USA > Georgia > Jackson County > The early history of Jackson county, Georgia. "The writings of the late G.J.N. Wilson, embracing some of the early history of Jackson county". The first settlers, 1784; formation and boundaries to the present time; records of the Talasee colony > Part 20
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In the midst of the fall season, when Sidney York had been languishing in his narrow prison cell by night and working in its shops nearly every day for nine miserable months, John Coat- ney was stricken with a violent type of fever. Being physically strong he fought the disease for several weeks; but he finally be- gan to sink so fast that his physicians, when asked for their opinion, frankly told him he had only a few hours to live. This was terrible news to such a man, and for a few minutes he im- plored them to save him if possible. When nearly exhausted he became more composed, and calling for a servant ordered him to go after the same magistrate that had issued the warrant for the arrest of Sidney York. When the officer arrived the dying man, with great difficulty, dictated and signed the following affidavit :
"Believing that I am now dying, and deeply repenting of the great crime I committed against Sidney York, now in the peniten- tiary for stealing, I, John Coatney, in the presence of Almighty God, and of the witnesses whose names are hereunto annexed, do solemnly swear that I put the $50.00 bill, No. 2152, in the said Sidney York's coat collar with my own hands while he was
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asleep in my father's house; and that I thought by disgracing him, he could not come between me and the only woman I ever loved.
John Coatney.
"Signed in Presence of:
"D. G. Campton, J. P .; William Harris, N. T. Smith."
The affidavit was at once sent to the governor of the State. A few hours afterwards John Coatney died and was buried in the vicinity of the present Line school house near which his father lived.
How true is Holy Writ, "The way of the transgressor is hard !" and again, "Be sure your sin will find you out." How truly did Mrs. Underwood prophesy, and how clearly did Col. Nash see through the case, when, in the closing sentence of his argument before the jury, he exclaimed in thunder tones :
"Gentlemen of the jury, I call you to witness, that, though it may or may not be known in time, when the records of eternity are unrolled it will be known of all men, that the green-eyed monster of jealousy is the head and front of this false accusa- tion."
The perplexing mystery was solved at last. In due time Sid- ney York was free. So highly was the country gratified over the vindication of his honor that several leading citizens went and escorted him home from Milledgeville.
The humble but honorable home of Sidney York's father stood on the spot now occupied by the cemetery at Chapel church a few miles east of Winder. That beautiful place has since seen the flow of many tears of sorrow; but when the liberated pris- oner of Cell No. 21, reached there, tears of joy flowed like great drops of falling rain. How strange the transmutations of time as it passes on, forever on, in unimpeded flight.
The first visit made by the free man was to see the Alston family, not one of whom had ever believed him guilty. Miss Artemisia manifested her former friendship, nothing more. That was disappointing and strengthened him in a former resolution
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to leave the country. To that she objected in such terms that hope was renewed. As he had come into full possession of the legacy bequeathed him by his uncle, he from time to time became more bold, and finally reaching what he called "the turning point," said, with a deep tremor in his voice :
"My dear Artie, as I called you when we were children to- gether, I want to repeat what you have long known; only, how- ever, by your permission. May I go on?"
She hesitated a moment, and then giving one of those smiles which Mrs. Gilmer characterized as "sunshine and gladness," answered : "Yes, go on."
"You know," he continued, "that I love you, O Artie, so very sincerely, that only a lifetime of devotion can measure it! Yes, I love you, and only you. While I have been one of the most un- fortunate men that ever lived, I have been fortunate in some respects, fortunate in having a competency of ready cash, and fortunate in having your friendship since early childhood. But friendship is not enough, however valuable that may be. I shall look back with pleasure over the misfortunes of the past if you will promise to be my wife. I know this is asking for much more than I deserve; but my undivided love for you does not allow me to ask for less. Will you answer me, darling?"
She hung her head, placed her hands over her face and sat in silent, tremulous meditation. He took her hand in his, she did not draw it away. He again said :
"Will you answer me, dear?"
She hesitated, but finally looked up, and leaning her head against his manly breast, she answered in broken tones:
"O Sidney, I have loved you since we played together in child- hood's happy hours. I realize all that you have suffered on my account, and am willing to do all I can to make you happy in the future. As you could say nothing less than ask me to be yours, neither can I say anything less than to answer, yes."
