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II
BY JAS. CLARK.
SONG.
BY CHARLES L. MONTAGUE,
I heard her sing that song at home,
Beneath our sunny sky,
When time, like to a dream of bliss,
Went musically by :
The wild bird's song rang sweetly out,
Into the summer air,
And every tone seemed melody,
Because her home was there.
I heard her sing that song again—
The bud had bloomed a flower,
And love bad sot its holy seal
Upon the opening hour;
We stood beside the altar then,
Breathed was the sacred prayer ;
And then the world was tar more dear,
Because her home was there.
I heard her sing that song once more,
When autumn's leaf was sere,
And whilst the strains were lingering still ;
They laid her on the bier ;
I watched beside her sleeping couch,
For death is not so fair,
And wished to mingle in that rest,
Because her home was there.
John Hill alias Nixon Curry.
OR THE VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCES
A TRUE SKETCH OF LIFE IN ARKANSAS
"Among the truest friends of the people, of
all in the present Convention, may be named
John Hill of St. Francis. His energy, eloquence
and courage, fully entitle him to the proud place
he holds, and, as we trust, will long retain—
that of leader of the Arkansas Democracy."—
Little Rock Gazette in the days of the Conven
tion.
EdtiD? Ar•Fnev.-"A desperate rencountre
occurred last week in St. Francis. Two dis
tinguished citizens were killed, and three others
dangerously wounded. The difficulty resulted
from an attempt to arrest John Hill, a member
of the last Legislature, and formerly of the State
Convention, who as it is alleged, is the notori
ous robber, Nixon Curry, that committed such
atrocities fifteen years ago in tho mountains of
Carolina."—Littlo Rock Gazette of May 1840.
We hate given the previous extracts
from the oldest and most respectable
journal of Arkansas, in order to satisfy
every reader, that the following narra
tive, extraordinary as some of its indi
tlents may appear, is no tissue of fiction.
Indeed, while relating genuine events,
and painting true scenes, we have been
especially careful to avoid all vivid col
ors. Should this short sketch, by any
thence, reach the forest of Arkansas,
the people there will deem hi-descrip
tions tame in comparison with the deeds
of the man. The writer, who has re
sided long on the frontier, has no use of
fancy in portraying its exciting life.—
Simple memory will serve him very
well.
About fifteen years ago there lived
in lredell county, North Carolina, a Pres
byterian preacher, by the name of Cur
ry. He was a man in easy circumstan
ces, of irreproachable character, and
having a large family of promising sons
and daughters. Among these, the fa
vorite was Nixon, distinguished when
a boy for his fearless courage and the
tenderness of his heart alike. He seems,
from several anecdotes of his early days,
to have been a child of impulse and in
tense earnestness and passion. When
Mil) , six years of age, he had a combat
at school with a bully of the playground,
nearly twice his own weight, and after
suffering dreadfully, at last achieved
the victory, due almost entirely to the
sheer power of his endurance.
From the time he was six years old,
that is to say, from the first session he
nttended in the country school-house,
had Nixon Curry been in love. Hib idol
Was a little girl of the same age, and
under the tuition of the same master.—
The attachment appears to have been
mutual from the commencement. They
stood up in one class, and always man
aged to stand together, During the
hours of recess, when the other juveniles
were amusing themselves with boister
ous sports, the precocious lovers would
wander amidst leafy groves or by the
mossy margins of silver rills. Forever,
to eternity, and whenever the soft spell
of first love comes, it brings with it the
br , ght spirit of poetry, scattering thick
starred dreams and divine visions of
beauty over all things. Even then they
exchanged pledges, and discoursed in
sweet sinless whispers of their future
bridal.
And thus they grew up into delicious
identity of fashion and feeling. Their
bias for each other's society, while chil
dren, caused no particular remark. Such
attachments are common among the
youth of opposite sexes in the country,
and as usual, terminate abruptly on ar
rtval at mature years. Far different
however was the case with Nixon Cur
ry and Lucy Gordon. Their passion
became so evident at fifteen, that all
further intercourse was forbidden by
their parents—among the wealthiest ar
istocracy of Carolina. Then followed
stolen meetings, by starlight, firmer
vows and wilder love, which always in
creased in proportion to its crosses, and
like the tree of Lebanon, sends down its
deepest roots into the heart, the more it
is shaken by storms.
