Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, September 07, 1847, Image 1
IIT)T1)GDO) JOURNAL BY JAMES CLARK : VOL XII, NO. 36. TERNIS The HUNTINGDON JOURNAL" will be 'intpliehed hereafter at the following rates, viz: $1.75 a year, if paid in advance; $2.00 if laid during the year, and $2.50 if not paid un til after the expiration of the year. The above terms to be adhered to in all cases. No subscription taken for leas than six months, and no paper discontinued until all arrearageo are paid, unless at the option of the publisher. c c? To Clubs of six, or more, who pay in ad vance, the Journal will be sent et $1.50 per copy for one year; and any ono who will send us that number of names accompanied with the money shall receive the Journal ono year for his trouble. Any ERTIREMENTS not exceeding one square, will be inserted three times for $1 00, and for every subsequent insertion 25 cents. If no definite or der. are given as to the time an advertisement la to be continued, it will be kept in till ordered out and charged accordingly. POETICAL. [From thn linickmbocker.) GIVE, Ora TO 111 M THAT ASILKTII THEE, If the poor mar. pass thy door, Give him of thy bounteous store; Give him food, and give him gold, Give him shelter from the cold; Aid him his lone life to lire, For 'Lis angel-like to give 'though world riches thou butt tot Give to him of poorer lot; Think thee of the widow's mite In the Holy AlAwrzit's night, It was more, a thousand Than the rich mates hoard of gold, Give ; it iv tho better part ; Give to him, the .poor in heart;' Give of love, in large degree, Give of hope and sympathy ; Cheer, to them who sight 'forlorn, Light, to hint whose lamp is gone. Give the gray-haired wanderer room Lead hint gently to the tomb; Let him not in friendless clime, Float adown the tide of time; Hear the mother's lonely call, She, the dearest one of all. And the lost, abandoned ono, In thy pathway do not shun; hif thy kindness she bath need ; Bind with bunt the bruised reed Give, and gifts above all price, Shall be thins; in Paradise. MISCELLANEOUS. NEONTERET BY GEORGE LIPPARD THEY tell me that Monterey is beau tiful, that it lies among the snow white mountains whose summits reach the clouds, It sleeps beneath us now. While the moon, parting from the I ; white mountain tops, sails in the serene upper air, we still stand among the trees I of the Walnut Grove, and behold the I. slumbering city. These trees, beneath whose leaves we stand, speak of the ages that are gone. So massive in their trunks, so wide spreading in their branches, so luxuriant in their foliage. The moonlight trem- , bles through the quivering leaves, and I reveals the rich garniture of the soil. It blooms with tropical fruits and flow ers. Around the quiet columns of Wal nut, the jessamine and the wild rose, the lily and the orange blossom, spread their tapestry to rainbow dyes. The air is drowsy with excess of perfume, I and from the shadows flash the moun tain streams, singing their midnight an thems, ere they plunge below. It is the grove of the Walnut Springs in which we stand ; a grand cathadrel of Nature, whose pillars are walnut trees, 1 five hundred years old, whose canopy is woven leaves and vines, whose baptis mal fount is the pure mountain spring, whose incense is perfume, that intoxi cates every sense, and whose offerings are flowers, that bewilder the gaze with their fresh, their virgin beauty. And from the grove, by the light of the moon, we gaze upon the city—that Amazon Queen, who reclines so royally } among her warrior mountains. It is a city of singularly impressive features that reposes yonder. To the North, to the South, to the West, the mountains rise, girdled with the tropi cal fruits and foliage, and mantled, on their brows, with glittering snow. On the East, green with cornfields, 'and beautiful with groves of orange trees, spreads a level plain. Those orange groves seem to love the s,city of the royal mountain, for they gir dje her dark stone walls with the white blosamsr and hang their golden fruit a b o ,, e her battlemented roofs. From t hi s ( 4eVated grove, toward the South, around•the sleeping city, winds the beau tiful rifer of San Juan, now hidden among meg rannte trees, now sending a silvery' branch into the town, again onward betide its castled walls. Below it, with its roofs laid bare to the moonlight, we behold each tower