"Then, since I have safely passed through the dark night into which John Coatney drove me with unmerciful hand, and have
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entered into the glorious sunshine of your love, my only one, and mine forever, I forgive him for all the pain he has caused me to suffer."
"Dear Sidney," she said, as the tears flowed from her lustrous blue eyes, "I too have suffered all the time you were away in that horrid prison, and all because the treacherous John Coatney, by some means unknown to me, discovered that I loved you. I had long thought that he intended to do you harm, and that was the reason why I showed you only friendship when I dearly loved you all the time. Remember that 'all things work together for good to them that love God.' "
"Yes, dear, I remember; and while I thank you for the explana- tion of your friendship when I so ardently longed for your love, let us unite in prayer and thank Him for this happy hour, and ask for a continuation of his blessings."
They fell upon their knees and asked God to help them conse- crate their lives to his service, to give them grateful hearts for the consummation of their wishes, and to bless their future lives with peace and happiness.
Who will say such prayers went unanswered ?
A few weeks later Sidney York and Artemisia Alston were married. Nearly every citizen for many miles around witnessed the ceremony, and all extended their hearty congratulations.
The following year the Alston and York families moved to Habersham County. It was there the writer visited them; there he heard Mr. and Mrs. Alston sing their morning songs, and there they told him the story of "Cell No. 21."
Mrs. Artemisia Alston York often joined her husband in the chase, and with rifle, horn and dogs roamed the mountains on horseback, the very picture of health and still radiantly beauti- ful.
About this time Joseph Coatney, John Coatney's father, emi- grated to Cherokee County, where he died some years later. He left a will in which he bequeathed one full share of his large estate "to Sidney York instead of John Coatney, deceased."
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When offered the legacy, Sidney York indignantly refused to accept it, saying :
"Though I have forgiven John Coatney for the great crime he has committed, and though his father doubtless meant well, neither Artie nor myself can afford to touch one cent of his deeply tainted patrimony."
Solomon says of a good woman: "The heart of her husband safely trusts in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil."
Note. For justifiable reasons, the true names of some of the foregoing characters are not given.
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THE HUT OWL IN BORROWED FEATHERS.
A STORY IN REAL LIFE.
THE READING OF THE POEM OPENS THEIR EYES.
On the Northeastern [now Southern] railway a few furlongs above Harmony Grove [now Commerce], there stands a small log cabin to the building of which the memory of man does not go back. Larkin Butler, an old pioneer, said the "hut" was built by John Akin, a nephew of the celebrated Nancy Hart, in 1784, and that Tethlemaco, the Indian chief, who at that time directed the councils of the Cherokee nation, helped do the work.
Sixty years came and passed, when strange to say, the "Hinton Hut" as the house was then called, seemed to be nearly as old as it is now at the hoary age of one hundred and eight years. Many "split-board roofs" have sheltered its walls; but its moss-covered logs are the same, except, perhaps, the places that have been made lean by natural paper-makers-the wasps and hornets-which have for a full century been running their factories upon the neighboring fence-corners.
For a number of years the cabin had not been inhabited; but on a cool Saturday evening in April a rude one-ox cart stopped near its ancient doorway. The driver, a young girl of some six- teen summers, having seen to the comfort of two little boys that were on the cart with her, turned and anxiously looked in the direction from which she had come. Presently a man and woman were seen approaching. The former was beastly drunk and the latter was weeping bitterly. To a plowboy who gazed over the adjacent fence the scene beggared description.
It was Van Allen and his family who, becoming weary of their home in Carolina, were thus miserably wending their way to some point in the West. Mary, their oldest daughter, had gone forward with the cart to select a camping place, while the mother remained behind to look after the drunken father.
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Soon after reaching the cart the man went to sleep, when, by permission of the owner, Mrs. Allen decided to occupy the cabin until morning, little thinking that it was to become her home for a long time.
A scanty supper of cold bread was eaten, the little boys went to sleep on a bed of straw, and save the hoarse snoring of the drunkard nothing broke the painful silence of the mother and daughter.
