VOL. L
GREENSBORO, N. C., THURSDAY, N0VE:MBER 25, 1875.
NO. 11.
POETRY.
For t!ie .JouitKAL.
A Mother’s Love.
Lured from her home aii'l ruuicd,
Wandei'in^ I know not wliei*(‘,
Srarving, perhaps, in a barrel,
Wth nothiiu;' to >at or to wear.
•Kallcn, yet (laimiiter, I you,
No mattei’ how low or dislres.Ned,
A M(ithai^ilovc, cliil'l, is eternal;
It commenced when you nuiv(*d at the breast
I' may not be that your mother
Know.' halt the I'emorse of yeur heart,
But I know ’twas your evil transgressions
'i’hat kf-eps s tlic.s lone'y apart;
But if yen are bouya it with pleasure,
Or ;^roping in darkn ss and sh:ime,
I bi !yo i return (o your inodier;
You'll liiid her !o\’*e' evnu- the same.
,.-f '
T:>en leave all your waywarU^ai;
And coin.' to your mothei- one.* in
Y^ouhl r;dmy h -art of its sor-ou’S,
E’re I sfa t for the bi-aii li'ni s'.ioi’e.
Bui if you’ll not iicod my persuasions
Bern mberjd -ar child, youh e f'raiveii
The love, for you, darling, tho’earthly,
Xs eternal w lea taken to Heaven.
Tom. ,
Asheboro, N. C., Nov. 10, 1875.
The St. Domingo Refugee.
A somewhat romantic incident, which
grew ontofthe revolution at St, Domin
go, is not unworthy of being recorded.
It may not, however, be unuece.ssary to
refre.sh the reader's memory as to the ex
isting state of public affairs at the time of
the narrative. The cry of liberty and
^^quality which resounded in revolution-
arv France was responded, to nowhere
more warmly and vehemently than in the
beautiful and hitherto peaceful island of
St. Domingo. The slave population,
which exceeded that of the white ten
fold, were quickly imbued by revolution
ary agents and emissariec, who poure^
into the minds of the benighted yet ar
dent people the new-born idea of “perfect
equality and the largest liberty” which
prevailed at home.
The explosion at St. Domingo was sud
den and terrible ; all the beautiful plains
were covered with fire in an hour, and the
labor of a century was devoured in a night;
while the negroes, like unchained tigers,
precipitated themselves on their masters,
seized their arms, massacred them with
out pity, or threw them into the flames.
Those who escaped from this scene of hor
ror or. board of ships were lighted on
their passage over the deep by their burn
ing habitations. They almost all took
refuge in America, w-here they were wel
comed with generous sympathy and kind
hospitality.
The subsequent history of this beauti
ful island forms another melancholy at
testation to the truth that they are least
fitted to rule who cauoot be ruled—self-
government and justice in the governors
being no less essential than subordination,
order, and respect for superiors in the
governed—the bondage from which they
emerged being little more oppressive in
j comparison lo the bondage to vice, indo-
j lence and anarchy into which they rush-
I ed.
During the massacre at Gape Town,
wnen thirty thousand wretched beings
perished, with atrocities unparalelled, a
gentleman of standing and wealth was
hurrying back from his place of business,
where he had just rescued documents of
importance, to the outskirts of the tovvri,
where he had concealed his little family,
but recently deprived of the tender cares
of a mother, with an old negro woman,
who was still faithful to the master that
had ever treated her kindly—and be e
both she and his ehildreu were, he hoped,
safe from the search of the insurgents for
a time. He was just turning the corner
of a .street, which he had watched until
it appeared to be free from tue rioters,
when on a sudden two negroes eim-rged
from the jiortico of a house and placed
themselves in his passage. They wore
armed with huge clubs, and being half
intoxicated and m.ddened with fury,
their aspect was ferocious and dreadful
They held but a short parley, when they
commenced stripping the prisoner of ev
ery article of value, pouring forth the
while the high-sounding words of liberty
and equality, right and freedom—yet des
ecrating them at every breath.
Their unresisting victim pleaded at
length for life. His little ones, who were
visibly brought to his mind at that ter
rific moment were, in his despair, named
in his appeal to the ruffians—but in vain.
With dew-eyed pity what had they to
do ’ They laughed a fiendish laugh.
The hand of the more savage of them—
„ould there be such a distinction—was
laised to do the murderous deed—it was
about to fail, when a piercing cry rent the
air. It issued from a neighboring balco
ny and arrested the uplifted arm. In a
moment the utterer of that ciy of despair
rushed toward them. A young lady had,
from her own place of concealment—
where, perhaps she had been hidden
from the rioters—heard the pleading
words, had seen the murderous arm up
raised. Horror-struck and agonized, she
was impelled to attempt a rescue, al
though she knew not the victim. Person
al safety was unthought of. Precious
fruit of humanity.
She took from her finger a jewel of
great value, and held out a purse.
“Here,” she exclaimed, in a faltering
voice, yet earnest in its tone of entreaty,
“here is a rare jewel, of great value, and
in this purse are thirty pieces of gold.
They are all I have, but they are all yours,
if you spare youi victim.”
