THE STORY OF THE NEGRO FORT.
BY GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON.
During the war of 1812-14, between Great Britain and the United States, the weak Spanish Governor of Florida—for Florida was then Spanish territory—permitted the British to make Pensacola their base of operations against us. This was a gross outrage, as we were at peace with Spain at the time, and General Jackson, acting on his own responsibility, invaded Florida in retaliation.
Among the British at that time was an eccentric Irish officer, Colonel Edward Nichols, who enlisted and tried to make soldiers of a large number of the Seminole Indians. In 1815, after the war was over, Colonel Nichols again visited the Seminoles, who were disposed to be hostile to the United States, as Colonel Nichols himself was, and made an astonishing treaty with them, in which an alliance, offensive and defensive, between Great Britain and the Seminoles was agreed upon. We had made peace with Great Britain a few months before, and yet this astonishing Irish Colonel signed a treaty binding Great Britain to fight us whenever the Seminoles in the Spanish territory of Florida should see fit to make a war! If this extraordinary performance had been all, it would not have mattered so much, because the British government refused to ratify the treaty; but it was not all. Colonel Nichols, as if determined to give us as much trouble as he could, built a strong fortress on the Appalachicola River, and gave it to his friends the Seminoles, naming it "The British Post on the Appalachicola," where the British had not the least right to have any post whatever. Situated on a high bluff, with flanks securely guarded by the river on one side and a swamp on the other, this fort, properly defended, was capable of resisting the assaults of almost any force that could approach it; and Colonel Nichols was determined that it should be properly defended, and should be a constant menace and source of danger to the United States. He armed it with one 32-pounder cannon, three 24-pounders, and eight other guns. In the matter of small-arms he was even more liberal. He supplied the fort with 2500 muskets, 500 carbines, 400 pistols, and 500 swords. In the magazines he stored 300 quarter casks of rifle powder, and 763 barrels of ordinary gunpowder.
When Colonel Nichols went away, his Seminoles soon wandered off, leaving the fort without a garrison. This gave an opportunity to a negro bandit and desperado named Garçon to seize the place, which he did, gathering about him a large band of runaway negroes, Choctaw Indians, and other lawless persons, whom he organized into a strong company of robbers. Garçon made the fort his stronghold, and began to plunder the country round about as thoroughly as any robber baron or Italian bandit ever did, sometimes venturing across the border into the United States.
All this was so annoying and so threatening to our frontier settlements in Georgia, that General Jackson demanded of the Spanish authorities that they should reduce the place, and they would have been glad enough to do so, probably, if it had been possible, because the banditti plundered Spanish as well as other settlements. But the Spanish Governor had no force at command, and could do nothing, and so the fort remained, a standing menace to the American borders.
Matters were in this position in the spring of 1816, when General Gaines was sent to fortify our frontier at the point where the Chattahoochee and Flint rivers unite to form the Appalachicola. In June of that year some stores for General Gaines's forces were sent by sea from New Orleans. The vessels carrying them were to go up the Appalachicola, and General Gaines was not sure that the little fleet would be permitted to pass the robbers' stronghold, which had come to be called the Negro Fort. Accordingly he sent Colonel Clinch with a small force down the river, to render any assistance that might be necessary. On the way Colonel Clinch was joined by a band of Seminoles, who wanted to recapture the fort on their own account, and the two bodies determined to act together.
Meantime the two schooners with supplies and the two gun-boats sent to guard them had arrived at the mouth of the river; and when the commandant tried to hold a conference with Garçon, the ship's boat, bearing a white flag, was fired upon.
Running short of water while lying off the river's mouth, the officers of the fleet sent out a boat to procure a supply. This boat was armed with a swivel and muskets, and was commanded by Midshipman Luffborough. The boat went into the mouth of the river, and seeing a negro on shore, Midshipman Luffborough landed to ask for fresh-water supplies. Garçon with some of his men lay in ambush at the spot, and while the officer talked with the negro the concealed men fired upon the boat, killing Luffborough and two of his men. One man got away by swimming, and was picked up by the fleet; two others were taken prisoners, and, as was afterward learned, Garçon coated them with tar and burned them to death.