Finally, at seventeen, when Lucy's
relatives were endeavoring to force her
into the arms of another, she fled with
the lover of her childhood. They are
pursued—overtaken ; and Nixon Curry
shot his rival and one of the proud Gor
dons dead on the spot, and then escaped
with his bride, although hotly chased
by more men, and found an asylum in
the Allegheny mountains, near the sour
ces of the Catawba. Here under the
plea of necessity, he embraced the pro
fession of a robber, and rendered his
name famous by the number and aston
ishing boldness of his exploits. We
may record it, not as a matter of merit,
perhaps, but for the sake of historical
truth—that the youthful bandit never
was known to perpetrate any deed of
murder for the purpose of plunder, tho'
he did several to avoid arrest. At length
the rumor of his daring felonies ceased
suddenly, and notwithstanding a reward
of five thousand dollars was offered for
his apprehension by the Governor of the
State, he was heard of no more in North
Carolina.
At the first settlement of the fertile
delta bordering on the St. Francis, there
came an emigrant, who called himself
John nil], and who soon succeded in
acquiring universal popularity. Altho'
of moderate means he was sober, indus
trious, generous and hospitable ; and
such continued to be his character in
the new country of his adoption, for
twelve successive years. During all
that long period he never had a person
al difficulty or quarrel with any human
being, and yet every body was satisfied
that such a peaceful life—singular for
that latitude, was not owing to a want
of courage, or deficiency in power to
perform good service, in any sort of bat
tle-field ; for of all bear hunters that
ever pierced the jungles of cane in the
great swamp,' or descended by torch
light into the dark eaves of the Ozark
Mountains, he was celebrated as the
most fearless.
He was repeatedly elected to the Ter
ritorial Legislature, where he distin
guished himself by a strong, impassion
ed eloquence, as a chief leader in the
Democratic ranks. He was next, as
we have already seen, a member of the
convention that formed that State Con
stitution : and was elected again the
ensuing year to represent his county
in the Senate of Arkansas.
At this period commenced his second
series of misfortunes. Hill's nearest
neighbors were the Strongs,--four broth
ers of considerable wealth, more ambi
tion, and if we may borrow the phrase
of the country, 'famous fighters.'
Notwithstanding their character was
so dissimilar from that of the pacific
'bear hunter,' a close and cordial inti
macy grew up between them ; and Hill,
in an unguarded moment, made the el
dest brother, George, a confident as to
the secrets of his previous history. It
happened that this same George, con
ceived a violent desire for political dis
tinction, and requested Hill to resign
his seat in the Senate in his illiberal
friend's favor. Hill refused, and the
Strongs conspired for a terrible revenge.
Writing back to Carolina, they procur
ed a copy of the reward offered for the
arrest of Nixon Curry, the far famed
robber, and then collecting a party of a
dozen desperate men, they attempted to
capture Hill in his own house. The
latter had always gone armed, with his
enormous double barrelled shot gun, two
long rifle pistols, and a knife so heavy,
that few other hands besides his own
could wield it. The assaults of the
'Strongs proved horrible to themselves.
Hill killed two of the brothers, and dan
gerously wounded five of their friends,
escaping himself unhurt, although more
than twenty rounds of ball and buck
shot were aimed at his breast.
The excitement resulting from the
affair was boundless. A requisition
came on from the executive of Carolina,
Demanding the surrender of Nixon Cur
ry. The Governor of Arkansas publish
ed an additional reward for the arrest of
John Hill ; and thus betwixt the two
fires, the victim's chance seemed per
fectly hopeless.
H ill's conduct in the crisis was proinpt
and fearless as ever. Packing up has
tily, he bet out with his wife and chil
dren, in a common moving wagon, for
upper Arkansas, where he knew of a
band of desperadoes that would pro
tect him. He was overhauled at Con
way Court House, by two hundred men
in pursuit, all thoroughly armed, and
some of them renouned fighters.' Hill
saw their approach on the distant prai
rie, and with his dreadful double-barrel
—that sure death-dealer to either man
or beast, within the range of two hun
HUNTINGDON, PA,, TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1849.
dred yards—instantly marched to meet
his foe. This incredible bravery, join
ed to the fear before inspired by his des
peration, affected the advancing troops
with such an unaccountable panic, that
the whole two hundred sought safety in
a disgracefully rapid flight.