Plunder was even dearer to the wretch
es than revenge, and, after an instant's
parley, they gave up their captive upon
the condition of his immediately quitting
the island forever; and they had no soon
er received the leward of their compulso
ry mercy from the hands of tlie fair com-
passionator—who shrank again into the
shade of her house—than they hurried
him to the sea-side, where he was made to
embark in a ship which was to sail for
America in an hour.
We may imagine , though it can
scarcely he described in language vivid
and truthful enough, the feelings of a pa
rent in leaving to the tender mercy of
rebel slaves—in blood thirstiness, cruel
ty and revenge, fiends incarnate—his lit
tle iiinooent, motlierless children, dear to
him as his heart’s blood.
He lande.l in America; but, although
a rich man—having, independent of his
property in St. Domingo, large amounts
invested in foreign securities—he went
about a heavy-hearted man in a strange
land, for all communication with St. Do
mingo was for a time out off, and the ves
self that touched for an hour or two at
the island brought word that anarchy and
confusion still reigned triumphant on its
shores, boding death to the white man
who should have the temerity to tru.st
himself beyond the protection of the guns
of the ship.
.After about five months .-■•pent in Amer
ica—although St. Domingo was far from
peaceful—there was sufficient protection
for the lives of those who had not been
partirularly olmoxious to the population,
and-he resolved to entrust himself to its
shores and seek oiii the faithful negro,
who he still hoped had charge of his poor
children.
The voyage was made, he landed at St.
Domingo—and with eager steps the fath
er traced out the abode of the old woman.
It was occupied by strange faces, and af
ter some difficulty he learned that during
the height of the revolution the negro
had been missed from her abode, and it
was presumed had fallen a victim to her
own race, as she was know’n to have been
friendly disposed toward the white p«pu-
lation.
The children, when last seen, had been
on the seashore, and it was presumed were
taken on board an English vessel.
The heart-broken parent had but one
duty uow that detained him in St. Domin
go—that of gratitude to her who had been
instrumental in saving his life. He went
to the house where the beautiful figure
had appeared on the balcony, held parley
with the ruffians, and finally purchased
his life.
The place was now occupied by a ne
gro and his family, who stated that they
had been formerly slaves of the parents
of the young lady—that the old people
had been killed during the insurrection,
and it was by the greatest miracle that
they had been enabled to save the life
of their young mistress. The only furth
er information they could give him was
that her name was Deville, and that she
was related to a French family who re
sided at Marseilles.
With a more joyful heart that his
children had been saved, and in the hope
that he might he speedily able to trace
them out, the father set sail with all speed
for England.
Arrived in that country, he neither
spared gold nor energy to find out the
children, but at the end of three or four
months his heart sickened with despair,
all his efforts met with no success,, aud
the friends who aided him in the search,
and saw how mental distress was preying
on ins health, prevailed on him to make
i sliort ursiotj on tUe ooHtinent, dur
ing winch they promised still to renew
their exertions. He first went to Paris,
and ihence traveled for a short time in
the provinces. Though overwhelmed
witli the idea of his loss, gratitude to her
who had saved his life still beat warmly
in bis heart, and he resolveu to seek oul
her relatives in Marseilles.
Tlie journey to Marseilles was there
fore accomplished with all speed, and al
though tile family were poor and not well
known, he suoceded in tracing them to
the outskirts of the city, and heard to
his funlier delight, that Mdlle Deville
had been received by her relatives and
was a resident there.
■ .Altnough u.ikn-wn to Mdle. Deville
when he arrived at the humble cottage, a
brief explanation was sufficient to recall
to lier the circumstances in which shehad
takeri so prominent a part.
With expressions of tlie most unbound
ed gratitude, he begged her to receive
back the sum slie had paid to the men for
the purchase of his life, together with the
value of tne rang.
“I consent,” she replied, “most willing
ly ; it is a sum that I never should have
possessed had I not thus disposed of it
for after you left the island I was robbed
of all I had, and I am, comparatively
speaking, poor now, when I should be
most rich—for I have accepted a great-
charge. In the vessel in whicli I return
ed to England there were two orphans,
whose parents had been murdered. I
grew attached to them, and they to me,
and at the hour of our arrival I resolved
not to part with them and leave them in
poverty among strangers, but to be to
them for the future as a mother.”
The heart of the father beat as though
it would burst, as he he heard this recit
al. It war- no longer with hope, but with
certainty.
“The childrsa—the children I Letmr
see them ! They are mine—mine !”
At that moment, as though some in
stinctive impulse urged them to the presi
enoe of their parent, th echildren pushed
open the door and stood before him
They were, indeed, his own offspring,
now restored to him by the same kind be-
ing who had saved his life. He owed ail
to her. It was not then to be wondered
at that ho should feel an affection for
this angel ; her who had already tender
ly loved them as her own, or that she
who had so kind a heart should be callous
to a still more tender paasion for one whe
showed himself worthy of it.
The sequel is short. Mdle. Deville
soon received as a right the tender name
of mother, with which her adopted chil
dren had been taught to address her, and
changed the humble rank which misfor
tune had placed her in for one of wealth
and position,