It would not do to send more boats ashore, and so the little squadron lay together awaiting orders from Colonel Clinch. That officer, as he approached the fort, captured a negro, who wore a white man's scalp at his belt, and from him he learned of the massacre of Luffborough's party. There was no further occasion for doubt as to what was to be done. Colonel Clinch determined to reduce the fort at any cost, although the operation promised to be a very difficult one.
Placing his men in line of battle, he sent a courier to the fleet, ordering the gun-boats to come up and help in the attack. The Seminoles made many demonstrations against the works, and the negroes replied with their cannon. Garçon had raised his flags—a red one and a British Union-jack—and whenever he caught sight of the Indians or the Americans, he shelled them vigorously with his 32-pounder.
Three or four days were passed in this way, while the gun-boats were slowly making their way up the river. It was Colonel Clinch's purpose to have the gun-boats shell the fort, while he should storm it on the land side. The work promised to be bloody, and it was necessary to bring all the available force to bear at once. There were no siege-guns at hand, or anywhere within reach, and the only way to reduce the fort was for the small force of soldiers—numbering only one hundred and sixteen men—to rush upon it, receiving the fire of its heavy artillery, and climb over its parapets in the face of a murderous fire of small-arms. Garçon had with him three hundred and thirty-four men, so that besides having strong defensive works and an abundant supply of large cannon, his force outnumbered Colonel Clinch's nearly three to one. It is true that Colonel Clinch had the band of Seminoles with him, but they were entirely worthless for determined work of the kind that Colonel Clinch had to do. Even while lying in the woods at a distance, waiting for the gun-boats to come up, the Indians became utterly demoralized under the fire of Garçon's 32-pounder. There was nothing to be done, however, by way of improving the prospect, which was certainly hopeless enough. One hundred and sixteen white men had the Negro Fort to storm, notwithstanding its strength and the overwhelming force that defended it. But those one hundred and sixteen men were American soldiers, under command of a brave and resolute officer, who had made up his mind that the fort could be taken, and they were prepared to follow their leader up to the muzzle of the guns and over the ramparts, there to fight the question out in a hand-to-hand struggle with the desperadoes inside.
Finally the gun-boats arrived, and preparations were made for the attack. Sailing-Master Jairus Loomis, the commandant of the little fleet, cast his anchors under the guns of the Negro Fort at five o'clock in the morning on the 27th of July, 1816. The fort at once opened fire, and it seemed impossible for the little vessels to endure the storm of shot and shell that rained upon them from the ramparts above. They replied vigorously, however, but with no effect. Their guns were too small to make any impression upon the heavy earthen walls of the fortress.
Sailing-Master Loomis had roused his ship's cook early that morning, and had given him a strange breakfast to cook. He had ordered him to make all the fire he could in his galley, and to fill the fire with cannon-balls. Not long after the bombardment began, the cook reported that breakfast was ready; that is to say, that the cannon-balls were red-hot. Loomis trained one of his guns with his own hands so that its shot should fall within the fort instead of burying itself in the ramparts, and this gun was at once loaded with a red-hot shot. The word was given, the match applied, and the glowing missile sped on its way. A few seconds later, the earth shook and quivered, a deafening roar stunned the sailors, and a vast cloud of smoke filled the air, shutting out the sun.
The hot shot had fallen into the great magazine, where there were hundreds of barrels of gunpowder, and the Negro Fort was no more. It had been literally blown to atoms in a second.
The slaughter was frightful. There were, as we know already, three hundred and thirty-four men in the fort, and two hundred and seventy of them were killed outright by the explosion. All the rest, except three men who miraculously escaped injury, were wounded, most of them so badly that they died soon afterward.
One of the three men who escaped unhurt was Garçon himself. Bad as this bandit chief was, Colonel Clinch would have spared his life, but it happened that he fell into the hands of the sailors from the gun-boat; and when they learned that Garçon had tarred and burned their comrades whom he had captured in the attack on Luffborough's boat, they turned him over to the infuriated Seminoles, who put him to death.
This is the history of a strange affair, which at one time promised to give the government of the United States no little trouble, even threatening to involve us in a war with Spain.