Several other attempts were made to
capture the dangerous outlaw, all dike
ending either in ludicrous or bloody
failures. In the meantime Hill's char
acter and conduct underwent a com
plete change. Forced to be always on
the lookout, and therefore, unable to fol
low any steady business in order to sup
port his family, he resorted to the gam
bling table. He learned also to indulge
in the fiery stimulus of ardent drink,
and his disposition, necessarily soured
by recent events, became quarrelsome
in the extreme.
Perhaps there never was a man ex
cepting only that Napoleon of duelists,
James Bowie, who was so heartily
dreaded. I have myself seen persons of
undoubted courage turn pale merely at
the appearance of Hill's gigantic form,
broadly belted and bristling with pis- I
tols. He was waylaid and shot at num
ber of times yet still escaped without a
scar. But this could be no wonder, for
even brave men's hands shook when
they saw him, and shaking hands gen
erally make very poor shots.
During the September term, 1843, of
the Circuit Court of Pope county, in
which Hill resided, he got out of bed
one morning uncommonly gloomy, and
while at the breakfast table, suddenly
burst into tears.
What is the matter, my dear P asked
Lucy—that beautiful Lucy, who had
formerly left her wealthy home in Car
olina for the Robber and the Robber's
cave.
' I have had a dreadful dream,'
answered the husband, shuddering at
the recollection ; g I have saw George
strong in my sleep, and he kissed me
with his pale lips, that burned like fire,
and smelled like sulpher. lam sure I
shall die before sunset.'
Then do not go to Court to-day,'
said the wife in accents of "earnest en
treaty.
But replied the husband firm
ly.—' When a man's time is come he
cannot hide from death; besides, it
would be the act of a coward to do so,
if one possesses the power.' Then ad
dressing his son, a fine intelligent boy
of thirteen, he continued, Bill, you see
my gun pointing his finger as he spoke
to the great double barrel hanging on
buck-horns over the door; "practice
with that every morning, and the day
you are sixteen, shoot the loads of both
barrels into the man who will this day
kill your father.'
Yonder comes Mose Howard ; he
will protect you Pa,' remarked Mary,
Hill's eldest daughter, a lovely girl of
fiiteen who was to be married the next
day to the youth then approaching.
Hill and Howard departed ; Lucy
with tears and Mary blushing, both call
ing out as they left the gate, 'Take
good care of him Mose and be sure and
bring him back to-night.'
Never fear,'
answered the youth,
with a laugh ; 'Hill will never die till 1
kill him.'
Then he will live for ever,' retorted
Mary laughing also. _
_ .
As soon as the friends reached the
village, Hill began to drink freely, and
manifested more than ordinary anxiety
for a combat, insulting every body that
crossed his path ; and all the youth's
entreaties failed to pacify him. At last
the desperado swore that he would Clear
the court house; and immediately en
tering, with a furious countenance, and
a threat as to his purpose—judge, law
yers, jury, and spectators made a gen
eral rush for the door. One old drunk
en man alone did not run as fast as Hill
wished and he sprang on the emblcile
wretch and commenced beating him un
' mercifully.
Howard then caught hold of his fu
ture father-in-law, (alas ! who was nev
er to be!) and attempted to pull him
away.
With eyes red, and glaring like a
mad dog, Hill instantly turned upon his
friend, and with a single blow of his
fist felled him to the floor ; then follow
ed up the violent act, he leaped on the
youth, and began a most ferocious bat
tery. In vain Howard endeavored to
escape, crying out in tones of beseech
ing horror for God's sake, ceare ! Hill,
don't you know met—your friend Mose!
Remember Mary !' Hill's anger only
increased, till finally, he threw his hand
to his belt and clutched a pistol, and
then Howard's blood also boiled and he
also resolved to fight for his life. He was
of as powerful a frame as the other,—
the only person in Arkansas to be com
pared with the desperado in physical
strength.
Howard grasped the barrel of the
pistol as Hill cocked it, and the weapon
exploded in their hands without injury.
Once more they clenched, and the most
dreadful struggle ensued ever witnessed
in the West. The advantage shift
ed from the one side to the other for the
space of five minutes, till both were
bathed in their own blood.