and dome o f the mountain city. It is a place of narrow streets, and one storied houses, witf: walls and floors of stone. Above each level roof rises a battlement breast high. The streets are crossed by huge piles of masonry, and the whole town presents the appearance of an im mense fortress, linked together by bands ' of stone, adorned with gardens, and gloomy with towers of rock and steel. Far to the West, a huge step, crown ed with a mass of stone, seried with can non, cast its heavy shadow—a long belt of blackness—over the town. That is the Bishop's Palace. Here before us, Eastward of the city, the outlines seen above the river, and the groves of orange blossoms, three castellated piles rise clearly in the air. Yonder, on the North, glooms the Mosa ic citadel. Titus girded by defence of stone, iron, and steel ; thus sheltered by its mountains of fruits and snow, the city of the Royal Mountain may well seem impregnable. Yonder, towards the South, among its houses of stone, you behold an open space, the grand Plaza of Monterey. There rise the Cathedral towers, rearing above their peaks and dome of snow, the golden cross into the light of the moon. Look! how it glitters above the town, smiling back to heaven. It is thought impregnable, this moun tain city. No arms could take it; nu cannon blast its impenetrable walls. The Bishop's Palace on one side, and three forts on the other, and the citadel on the North, the river on the'East and South; it is shut in by stone, by water, by iron, and by flame. And yet, not' many months ago—sit by me, while the moon shines over the city, and I will tell you the story—there came to the grove, an old man, mounted on a grey charger, and clad in a plain brown coat. Over the mountains that frown toward the East, through the ra vines that darken there, he came, fol lowed by six thousand men. He en camped in this grove of walnut trees, and the arms of his soldiers shone gaily, from the white waste of orange blossoms. He stood were now we stand, he gazed first upon his men, his horses? his can non, and then upon the city, which, though it smile to us, in the light of the moon, gloomed in his face, by the beams of day—froni every roof, and rock, and tower—with one deadly frown. The old man saw it crowded by nine thousand armed men. He saw every roof transformed into a castle, every street blocked with piles of masonry, the steep height of the Bishop's castle, formidable with its death array of can non and steel, the Cathedral, with its cross and image of Jesus, converted into a magazine of gunpowder—a silent vol cano, that only wanted the impulse of a military spark, to make it blaze and thunder. And yet the old man, after his silent gaze, turned to his brother heroes, among whom Butler, and Twiggs, and Worth, of.waving plume, stood prominent, and said, in his quiet way "the town is be fore us. We will take it." Then every soldier in that army of six thousand men, took his comrades by 1 the hand and said, "if I hall, swear that you will bury my corse !" For every heart felt that the contest must be hor rible and deadly. The horses of the prairie, the men of Palo Alto and Resaca de In Palma, were there.--Mingled with these iron soldiers, you might sec the men of Mississippi and Louisiana, Tennessee and Ohio, Kentucky and Texas. The farms and the workshops of the American Union had heard the cry, which shrieked from' the twin battle-field of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, heard it, and sent forth their beardless boys, their grey haired men to the rescue. The sugar and cotton plantations of the South, the prairies of the North, the mountains of Pennsylvania, the blue hills of Kentuc ky, 'that dark and bloody ground,' the massacre fields of Texas, all sent their men to swell the ranks of the new cru sade. The same banner that waved over Bunker Hill, and Saratoga, and Brandy ' wine, from the walnut grove, flashed the light of its stars over Monterey. The fight began on the twenty-first of September, 1846, and trucked its bloody course over the twenty-second, and did not cease its howl of murder, when the sun went down, on the twenty-third. You may be sure that it was horrible, this battle of street and square, of roof and cliff, of mountain and gorge. It was a storm, hurled from the mouths of musket, cannon, and mortar, wrapping cliff and dome in its dark pall, and flash ing