[A SHORT BEAR STORY.]
BY ORVILLE DEANE.
It was my fortune to spend the first twenty years of my life in a region where black bears were quite numerous. Our little community was often thrown into excitement by the discovery that Bruin had been engaged in some before-unheard-of mischief, and not infrequently were all the men and boys in the neighborhood mustered to surround a piece of woods, and capture a bear that was known to be there hidden away. Some of these occasions were full of excitement and danger, and maybe I shall some time tell about them; but just now I want to relate an experience with a bear that happened when I was about twelve years old.
It was a part of my business in summer-time to drive the cows to pasture every morning, and home every night. Like most boys, however, I loved play a little too well, and sometimes it would be very late before the cattle would be safely shut up for the night.
One day I had played about longer than usual after school, and when I reached home it was almost sunset. I persuaded a playmate of about my own age to accompany me, and started for the pasture. It was something more than half a mile away, and in getting to it, we followed down an old road which was now partially unused. But barefoot boys are nimble fellows, and before it was dark we were at the bars of the pasture. There stood the cows, as usual, waiting patiently for some one to come for them, and a little way out from them were the young cattle in a group. Down went the bars, and the cows started out, when all at once there was a great confusion among the young creatures. They ran in every direction, and appeared terribly frightened at something.
In a moment we saw what it was. A large black bear was coming across the pasture near them. I don't suppose he meant to trouble the cattle, but that was his nearest way to pass from the woods to a corn field which he had in view, and he happened to come along there just as we did.
It required no long council of war for us to decide to retreat as fast as possible, and taking to the road, we made the best time we could until we came to the top of a little hill. Here we mustered up courage to stop and look behind us. But there was the bear coming right up the road after us. We did not look back a second time, you may be sure, and in a very few moments we burst into my father's kitchen, and when we could get breath, exclaimed: "A b—a bear! A great big black bear chased us, and he's coming right up here!"
All that night we dreamed of bears. The cows did not come home, nor did the bear come after us, as we expected he would; but when father went down the next morning, he found the bear's tracks in the road, and following them up, he found where the old fellow had entered the corn field and taken his supper. Shortly afterward he was shot near the same place.
[CAMEOS.]
BY BARNET PHILLIPS.
ersonal adornment was the earliest motive that led primitive man to cultivate other arts than those which were necessary to his existence. Just as soon as he had killed such wild animals as were dangerous, or were wanted for food, he probably set about carving some kind of design on his weapons. After a while, when he found more time, he went straight away to fashioning ornaments for his own person. If you should go to the Museum of Natural History in New York city, where the rude implements of men who lived many thousands of years ago are to be found, you will see many such early ornaments. Some of these ornaments are of the very roughest and coarsest kind, and would not be considered either pretty or becoming to-day. Early man took a small stone, and with infinite trouble bored a hole through it with a flint; then he strung it on a shred of sinew, and wore it around his neck. He was probably very selfish about this simple ornament, and it is quite likely that many years passed before he made any such beads for his wife, or allowed her to wear them.
Gradually, however, man's artistic tastes were awakened, and he first cut the sides of the soft stones, then polished them, though many thousands of years passed before he learned how to engrave on hard stones. Gem-engraving is so old, however, that it is difficult to give it a date. You will find very often in collections a hard stone, which has something engraved on it, belonging to a very ancient period; but the material was fashioned into some form or other by people who had lived many centuries before. Cameo-cutting came after gem-engraving, and those who are learned in such matters tell us that there were cameos made as early as 162 years before Christ.
Now what is a cameo? It may be a portrait, or a group of figures, or any design, cut on a hard material, where the work executed in relief, or the part which stands out, is of a different color from the ground. In order, then, to make a cameo you must have some hard substance composed of different layers. Such stones are called banded stones. There are many minerals, such as the onyx, the carnelian, or sard, where there are two layers of the same substance one on top of the other, but of different colors. The upper crust may be pure white or a pale fawn-color, and the lower layer red, or olive, or black. Then the contrast is very handsome. In order to get the materials on which cameos were to be engraved, the Greeks and Romans travelled a great distance, even as far as India. It is believed that cameo-cutting was at its greatest state of perfection in the second century of the Christian era, when the Roman lapidaries, as workers in precious stones are called, carried on their work.