Even the by-standers, looking on
through the windows of the log court
house,• were thud( with wonder and
awe. At length while writhing and
twisting like two raging serpents, the
handle of Hill's huge bowie knife, un
thought of previously, protruded from
beneath his hunting shirt. Both saw
it at the same time, and both attempted
to grasp it.—Howard succeeded ; quick
as lightning he drew the keen blade from
its scabbard, and sheathed it up to the
hilt in the bosom of his friend and Ma
ry's father.
The dream is fulfilled,' exclaimed
Hill, with a smile of strange sweetness,
that remained on his features even after
he was a corpse. He then sunk down
and expired without a groan.
Howard gazed on him there as he
lay, with that singular smile on his
face and his glazed eyes opened. And
then, awaking with a start, as from some
horrible vision of the night, the poor,
unhappy youth fell headlongon the body
of his friend, crying in tones that melt
ed many a hardened spectatorinto tears,
'Great God! what hove I done He kiss'd
the clammy lip softhe dnad, wet his cheeks
with a rain of unavailing sorrow; es
sayed to staunch the bloody wound With
his hankerchief; and then, apparently
satisfied that all was over, sprang upon
his feet with a shout, or more properly
a scream, ' Farewell, Mary, your father
is gone, and I am going with him ;' and
turning the point of the gory knife to
wards his own breast, would have plun
ged it into his own heart, had he not
been prevented by the bystanders, who
had now crowded into the room.
The same evening Mose Howard dis
appeared, and was heard of no more for
nearly two years, when a horse trader
brought back word that he had seen
him in San Antonia,Texas.
When , the shc.cicing news reached
Hill's family, the beautiful Mary burst
into a wild laugh.—She is now in the
Asylum for the insane, at New Orleans.
Had we been inditing a tale of ro
mance, we would have paused with a
preceeding page, but literal truth com
pels us to record another fact equally
characteristic, both as to the chief ac
tors and the backwoods theatre of the
main tragedy.
It will be remembered, that the fallen
desperado had enjoined it on his son to
slay the slayer of his father on the day
he would arrive at sixteen. Without
any such charge vengeance would have
been considered by that boy as a sacred 1 1
duty; for on frontiers, the widows of
the slain teach vengeance to their chil
dren, and occasionally execute it them
selves!
Accordingly Bill Hill practiced with
his father's gun every day for two suc
cessive years and this cr en before he
had any rumor as to the place of How
ard's refuge. He then learned that his
foe was in Texas, and two months be
fore lie was sixteen set out to hunt him
up.
At the end of four months Bill Hill
came back, and hanging up the double
barrel in their old buckhorn rack, ans
wered his Mother's inquiring look,—
' Mother Mose is dead ; I let him have
both loads. Though I cried before 1
done it, and afterwards, too ; ho looked
so miserable, pale, and bony as a skele
ton.'
Poor Mose !' said the Mother weep
ing; but it could not be helped. The
son of such a brave man as Nixon Cur
ry must never be called a coward, and
besides it was your father's order.'
[ry. Cottld'nt help laughing the oth
er day at an anecdote of a man accus
tomed to make long prayers who had
over persuaded a guest, greatly against
his inclination, to stay for breakfast.
He prayed and prayed until his ittipa
tient guest began to think of edging
away quietly and walking oft ; but in
attempting it, waked up the old man's
son, who was asleep in his chair. How
soon will your father be through V whis.
pered the guest. 'Has he
- got to the
jews yet 1' asked the boy in reply. ' No,'
said the other. 'Pal, then, he aint
half through!' answered the boy, and
composed himself again to his nap. The
guest bolted at once.
'How,' said a judge in Missouri,
to a witness on the stand, , how do you
know the plaintiff was intoxicated on the
evening referred tot' _
Because 1 saw him a few minutes nf•
ter the muss, trying to pull off his trow•
sere with a bootjack !'
Verdict for the defendant.
