It was here, against a fierce tyranny, the gallant
Yamassee,
A tribe of faithful and heroic Indians. loyal to his professed
friend, struggled and died for his liberty. It was here the last
remnant of his tribe fought the fierce battle of right over might!
It was here, in this domain, destined to be the great and powerful
of nations-the asylum of an old world's shelter seeking poor, and
the proud embodiment of a people's sovereignty,-liberty was first
betrayed! It was here men deceived themselves, and freedom
proclaimers became freedom destroyers. And, too, it was here Spanish
cupidity, murderous in its search for gold, turned a deaf ear to
humanity's cries, slaughtered the friendly Indian, and drenched the
soil with his innocent blood. And it is here, at this moment,
slavery-fierce monster, threatening the peace of a happy people-runs
riot in all its savage vicissitudes, denying man his commonest
birthright.
If history did but record the barbarous scenes yet enacted on the
banks of this lovely stream, the contrast with its calm surface
sweeping gently onward to mingle its waters with the great deep,
would be strange indeed. How mellowed by the calm beauty of a summer
evening, the one!-how stained with scenes of misery, torment, and
death, the other!
Let us beg the reader to follow us back to the time when Marston is
found in possession of the plantation, and view it as it is when his
friends gather round him to enjoy his bounteous hospitality.
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