But a cameo need not be made of stone, for some of the finest that have come down to us were fashioned by the Romans by cutting layers of glass of different colors. It may seem strange to young readers to be told that although to-day we are very perfect in glass-making, there are a great many things the Romans could have taught us in this art. Now the reason why they were so skilled in glass manufacture was because they used glass as a substitute for porcelain, which was not then invented. The illustration which accompanies this article represents a very fine cameo designed by a very great English artist, whose name was John Flaxman. This cameo, which was cast, was made of white and blue porcelain, and was probably intended as a decoration for one of those beautiful urns which Wedgwood, the famous potter, manufactured in England almost a hundred years ago.
To-day a great many cameos are made, but not out of hard stones. The shell of the conch, found in Florida and the West Indies, is the material used. The white surface is cut into the figure and left. The under layer of the shell, or the ground, which is of a brownish hue when polished, gives that contrast which a cameo should have. We do not take as much trouble to make a cameo as did the ancients. They cut the stone with tiny drills, the points of which are believed to have been diamonds. The shell cameo being much softer, can be scraped or cut with small chisels. Of the old cameos there are two famous ones, one cut on an agate, the other on an onyx. Nothing in modern art is as fine, and for the one on the onyx, which is known as the Vienna gem, as much as 12,000 gold ducats was paid by the Emperor Rudolph in the sixteenth century. By the study of ancient cameos a great deal is learned, for they show us the actual pictures of the dress and costumes of people who lived more than 1800 years ago. But more than that: on some of these cameos we have the exact likenesses of great personages, who as Roman Emperors once ruled the world. In ancient times cameos were used, just as they are to-day, as ornaments, only the Greeks and Romans, men and women, wore them set in gold on their shoulders, as they held together the folds of their flowing draperies.
In the United States there are quite a number of cameo-makers, who cut good likenesses on shells; but the great art which existed in the time of Augustus has passed away.
TIM AND TIP;[1]
OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A BOY AND A DOG.
BY JAMES OTIS,
AUTHOR OF "TOBY TYLER," ETC.
Chapter XII.
TIP'S DANGER.
The work of preparing the dinner had occupied so much time that it was nearly the regular hour for supper before the last boy arose from the lowly table, and not one of them had any desire to fish or hunt. They sat around the fire, dodging the smoke as best they could, until the setting sun warned them that they must get their bedroom work done at once, or be obliged to do it in the dark.
This task was remarkably simple; it consisted in each boy finding his blanket, wrapping himself in it, and lying on the ground, all in a row, like herrings in a box.
Nor did they wait very long for slumber to visit their eyelids, for in ten minutes after they were ready it came to all, even to Tip, who had curled himself up snugly under Tim's arm.
Had any of the party been experienced in the sport of "camping out," they would have studied the signs in the sky for the purpose of learning what might have been expected of the weather; but as it was, they had all laid themselves down to sleep without a thought that the dark clouds which had begun to gather in the sky were evidences of a storm.
It was nearly midnight, and up to that time not one of them had awakened from the heavy sleep into which he had first fallen, when Tim became painfully aware that something was wrong. He had been dreaming that he was again on the Pride of the Wave, that Captain Pratt had thrown him overboard because he had been trying to steer, and just as he struck the water he awoke with a start.
The moment his eyes were open he understood the reason for his dream; he was lying in a large pool of water, and the blanket in which he had wrapped himself so comfortably was thoroughly saturated with it. At first he was at a loss to account for this sudden change of condition, and then the loud patter of rain on the canvas roof told the story plainly. A storm had come up, and the tent, being on the slope of a hill, was serving as a sort of reservoir for little streams of water that were rapidly increasing in size.
Tip, roused by his master's sudden movement, had started from his comfortable position, and walked directly into the water, very much to his discomfort and fear; howling loudly, he jumped among the sleepers with such force as at once to awaken and terrify them.
It required but a few words from Tim to make them understand all that had happened, for some of them were nearly as wet as he was, and all could hear the patter of the rain, which seemed to increase in violence each moment.