ID- A gentle reply to scurrilous lan
gunge is the most severe revenge.
r
. A flobt and Darinig Leap for Liberty.
t —Convut Shot.—Quite a daring exploit
came off last week at the State Peniten
tiary, in which powder and bullets did
their part. Tile negro W. H. Anderson
convicted in December 1847, of the bru
tal murder of Bingham in this city, made
a bold and desperate leap, on Thursday
to rid himself of what he looked upon
as the too rigid arbitrary rules of that
establishment. He first got permission
to work in the yard instead of in the shop
on the plea of declining health. He
was put at dressing stone: . .
On Thursday he procured permission
to go to an out house and took his coal
chizel, with which he unfastened the
ball and chain around his ankles, and
came out and went up a ladder leading
on to a new building; from thence he
took to the roof of the main building,
and going to the west end, made a des
perate leap twenty-two feet doWn on the
roof of the Guard House, (not more than
three feet across) on the main wall.—
Mr. Goodwin, one of the main guard,was
in the guard house.—The negro nekt
bounded on the wall, and in an instant
swung himself off the wall to the ground
outside. The wall is sixteen Or eighteen
feet high. The guard caught his car
abine and fired, the ball taking effect in
the negro's right arm near the elbow.
He kept on his course, however, and as
he passed the north west corner of the
yard, Mr. Cole, sentinel on the corner of
the wall "hit him again," the ball enter
ing his right side just above the hip,
and going clear through his body.
This brought him down, but he imme
diately recovered and in double quick
time forded or swam the river and took
for the swamp on the west side. In the
meantime Goodwin, Cole and others
were on his track. The chase lasted
some thirty or forty rods, Whefe Good-
man came up to him some distance ahead
of the others, when the convict notwith
standing his Wounds showed fight in the
most desperate manner. Mr. Goodwin
succeeded, however in using the but of
his combine, in keeping him off until
the other pursuers arrived, when lie fi
nally surrendered to the superiority of
numbers. When the excitement was
over he was found to be too Weak from
bleeding and exhaustion, or from an
aversion to travel, toroot it back to quar
ters, and a wagon was procured and he
was taken down to his cell. Although
pretty severely dealt with ; he is doing
well, and the physicians think he will
recover from his wounds.—Detroit Doi
ly
The Angel of the Leaves'.
BY MISS HANNAH F. GOULD,
'Alas ! alas!' said the sorrowing Tree,
'my beautiful robe is gone ; it has been
torn from me. Its faded pieces whirl
upon the wind ; they rustle beneath the
squirrel's foot as he searches for his
nut ; they float upon the passing stream
and on the quivering lake. Woe is me!
for my dear green vesture is gone. It
was the gift of an Angel of the Leaves !
I have lost it and my glory has vanish
ed ; my beauty has disappeared, my
summer honors have passed away. My
bright and comely garment, aids! it is
rent into a thousand parts. Who will
weave me such another 1 Piece by
piece has it been stripped troth me.—
Scarcely did I sigh for the loss of one,
ere another wandered ofr on air. The
sweet sound of music cheers me no
more. The birds that sang in my bo
som were dismayed at my desolation—
they have flown away with their songs.
stood in my pride. 'the sun bright.
ened my robe with his smile ; the zeph
yrs breathed soft through its glossy
folds ; the clouds strewed pearls among
them. My shadow was wide upon the
earth ; , my arms spread far on the gen
tle air ; ray forehead was lifted high;
fair to the heavens. But now, how
changed I Sadness is upon me ;my
head is shorn ; my arms are stripped ;
I cannot throw a shadow , on the ground.
Beauty has departed gladness is gone
out of my bosom. The blood has re
tired from my heart and sunk into the
earth. lam thirsty. 1 am cold. My
naked limbs shiver in the ehilly air ;
the keen blast comes pitiless amongst
them. The winter is coming. I am
destitute: Sorrow is my portion i Morn
ing must wear me away. Hotv shall I
account to the Angel, who clothed me,'
for the loss of his beautiful gift 1'
The Angel had been listening. In
soothing accents he answered the lamen
tation.
'My beloved Tree,' said he, 'be com
forted lam by thee still, though every
leaf has forsaken thee. The voice of
gladness is hushed among thy boughs ;
but let my whisper console thee. Thy
sorrow is but for a season. Trust in
me. Keep my promise in thy heart.—
Be patient and full of hope. Let the
words I leave with thee abide and cheer
VOL. XIV, NO. 45
thee through the coming winter. Theft
will 1 return and clothe thee anew.