its lightning in the face of sun, moon, and stars, for three days: You may be sure, that the orange groves, mowed down by the cannon's blaze, showered their white blossoms over the faces of the dead—that the San Juan, sparkling in the morn, like silver now, then blush ed crimson, as if in shame, for the hor rible work that was going on. That nothing but shots, groans, shouts, yells, the sharp crack of the rifle, the deep boom of the cannon, was heard through- HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER '7, 1847, nut those three days of blood. That in the battle trenches, lay the dead men, American and Mexican, these silent groups, swelled every moment by new corses, looking with glassy eyes into each other's faces. That many a beau tiful woman, nestling in her darkened home, was crushed on her white bosom, by the cannon ball, or splintered in the forehead, just above the dark eyes, by the musket shot. And amid the fight, whether it blazed in volumes of flame, or rolled in waves of smoke, you may be sure, two objects were distinctly seen—the white plume of the chivalrous Worth, and the fami liar brown coat of stout Zachary Tay lor. It was on the morning of the 21st, when the rising sun shone on the groves or orange and pomegranate, the fields of corn, and the girdle of rocks and caves, that encircle the mountain city, that, suddenly, a mass of white smoke heaved upward from the ravines, yawning about the Bishop's Palace, and rolling, cloud on cloud, wraps those towers in its folds, and stretched, like an immense shroud, along the Western ski•, Beneath that smoke, Worth and his men were commencing the battle of Monterey, on the West of the town. At the same moment, around those forts on the East, a cloud of smoke arose, it swept away towards the citadel, and soon melted into the cloud on the West. Under its pall, Taylor and his men were advancing upon the town from the North and East. Thus the city of the Royal Mountain was girdled by a pall of battle smoke; and thus from opposite, sides of the town, Taylor and Worth fought their ways of blood towards each other, driving nine thousand Mexicans, with AMPUDIA at their head, into a cen tre of death and flame. Night came and went again, and still the fight went on. One byone the three batteries on the East fell before the arms of Taylor. Over the impregnable heights of the Bishop's Palace waved the banner of the stars. The city saw not a glimpse of blue sky, for in the air hung a canopy of battle-cloud, and over the roofs the gunpowder spread its pestilential mist. There was neither food, nor rest, nor shelter anywhere. God pity the women then, who, shuddering in cellars, and burrowing in dark rooms, clutched to their breasts the children of their love. In the Cathedral no prayer was spoken, no man sung the deep anthem, or waved from censors the snowy incense. The image of Jesus, was wrapt in the battle cloud ; that divine face for once seemed to frown. Mild Mother Mary above the altar, as clad in a robe of ~Itolce, and her sad and tender face grew lurid ghastly with gleams of battle flame. The're was no rest for the sole of hu man foot, no slumber but the slumber of the bloody ditch, or dark ravine. None slept but the dead. And still from the West, the cannon of Worth hurled their message to Taylor on the East, and ever and anon the cannon of Taylor thunder ed their reply. Nearer grew these sounds to each other, and closer in the fiery cir cle, Ampudia and his Mexicans were hemmed. Over the roofs, through the battered houses, beyond their battered barricades they were driven by Worth and Taylor, until the battle gathered to one point, and . above the main plaza, where the moon shines so calmly now, on Cathedral and Cross, hung the accu mulated cloud of three days' agony. And to the grove of the Walnut Springs, where at this hour the moon breaks in tender light, on each massive tree and perfumed flower, the battle mangled were brought to bleed and die. The sod spreading so thick with blos ' sorns all around us, grew purple with a bath of blood. Hearts that once had quivered to the pressure of a woman's bosom, were frozen in this grove, and eyes that had looked tenderly with the eyes of life, mother, child, grew glassy 1 beneath these Walnut leaves. THE PIRATE. " Strange sail on the weather bow," cried the look out. In a moment Capt. Sternport was intently gazing on the stranger through big telescope. After a few moments steady scrutiny, he muttered through his compressed teeth, " Not strange to me, those raking masts, that peculiar build—ha !" we shall have warm work presently ;" pi , ping all hands with a calm countenance A DEFINITION.