The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1866-08-31
THE GREAT DROUGHT.
CHAPTER "

THE GREAT DROUGHT.
CHAPTER v.
Time passed ON, and there was no
change in the state of things. Still
an unclouded sun; still the deep, in-
tense blue sky; winds on the earth,
but no moisture: and the whole frame
Of nature seemed crumbling into
chaos. PaHlett felt the strife with
fate to be unequal indeed, and could
scarcely comprehend that he and his
family were truly survivors amid such
destruction; but he resolved not TO
give in while the means remained TO
him, but to fight the fight out nntil
overpowered by che material uni
verse. He told Ellen that they must
move to some place where they might
hope to find more diamonds; and Ell
len agreed, wishing, with Paulett,
that the strife were over and the last
agony suffered, and that they were
among the free and disembodied
spirits. London was their object;
for there they night hope to find
most of the materials of what was
now the most precious of all things
water; and, providing as we'll rs they
could for their necessities by the
way, they Quilted the cavern and set
off on their journey.
First came the father, carving
the little Alice in his arms; the boy
held his mother by the hand, and
they followed Paulett in his path.
There was the delicate woman, the
mother Of all that remained alive of
the human race, setting ont on the
desert, which she remembered but a
few years before the scene of luxury
and abundance. On her shoulder
she carried IL burthen, containing
corn for their sustenance, and the
brave boy took his share by bearing
the jar of water which had been pro-
vidcd for their support on the jour
ney; and thus the last family of man
kind set out on their pilgrimage over
the desolated earth. The unmitigated
sun had made great rents in the sides
of the hills, and, together with the
wind, had broken up the roads be-
tween which and the parched fields
there was scarcely now any difference.
Where there had been enclosures and
hedges, the withered sticks had, in
most places, yielded TO the winds,
and were scattered about the spot
where they had stood. Here and
there were the marks of fire, which
had run along the country till some
interval Of the previous desolation
had stopped it; and where this had
been the case, the black, nnsightly
remains lay strewn over the surface
one further step advanced in dissolu-
ton than the dead world around.
There was no want Of habitations for
their nightly shelter. Palaces and
cottages, all alike, were open; all
alike, were silent and tenantless ha-
bitations. They might choose where
they would. And the first day they
did not go far, for Ellen and her chill
dren, with stout hearts, had not
bodily strength for great fatigue, and
were unused to the strong exertion
they were now compelled to make.
Towards evening, therefore, when
they reached q house, with which
Panlett and Ellen had once been ia
miliar, they determined to rest there
for the night. They pushed open
the gates, which still swung on their
hinges, and which admitted them to
what had been park, filed once
with trees and bathed with waters. A
large wood covered the hill which
rose on ono side, and which now,
under summer sun, stood perfectly
bare, and all of one uniform gray
color as far as the view extended.
On the other side, the eye looked
over tract of country varied with
hlil and dale, but desolate of every
color that used to shine forth in light
and shade. The setting sun shone
among the leafess branches, casting
long brilliant rays of light. The un-
clouded sky met the sparkling earth,
and both glittered with unnatural
brilliancy. To Paulett and Ellen
everything spoke of desolation and
death; and an exclamation escaped
Ellen, in q low tone, that it was a