'The storm will drive rudely over thee;
the snow will sift among thy naked
limbs. But these.will be light and pas
sing afflictions. 'The ice will weigh
heavily on thy helpless arms ; but it
shall soon dissolve to tears. It shall
pass into the ground, and be drunken
by the roots. Then will it creep up, in
secret, beneath thy bark, and spread
into the branches it has oppressed ; and
help to adorn them. 1 shall be here to
use it !
'Thy blood has now retired for Boleti;
The frost would chill and destroy it.--
It has gone into my mother's bosom, for
her to keep it warm. Earth will not
rob her offspring. She is a earful pa.
rent ;
• she knows the wants of all her
children and forgets not to provide for
the least of them; The sap that has
for a while gone down, will make thy
roots strike deeper, and spread wider;
and, renewed and strengthened, it shall
return to nourish thy heart. Then, if
thou shalt hate remempered and trusted
in my promise I will fulfill it. Buds
shall shoot fo rth on every bough. I will
enfold another robe for thee. I will col
or, and fit it in every part. It shall be
a comely raiment. Thou shalt forget
thy present sorrow. Sadness shall be
swallowed up of joy. Now, my beloted
Tree ? fare thee well for a Season !
The Angel was gone. The cold, mut
tering winter drew near. The wild blast
whistled for the storm. The storm came,
and howled around the 1 ree. But the
word of the Angelovas hidden ill her
heart. It soothed her amid the threat
enings of the tempest. The ice cakes
rattled on her limbs and loaded and
weighed them down.
'My slender branches,' said he, 'let
not this burden overcome you 7 Break
not beneath this heavy affliction—break
not! but bend, till you can spring back
to your places. Let not a twig of you
be lost 1 Hope must prop you up for a
while, and the Angel will reward your
patience. You will wave in a softer
air. Grace shall be again in your mo
tion, mud a renewed beauty hang around
you.
The scowling face of hinter began to
lose its features. The raging storm
grew faint, and breathed its last. The
restless clouds fretted themselves to
fragments ; these scattered on the sky,
and were brushed away. The sun threw
down a bundle of golden arrows, that
fell upon the Tree. The ice-cakes &-
leered as they came. Every one was
shattered by a shaft, and unlocked itself
upon the limb. They melted and a ere
gone. _
Spring had come to reign. Her bles
sed ministers - were abroad in the earth:
They hovered in the air. They blended
their beautiful tints, and cast a new-cre ,
ated glory on the face of the blue heav ,
ens.
The Tree was rewarded fur her trust,
The Angel was true to his love. He
returned—he bestowed on her another
robe. It was bright, glossy, and unsul ,
lied. The dust of summer had never .
lit upon it ; the scorching heat had
not faded it; the moth had not profaned
it. The Tree stood again in lovelines ;
she was dressed in more than her for ,
mer beauty. She was very fair. Joy
smiled around her on every side. The
birds flew back to her bosom and sung
among her branches their hymns to the
ANGEL OF THE LEAVES.
Don't Dose Your t hildrene
Our doctor says it is astonishin g hots
tough children become as the family
grows. It is a wonder that most par ,
ents don't kill their first child, with
anxiety and medicine.
"Ali dear," exclaims the mother, 'isn't
.hat baby about to sneeze!"
"Pon my life, I dont know;—why 1"
"Didn't it offer to sneeze i"
"I really cannot say. Why 1"
"Down with that window—get me the
syrup of Ipecac.—and then run for the
Doctor. Run—run !"
"But there's nothing the matter with
the child," persists the father.
"There is, I tell you,. Here, hold its
nose, until 1 give it this medicine. Oh,
dear, were going to lose it. Go for the
doctor, somebody !" and the silly and
inexperienced mother worries herself
into a ferment, doses her baby until she
makes it sick, teases the doctor, annoys
everbody. Don't dose your children.
[l3. An Irishman who lived with a
Grahatnite writes to a friend, that if ho
wants to know what 'illigent livin' is ho
must come to his house, where the
breakfast consists of nothing, and the
supper of what Wan left at breakfast.
Ibmcnous. —To see three uncles, five
brothers ; an old maiden aunt of 80 years
holding a caucus to devise ways and
means" to keep a young maiden from
marrying the man she lutes.