. But
even this token of susceptible and eener-
ous soul was destined to fall whitening and
crushed like the one DER whom it was plant
ed. The ruthless storm had lain it low over
Oceola's grave, and there it withered and
died, fit emblem Of that fate which befell
the stern warrior.
The circumstances of the capture, imprs-
onment and death of the great chieftain are
so well known, that they need but slight
notice here. Hunted like wild beast by
bloodhounds, in his native swamps, he for
long time defied capture. But at last, when
bravery could not vanquish him, treachery
was resorted TO in order to accomplish the
desired end. He was enticed into the camp
of his foemen, and in violation of every law
of humanity, imprisoned and brought to
Charleston. But now, alas /! the stern and
naughty spirit of the warrior was crushed
forever. Tyranny had inflicted its last
wound upon his proud soul. For some
weeks he fingered in gloomy ard heart.
broken sorrow, refusing all relief or consola-
ton. The reed, after receiving its death
stroke, seldom fingers long, ere its leaves
fall withered 10 the dust. Thus It was viii,
the Indian warrior. After remaining
short time in disgraceful captivity, his proud
soul left its earthly tenement, and fled to
the happy hunting grounds of his fathers.
On that bright sandy shore his mortal re.
mains now sleep, forever free from the evil
intrigues Of this cold and cruel world
Peace be 10 the warriors spirit. ..
.... .. ... .... TRYON.
A CoLoRED MAN ELECTED TO OFFlcE.-