A lonesome prospect it was to think of remaining in the tent the rest of the night, unable to sleep because of the water that poured in under the canvas, or trickled down through three or four small holes in the roof.
For several moments none of them knew what to do, but stood huddled together in sleepy surprise and sorrow, until Tim proposed that since he could hardly be more wet than he was, he should go out and dig a trench which would lead the water each side of the tent. But that plan was abandoned when it was discovered that a hatchet and a spoon were the only tools they had.
In order to get some idea of the condition of affairs, Tim lighted first one match and then another; but the light shed was so feeble that Captain Jimmy proposed building a small fire, which would both illuminate and heat the interior.
Tim acted upon this suggestion at once. With some newspapers and small bits of wood that were still dry he succeeded in kindling such a blaze as shed quite a light, but did not endanger the canvas. But he forgot all about the smoke, and this oversight he was reminded of very forcibly after a few moments.
Careful examination showed that the water only came in from the upper or higher side of the tent, but it was pouring in there in such quantities that before long the interior would be spread with a carpet of water.
"We've got to dig a ditch along this side, so's the water will run off," said Tim, after he had surveyed the uncomfortable-looking little brooks, and waited a moment in the hope that Bill or Captain Jimmy would suggest a better plan.
All saw the necessity of doing something at once, and the moment Tim gave them the idea, they went to work with knives, spoons, or any other implements they could find. It did not take much time, even with the poor tools they had, to dig a trench that would carry away any moderate amount of water, and after that was done, they gathered around the fire, for consultation.
But by that time they began to learn that smoke was even more uncomfortable to bear than water. For some time it had been rising to the top of the tent, escaping in small quantities through the flaps and holes; but only a portion of it had found vent, and the tent was so full that they were nearly suffocated.
They covered their eyes, and tried to "grin and bear it"; but such heroic effort could only be made for a short while, and they were obliged to run out into the pelting rain in order to get the pure air.
It was no fun to stand out-of-doors in a storm, and, acting on Captain Jimmy's suggestion, the party returned after a few moments to "kick the fire out."
But such a plan was of very little benefit, since the embers would smoke despite all they could do, and out they ran again, seeking such shelter as they could find under the trees, where it was not long before they came to the conclusion that camping out in a rain-storm was both a delusion and a snare.
In half an hour the tent was so nearly freed from smoke that they sought its shelter again, and when they were housed once more, they presented a very forlorn appearance.
At first they decided that they would remain awake until daylight; but as the hours rolled on, this plan was abandoned, for one after another wrapped himself in his blanket, concluding he could keep his eyes open as well lying down, and proved it by going to sleep at once.
They did not sleep very soundly, nor lie in bed very late. When they awakened, it was not necessary to look out-of-doors in order to know if it was raining, for the water was falling on the thin shelter as hard and as persistently as if bent on beating it down.
SHORT RATIONS.
As soon as the boys were fairly out of bed they began to ask how breakfast could be cooked, and what they were to have in the way of food, all of which questions Tim answered in a way that left no chance for discussion. He cut eleven slices of bread, spread them thickly with butter, placed over that a slice of cake, and informed the party that they would begin the day with just that sort of a breakfast. Of course there was some grumbling, but the dissatisfied ones soon realized that Tim had done his best under the circumstances, and they ate the bread and cake very contentedly.
That forenoon was not spent in a very jolly manner, and the afternoon was a repetition of the forenoon, save that at supper-time Tim gravely informed them that there was hardly enough cooked provisions for breakfast.
Unfortunately for them, the boys were not as sleepy when the second night came, and the evening spent in the dark was not a cheerful one. The rain was still coming down as steadily as ever, and they had ceased to speculate as to when it would stop. It was after they had been sitting in mournful silence for some time that Bill Thompson started what was a painful topic of conversation.
"How long will the victuals last, Tim?"
"They're 'most gone now, 'cept the pork an' 'taters, an' the eggs, that I never thought of until a minute ago."
"If it would only stop rainin', Jim could go out fishin', an' I could go out huntin', an' in a day we could get more'n the crowd of us could eat in a week. I'll tell you what I will do"—and Bill spoke very earnestly: "I'll take Tip an' go out alone in the mornin', whether it rains or not."