-" John," inquired a and unwavering voice, he exclaimed— domain of a hopeful pupil, "what is a "My men, if eyesight deceives not, nailer 1" "A man who makes nails," this craft nearing us at every knot, is said John. " Very good. What is a the dreaded Ocean Devil, commanded tailor 'I" "One who makes tails. " by a fiend in human form. As we may you stupid fellow !" said the dominie, ' expect no quarters, we must give none ; biting his lips, "a man who makes tails!" ; our only chance is desperate resistance " Yes, Master," returned John, " if the ' --so a few minutes for preparation, and tailor did not put tails to the coats he then—death before surrender of our made they'd be all jackets !" "Sit down, glory. John, you're an honor to your maternal ; Three hearty cheers responded to the parent." • captain's characteristic speech ; and the ! crew silently betook themselves to pre ;pare for stern defence. Fred, who had never been in action, felt the anticipations of the melee tingle . But, amid all the horrors of the fight, the Mountains yonder—like calm De mons, impenetrable to the yell of slaugh ter, or the howl of agony—lifted their snowy tops, and shone on, whether light ed by the sun, or moon, or stars, or bat tle flush. ED.- 4May I B 1 of the lovers of U,' us the Miss of 6 teen said '2 u 10 der leg of mutton II 1 she 8 a piece of it. [CORRECT PRINCIPLES-SUPPORTED By TRUTH.] TUE OCEAN DEVIL; OR, TILE DOOM OF THE PIRATE, " SPLITE my old shoes, you piratical son of a gun—do you mean to hang out signals of disobedience, eh 1" cried, In a speaking trumpet voice, the choleric old Commodore Kockbote to his nephew Fred—just rated midshipman on board of the gallant craft, the Blazeway. "Why, not exactly, Nunicey," replied the latter, in the careless expression in dicative of the emancipated collegian. " Not exactly You swab, if 1 had you aboard of the old Catandine, shiv er my topgallant sales if I would'nt give you a round dozen—a pretty way you begin the sarvice, don't you know that a sailor's only duty is obedience." "Reasonable obedience," quietly in terposed Fred: Reasonable Fiddlestick. I'll bet a can of flip to a cup of dishwater, you've been cramming your figure ahead with metaphysics and polydevelments instead of useful knowledge." Fred was about to reply, but the jolly old Commodore, who certainly had a good heart, though a curious method of showing it, interrupted him, by thun dering out. Belay your jawing tackle you shark spawn ; and let me pay out my line.— You're my brother's son ain't you I" "I have been led to believe so, sir," said Fred. You are you whelp of a sea frog, you are, so don't interrupt me any more," roared the Commodore. Fred acknowledged the parental com pliment rilently. 'Nov, anchor in that chair, dutifully, for a few minutes, or damn me if 1 don't send you to sea in a washing tub. You know that I've promised to make you my heir, eh 1" " I'm grateful, sir-" " Don't talk. You know the condi tion 1" " Yes, sir ; that-" " Hold your tongue. "gll hoist the signals, and you dare to disobey them, that's all. In my voyages on the ocean of life I've scraped up a pretty decent sum. Fred, my hero, all shall be yours; but damme you must marry my ship mate Crosstree's daughter." " , Never, sir," cried Fred, starting to his feet. " Never ! sooner would I beg my bread from door to door, an outcast and a wanderer, than give this hand away without my heart," and with a look of unutterable determination, lie left the apartment. "A noble young scoundrel, by Jove," said the choleric old Commodore, "but I can't forgive him." With a merry breeze filling our white sails, on we dash through the white crest of the yielding wave. Not a sale breaks the vast round of the horizon ; we arc alone upon the deep—alone, but not companionless. The glad porpoise races with us; up raising ever and anon to see what way we make—the unwieldy whale gambols in the distance ; the scared flying-fish pursued through the sea and air exhaus ted fulls upon the deck ; the rapacious shark keeps in our wake superstitious. Fred Kokbote, now some months in the service, stood leaning