Suddenly the snoring ceased and the demon arose to his feet in a furious passion. Demanding something to eat, Mary hastened to offer him a piece of bread; but because she could not give more, he hurled a pine knot at her with all his force. Though she attempted to evade the blow, the rough missile struck her full in the breast. Quivering for a moment like a butchered ani- mal, she gave one gasp and fell senseless on the ground.
The plowboy, who at the time was preparing to return home, witnessed this frightful scene. Though only seventeen years old, he was brave and muscular. Himself the son of a drunkard, he could readily sympathize with others in a similar condition. Be- sides he was by nature a noble boy. This and more he had in- herited from a good mother who, like Mrs. Allen, had been brought from prosperity and happiness to shame and sorrow by the demon's drink-alcohol.
So when Clyde Arthur, the plowboy, saw Mary Allen fall, he leaped the fence at a single bound, not thinking that he carried one of his plowlines with him. The inhuman father was ready for the fray. The boy, who had no desire to hurt the man, soon exhausted the strength of his antagonist, and in a few minutes Van Allen was tied hand and foot with the plowline. He chafed in the harness like a caged lion. Perhaps never before had such horrid oaths jarred against the walls of that old house. Were its logs a graphophone or dictagraph, what might be ground out from their inner depths ?
While Clyde was pulling at the last knot in his plowline an- other character, attracted to the place by the loud ravings of the bound man, appeared upon the scene of this strange transaction.
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This was a teacher* who at the time had a school at Rock Spring in the immediate neighborhood; and who was himself a mere boy in the very first of his teens.
Turning their attention to the wounded girl, the two boys quickly carried her to a neighboring house where they felt sure that Mrs. Allen and her children would be kindly received. Nor were they disappointed.
At every gasp poor Mary was expected to die. Blood flowed from her mouth and she was wholly insensible. Without delay the teacher went on foot for the nearest physician who lived ten miles distant, and a little before sunrise on the following morn- ing, Dr. Crawford W. Long, the distinguished discoverer of anaesthetics, stood by the suffering stranger.
The next morning while packing his medicines to return home, the good doctor, having observed the anxiety manifested by Clyde and the teacher requested that they be admitted to the room. Timidly entering, Dr. Long informed them that the crisis was past and that his patient would live.
Then softly going near the bed and gazing at the quietly sleeping stranger, they for the first time fully realized how beauti- ful-how very beautiful, Mary Allen was.
At the close of four anxious weeks Mrs. Allen and her children returned to the Hinton hut which had, in the meantime, been secured as at least their temporary home.
In those days school life in the rural districts was not like it is now. The school at Rock Spring was large and contained many different characters. A few still live, but most of them are dead. Some were rich and some were poor-very poor. Some were dull, others intellectual and ambitious. A few of their names have passed into history. Gen. W. T. Milligan, one of the first heroes who gave his life for the "Lost Cause," and Emeline Maddox, who bravely carried the colors of her husband's regi- ment over the bloody field of Shiloh, and who performed an an- gel's mission at the close of Albert Sidney Johnson's heroic life will never be forgotten by those who knew them best.
*The teacher was the author. He began teaching when 13 years old and was 17 when this school opened .- Ed.
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But perhaps the most interesting feature of the school was "Class No. 1." It was composed of sixteen young ladies, most of whom were immensely wealthy-all of unblemished character, beautiful and highly intellectual.
Over this pleasing feature, however, the pride and vanity of about half the class sometimes caused a dark cloud to gather-a feature which in those days often served to grind the poor into the very dust.
Soon after Mary Allen's recovery she was induced to become a pupil in the Rock Spring school. To the surprise of all her entrance examination showed that she was already a good Eng- lish scholar and well advanced in some of the higher branches. This at once placed her in Class No. 1.
Though poor and obscure, she was uncommonly beautiful, very intelligent, of pleasing address, and the very soul of honor. But in the estimation of some of her classmates these sterling qualities weighed little against gold and silver. They frowned upon her in school and cut her acquaintance in society. Some called her a "cart-driver," and others a "pauper." One, the leader of the class, publicly called her "The Hut Owl in Borrowed Feathers," using the term feathers in allusion to the flowing curls of jet- black hair that fell in festoons over her symmetrical shoulders.
This cruel conduct was their only serious fault and can be at- tributed only to that prevailing spirit of the times which has since been characterized as "the hot blood of the old Southern lord."