"Why not all go?" said Tim, pleased with the plan. "Supposin' we do get wet, what of that? We can get dry again when the sun does come out, an' it'll be better'n stayin' here scrouchin' around."
There were a number of the boys who were of Tim's way of thinking, and the hunting party was decided upon for the following day, regardless of the weather.
After breakfast next morning some of the boys who had been the most determined to join the hunting party, the night before, concluded to wait a while longer before setting out, and the consequence was that no one save Tim, Bill, and Bobby had the courage to brave the drenching which it was certain they must get.
This time Bill had a more effective weapon than the one he used at the bear-hunt. He had borrowed a fowling-piece of quite a respectable size, and had brought with him a supply of powder and shot.
Bill covered the lock of the gun with the corner of his jacket to prevent the cap from getting wet, and on they went, rapidly getting drenched both by the rain and by the water which came from the branches of the trees.
For some time Tip steadily refused to run among the bushes, but after much urging he did consent to hunt in a listless sort of way, barking once or twice at some squirrels that had come out of their holes to grumble at the weather, but scaring up no larger game.
Just at a time when the hunters were getting discouraged by their ill luck, Tip commenced barking at a furious rate, and started off through the bushes at full speed.
Bill was all excitement; he made up his mind that they were on the track of a deer at least, and he was ready to discharge his weapon at the first moving object he should see.
After running five minutes, during which time they made very little progress, owing to the density of the woods, Bobby halted suddenly, and in an excited manner pointed toward a dark object some distance ahead, which could be but dimly seen because of the foliage.
Bill was on his knee in an instant, with gun raised, and just as he was about to pull the trigger, Tim saw the object that had attracted Bobby's attention.
He cried out sharply, and started toward Bill to prevent him from firing, but was too late. Almost as he spoke, the gun was discharged, and mingled with Tim's cries could be heard the howling of a dog.
"You've shot Tip! you've shot Tip!" cried Tim, in an agony of grief, as he rushed forward, followed by Bill and Bobby, looking as terrified as though they had shot one of their companions.
When Tim reached the spot from which the cries of pain were sounding, he found that his fears were not groundless, for there on the wet leaves, bathed in his own blood, that flowed from shot-wounds on his back and hind-legs, was poor Tip. He was trying to bite the wounds that burned, and all the while uttering sharp yelps of distress.
Tim, with a whole heart full of sorrow such as he had never known before, knelt by the poor dog's side, kissing him tenderly, but powerless to do anything for his suffering pet save to wipe the blood away. His grief was too great to admit of his saying anything to the unfortunate hunter who had done him so much mischief, and poor Bill stood behind a tree crying as if his heart was breaking.
Each instant Tim expected to see Tip in his death struggle, and he tried very hard to make the dog kiss him; but the poor animal was in such pain that he had no look even for his master.
It was nearly fifteen minutes that the three were gathered around the dog expecting to see him die, and then he appeared to be in less pain.
"Perhaps he won't die after all," said Bill, hardly even daring to hope his words would prove true. "If we could only get home, Dr. Abbott would cure him." Then, as a sudden thought came to him, he turned quickly to Bobby, and said, eagerly: "Run back to the camp as quick as you can, an' tell the fellers what has happened. Have them get everything into the boat, so's we can get right away for home."
Bobby started off at full speed, and Tim, now encouraged to think that Tip might yet recover, began to look hopeful.
Bill set to work cutting down some small saplings, out of which he made a very good litter. On this Tip was placed tenderly, and with Bill at one end and Tim at the other, they started down the path toward the camp. To avoid jolting the dog, thus causing him more pain, they were obliged to walk so slowly that when they reached the beach the boys were putting into the boat the last of their camp equipage.
Each of the party wanted to examine poor Tip, but Bill would not permit it, because of the delay it would cause. He arranged a comfortable place in the bow where Tip could lie, and another where Tim could sit beside him, working all the time as if each moment was of the greatest importance in the saving of Tip's life.
At last all was ready, the word was given to push off, and the campers rowed swiftly toward home.