over the tail: rail, gazing with enthusiasm upon the broad expanse, as wave, dashed up with wild embrace against the vessel's prow, and the joyous wind sung its greetings through her cordage, he exclaimed: "There's freedom and gladness in the glorious sea!" BY JOHN BROUGHAM CIIAHTER I ASHORE CHAPTER 11, AFLOAT. CHAPTER 111 his check with intense excitement, reti ring to his berth, to write a letter to his uncle, although they had parted on not the very best terms, yet he could not bear running the risk of leaving the world without soliciting his forgiveness. He had scarcely finished his letter, when the noise on board proclaimed that the pirate had approached sufficient ly near to show her intention. Rushing upon deck, Fred observed the fatal black flag, floating dismally from her mast head. A nervous sensation shook his frame ; 'twas but for a moment, buck ling on his cutlass, and placing a pair of pistols in his girdle, he calmly await ed the coming fight, crying : "Beloved flag of my country, nerve my arm and steel my heart." CHAPTER IV, TEE PIRATE CRAFT. The pirate craft had now approached near enough to discern that her decks were absolutely crowded with savage looking men, of every variety of chine and color. The swart African, the cup ping Malay, and the sanguinary Lascar, stripped to the waist, they seemed more like a crew of demons, than of human beings. Suddenly a white cloud burst up on board of the pirate, and accompanied by a shot flew hurling over the frigates deck. "No harm done that time, you pirat ical vagabonds," cried Tim Tafrrail, standing by his gun, ready and anxious for the command to fire. An instant after, having got the pirate in good range, the word was given, and the whole broadside sped towards her. When the smoke cleared away, what was the astonishment on board the frig ate, to see the graceful mast of the beau tiful schooner, topple over and sink into the deep ; a terrible yell of agony an nouncing that some other calamity im pended. Ere long it manifested itself ; a heavy black smoke issuing from the hatches. She's on fire," cried some score of voices simultaneously, "and the pirati cal crew are taking to their boats." " She must have a quantity of pow der on board," said the captain. "About ship, quick then, my men." "Aye, aye, sir." And the frigate answered her helm like a thing instinct with life—and strode away from danger. It was a magnificent, though awful sight to see the now uncontrollable ele ments sweep through the pirate schoon er, the miserable remnant of her crew, crowding the boat, and looking like dark specs in the sheet of flame. " Poor miserable wretches there they go to their dark destiny," ejaculated the captain, as with shrink of despair, the overladen boat foundered, and sunk in stantly with its guilty load, just at the same moment, with a fearful explosion, the schooner was shivered to atoms; there was a jet of intense brightness a roar of a thousand guns, and then—a frightful silence. A dense cloud hung for a while over the doomed ship like a pall and finally dispersed, leaving the frigate alone on the waters. CHAPTER V THE RESCUE Humanity is ever the accompanying attribute of valor. Captain Sternpost gave orders to man the boats, and pro ceed to the spot where the doomed ship went down, for the purpose of rescuing the unhappy wretches, if any there were, surviving the rage of the united elements, fire and water. The com mand of boats devolved on Frederick, and with a soul saddened by the fear ful sight he had just witnessed, he pro ceeded on his search ; for some time they rowed around the spot without success, when Fred thought he obser ved something in the distance, having the appearance of a human form, he found his expectations verified, there was a man in the water. With one hand he convulsively grasped a hencoop, and with the other, supported the young and insensible form of a beautiful fe male. Speedily rescued from that perilous position I red carried them in safety on board of the frigate. Never could he take eyes from the pale, inanimate, but lovely face of the rescued female, as if spell bound he sat and drank in he intoxication of those charming features ; he loved with sud den, reckless,and overwhelming passion. They had not been long on board when, by the application of stimulants, the beautiful rescued was sufficiently revived to be conscious of surrounding