The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1899-11-08

know if there is any remedy for this.
Yes, I think so, unless hogs fattened
on pinders are different from those
fattened on corn.
This reminds me of war story.
In 1864 my wife and half a dozen
little children found refuge from the
foul invader at her father' S plantation
on the upper Chattahoochee river.
There was no white man there or near
there save her olo father, Judge
Hutchins. There were about hun
dred negroes, more than half Of them
too old or 600 young to work. Food
for our soldiers was getting scarcer
every day and orders came that every
farmer should be tithed-that is to
say, he should give up to the govern
ment agents portion Of his corn and
meat and beef cattle. A mounted de-
tail from the home guard was sent
out with the wagons to enforce the
order and gather in the supplies. There
was nobody to resist them, for every
body was in the army save the old
men and inyalids and women and chill
dren. Late one evening a company
of thirty men came to Judge Hutchins'
house and rudely informed him that
they came for bacon and beef cattle.
The judge very calmly told them he
bad none to spare. For while they
parleyed with him but finally demand
ed the Fey to his smokehouse. My
wife and children and two other little
grandchildren listened in fear and
anxiety. They knew that the Judge
was fearless man, but there were SO
many well armed men against him,
the odds were fearful, and when he
refused to give up the key, they said
they would arrest him and break down
the door.
Then he pleaded with them in
trembling voice and said to the cap
tain: 1Here is my daughter and her
little helpless children and here are
two others whose mother is dead and
their father is in the army. I have
but four sons and they are in the
army. Ny two sons-in-law are there.
Here on this place are fifty or sixty
negroes who are too young or TOO old
to work, and it is struggle for US all
to live. | am alone aud getting old.
I have done my share for the confed
eracy and cannot do more. Now I
know that you can overpower me or
kill me and take away the little meat
l have saved for these helpless ones,
but let me tell you, captain, the first
man who goes to that door to break il
doyn will be dead man before he
can do it. His black eyes flashed as
if lit up by sparks of fire and his voice
no longer trembled. He was despe-
rate. Lightly be ascended the stairs,
where he had two double-barreled
guns well loaded, and planting him
self by the window that overlooked
the smokehouse, he said, "Now break
that door if you dare to- and the
percussion lock went click, click.
The captain looked at the door and
then at the Judge. There was an
awful silence for afew moments. My
wife and children had heard it all and
trembled. Some of the negroes had
gathered at the cabin doors, and old
Sam dared to exclaim in low, husky
voice, "Better not-better not-old
massa kill you-kill you shore y
The captain suddenly reconsidered.
"Come, boys" said he "it's getting
late; and there ain t no use in fighting
about little meat. We can report
the case to headquarters and if we are
ordered back we can try it again, [
reckon Without saying goodbye or
farewell they left.
That night about midnight the judge
called up old Jack and Virgil, whom
he knew he could trust, and had the
joints of the meat and part Of the
sides carried quietly down to the old
blacksmith shop on the bank of the
river With a pick and shovel the
cinders and earth in the old hearth
were soon excavated and chamber
fashioned that would hold and hide
thousand pounds. 1t was buried
there and the hearth was covered just
like it had been. Some scattering
charcoal filled in the spaces aud some
was left on top and the black old
basks. placed where it long had been.
With shovel and wheelbarrow the
surplus earth was taken down the
river bank and tumbled in and then
all was quiet on the Chattahoochee.
The burial Of Sir John Moore was not
moro silent In January. 1863.