Although these taunts were felt with the keenest anguish, their victim usually met them with tears only. The rest died away in the silence of her noble breast.
However, the time came when even with the gentle nature of Mary Allen "forbearance ceased to be a virtue."
One lovely Sabbath several of her class met her at church and in a conspicious way refused to recognize her presence. Her heart bled at every pore and for once she resolved upon some sort of revenge.
Compositions and essays were not so common then as now, Rock Spring being one of the few schools where such exercises
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were required. Then original composition was regarded a great task; but to Mary Allen this kind of work was no task at all. This her classmates well knew; and while most of them would have scorned a proposition to wear her bonnet, none had any particular objections to presenting her thoughts as their own.
So as the time for the public exercises of the school drew near Mary's facile pen was laid under heavy tribute. The week following the neglect shown at church various members of her class politely requested her to write for them.
"Mary," said the wealthy Lucy Graves, "as it is such an easy matter for you to write, will you kindly assist me?"
"I will on two conditions," replied the former, thoughtfully.
"And what are they ?" asked the latter.
"That you allow me to select the subject and tell no one that I am the author," was the firm reply.
"I will do that gladly," promised Lucy.
"Then call on me one hour hence," said Mary, "and my thoughts on Toil, Pain and Tears, will be at your service."
At the time appointed the two met, when Lucy said :
"Read Mary, for you are a better reader than I am."
Announcing her subject as was the custom of those days, Miss Allen proceeded :
"Away back in the far-gone ages when Mother Time was singing her nursery hymn, the white-winged Messenger of peace hovered over earth, and Toil, Pain and Tears were unknown to mortals.
"But as time rolled on an arch enemy appeared upon the scene, when the guardian Messenger sadly folded her snowy wings and a piercing cry, never heard on earth before, reached from pole to pole. The crystal waters of Eden assumed a leaden hue and a turbulent flood, laden with Toil, Pain and Tears rolled on without a shore."
At the close of this paragraph their eyes met. A pearly tear was stealing down Lucy's rosy cheek. This was chased away by Mary's tender hand, when she proceeded to read the entire paper of some ten minutes in length.
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Again their eyes met. The first tear was the forerunner of many others. These, too, were chased away by the same gentle hand, and while doing so the "pauper" girl received the first kiss ever offered by any one of her class.
Separating on terms more sociable than ever before, one went to rest at her ease-the other to brook the importunities of others to write for them also.
Overwork at school, overwork at home, added to the many sor- rows she had to bear at both places proved to be too much for the poor girl's power of endurance. Suddenly her nerves gave way and for several weeks she was unable to attend school.
As a preparatory measure for the forthcoming public exercises the members present of Mary Allen's class were called to read their respective papers. Perhaps, fortunately, she was still ab- sent. Understanding that only those who had read should be present at the reading of another, the teacher glanced at the class roll and announced the first name, Miss Anna Dickson.
Promptly that young lady took her position, and announcing her subject to be, "Toil, Pain and Tears," began :
"Away back in the far-gone ages when Mother Time was sing- ing her nursery hymn, the white-winged Messenger of peace hovered over earth, and Toil, Pain and Tears were unknown to mortals."
Word for word as Mary Allen had written for Lucy Graves, did Anna Dickson read to the end, and then took her seat to wit- ness the performance of those who were to follow.
Next came Eliza Hampton who, after saying her theme was "Toil, Pain and Tears," proceeded :
"Away back in the far-gone ages when Mother Time was sing- ing her nursery hymn," and so on, she continued to repeat Miss Dickson's words to the close, and took her seat, also.
But Miss Hampton saw that something was wrong. The teacher was puzzled and hurried to the next name. Lucy Graves, saying "Toil, Pain and Tears" was her subject, she, too, began :
"Away back in the far-gone ages," and thus following her two classmates about half way through, she became so embar- rassed at their appearance that she could read no further.
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Wishing to relieve them in some way, the teacher remarked, "There appears to be a remarkable similarity in the sentiments of the class. That we may see if this unity of mind goes any fur- ther the usher will please introduce Miss Ballard."