objects. The joy of her companion was un bounded. "My darling child," he ex claimed, "thou livest and here is our gallant preserver." A faint blush over spread the. palid feature of the lovely girl. EDITOR AM) PROPRIETOR WHOLE NO. 606, " Then how can I thank him for pre serving thee, dear father," she tenderly whispered: " And, now sir," said the stranger, " let me know the name of him to whom .1d Bob Crosstree shall be forever grate ful." - " What did you say your name was 1" cried Fred anxiously. " Crosstree !" "Shipmate of old Admiral Kokbotel" "The same!'' " Propitious fate, I thank thee !" ex- - claimed Fred. CHAPTER VI. CONCLUSION. With a favorable breeze, the gallant vessel sped on her way homeward bound. Glad hearts were on board, but none more so, than were the hearts of Fred and Emily, fur their affection was mu tual, and they knew that no obstacle could stay their happiness. Fred imagined how delighted the old Commodore would be, and with the con sent of Emily's father, concerted a plan which would not only surprise his un cle, but preVent the possibility of the wind changing in that quarter, which was neither more nor less than to be married at the first port, and proceed, spliced to the old Commodore's house. The plan was pursued, the ceremony solemnized, and in due course, Fred ar rived at old Kokbote's a little in advance of his relations. Rushing into the presence of his un cle, Fred was about to give the:old boy a heavy embrace, when the Commodore stayed him saying with his usual sten torian intonation : • " Avast there, you young lubber ! You have no place in my log unless you have profitted by service, and come home obedient. Will you marry Emily Crosstee 1" "No, sir, I won't," bluntly answered Fred: "In point of fact I can't." " Can't ! you unnatural porpoise, why can't you 1" " Because I've married her already !" "No !" " Upon my honor !—and here she is," introducing Emily and her father. The old Commodore forgot his gout —all Commodores have the gout—and danced a complicated shuffle in the de lirium of the moment. And the details of the story how Crosstree and his daughter were taken by the Ocean Devil, how the frigate at tacked her, how she went down, how they clung to the hen coop, and all col lateral contingencies, formed an accom paniment to the old Commodore's after dinner pipe for many a day. JACKSON CITY DEFUNCT.—Under this head, the %' ashington correspondent of the New York Herald says :—Some ten or twelve years ago, a company of New York merchants inspected the flat lands on the other side of the Potomac, with the laudable intention of founding, op posite the city of Washington, a new commercial city, to be entitled Jackson City, or the City of Jackson. The main channel of the river passes by the oppo ' site shore, and that circumstance was depended upon as all sufficient for a new Babylon or Alexandria. It was not thought of for a moment that Alexandria lay on the same side of the river, seven miles lower down, and that Georgetown would cut off the interior trade, by be ing two miles higher up, on the other side. Jackson City was founded and jchristened, and laid off and tae corner ' stone was laid by General Jackson ; and George Washington Parke Custis, our j good old friend of Arlington, made the corner-stone speech, to a large assem blage of people. We have now the melancholy intelligence to relate, that not a single house has been erected in Jackson City since its foundation—not a lot bought by the speculators—but that on the other hand, the very corner ; stone of the city has been sacriligiously j broken into, and plundered of its news -1 papers, parchments, charter, coins, and medals, and the last we hear of the cor ner stone is, that it has been carried up into Fairfax county, where, at the last advices, an old negro was pounding homminy in it. And thus ends the his tory of the great commercial city of Jackson. TILE BACIIELOR.-A man who passes through life without marrying is like a fair mansion left by the builder unfinish ed. The half that is completed runs to decay from neglect, or becomes at best but a sorry tenement, wanting the addi- tion of that which makes the whole useful. Your bachelor is only the moity of tkman, sort of garnish for a dirh, or a prologue to a play, a bow without the fiddle. WEAK SlDE.—Every man has his weak side, and it is often the best part of the man.