“I prophesy for Nicholas the Second a long and happy reign!”
A Prophet Whose Voice Was Not Heeded
Almost in sight of where I live, there is a heap of stones that marks the spot where stood the hut in which George McDuffie was born.
His folks were “poor folks.” Concerning his ancestry nothing is known.
When I was a boy somebody told me a story to this effect:
Little George McDuffie was at the cowpen where his mother was milking, and he had a calf by the ears holding it away from the cow. A traveler, in a buggy, drove up and stopped. Seeing the boy, and not realizing the absorbing character of the boy’s job, the wayfaring man called out:
“Come here, Bubbie, and hold my horse.”
To which the lad replied: “If you’ll come here and hold my calf, I’ll go there and hold your horse.”
According to the story, the traveler was so tickled by the boy’s readiness of wit, that he took a fancy to him and secured him a position as clerk in a store in the city of Augusta.
Well, George McDuffie wasn’t much of a clerk. He loved to read books better than to wait upon customers. It came to pass that his fondness for books attracted the attention of one of the Calhouns—not John C., but his brother, I believe—and Mr. Calhoun placed the boy at the celebrated school of Dr. Waddell to be educated.