Except Mary Allen, Evie Ballard was one of the most noble pupils in school. Like the others she said the title of her paper was "Toil, Pain and Tears," and began:
"Away back in the far-gone ages"-but at the word "ages" her three classmates ran from the room and left her standing in blank astonishment. The teacher hastened to explain the situation, and going with Evie they found that nine of the class had the same essay word for word. The class was greatly morti- fied at the discovery, but all now saw that Mary Allen's beauti- ful production was a pathetic comparison of her own condition with that of her aristocratic classmates. At this their hearts, naturally good, at once melted, and every one began to weep. This was their teacher's opportunity to do the greatest work of his life.
Going with the class to the old cabin where Mary Allen still lived they found her in a much better condition than when she left school.
"You have sold us all out" said Minna Lane, the leader. "For- give us, and let us always be friends."
"I freely forgive all," replied Mary, "but I can not forget that horrid name-'The Hut Owl in Bor -! '""
"I take it all back and gladly substitute 'angel' in its place," interrupted the leader, and throwing her arms around Mary, the embrace went round until every member of the class had asked and received forgiveness. Nor did she ever again suffer at any one of their hands.
The following winter Van Allen filled a drunkard's grave. The next spring Mrs. Allen and her children were carried by her brother to the far West. As their teamster, Clyde Arthur went with them.
Thirty-six years after a man stood upon Lookout Mountain, gazing now at the city of Chattanooga below, and then at the
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heights above, where, on a hedge of rocks stood a lady and gentleman of elegant and commanding appearance.
Going near the place where they stood a mutual recognition took place-the two extended their hands-the man leaped upon the rocks, and Mary Allen, Clyde Arthur and their Rock Spring teacher all in full abounding joy, again stood face to face.
Mary Allen had become Clyde Arthur's wife. He had studied law, had passed through the late war with honor and distinction, and returning home, had been elected governor of his adopted State-was then serving his second term in that high office where "The Hut Owl in Borrowed Feathers" had become "the first lady" of the land in which she lived, and an "angel" in her ele- gant western home as well.
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THE REBEL GIRL AT POST NO. 1 .*
CHAPTER I.
THE SEARCH FOR THE REBEL.
Soon after the skirmish between the Confederate and the Federal forces at Bridgeport, Tenn., in the early spring of 1862, both parties began to move up the Tennessee river, the former occupying its eastern and the latter its western bank. A little before reaching Long Island, which is a few hours march below Chattanooga, they halted within view of each other, and for several days something like peaceful relations seemed to exist be- tween them. Firing across the river ceased, and sometimes the blue and the gray exchanged coffee and tobacco on one or the other of its banks.
Suddenly, however, a Federal regiment moved north and spread its tents on an open plain several hundred yards below the point where the river divides in about equal portions at the island. Thus the distance between the opposing forces was in- creased by the breadth of the island, which was here about the fourth of a mile, and by a narrow swamp which intervened be- tween the river and the Federal camp.
Hitherto neither party had attempted to occupy the island, but as this latter movement of the enemy somewhat puzzled the Con- federates, they decided to investigate the matter, without, how- ever, any hostile intention.
Accordingly on the morning of the 10th day of June a de- tachment consisting of sixty picked men under the command of Capt. J. T. Atwater, crossed the eastern branch of the river, and quietly took possession of that part of the island which was sup- posed to be opposite the enemy's camp. The dense growth on the intervening swamp cut off all signs of their presence, and if
*This beautiful little story has little or no connection with the early history of Jackson County; but it is here inserted because the Editor feels that the reader will appreciate and enjoy it.
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any pickets occupied its margins they were not seen. Two small log houses stood near their landing, and though corn and pota- toes grew near them, they were unoccupied. Most of the ground was covered by large trees on whose ponderous limbs squirrels were playing and amid whose dense foliage birds were singing their morning madrigals.
After becoming familiar with his surroundings Capt. Atwater proceeded, about dark, to establish a line of picket posts along something less than half a mile of the western boundary of the island. Near the river, and a little below what was thought to be about the center of the Federal camp, stood a huge sycamore tree which the corporal of the guard designated as Post No. 1. To this he assigned Jim Warren, a tall, muscular and brave Con- federate in the flush of young manhood's prime. Though he knew there were not men enough on the island to relieve him during the night, his task was comparatively easy because, for an unknown distance below, the river-bank was too steep and rugged to re- quire much attention.
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