Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad Part 29

The next day a great excitement existed relative to the groggeries in town; a meeting was called, and a committee appointed to act in a manner they thought best calculated to promote the interests of the people at large.

This committee determined to present the facts to the keepers of the places in question, and request them to renounce the traffic.

The facts were presented. They saw that their customers had all left them, and why should they continue? It would be a losing business.

The effect of the moral suasion had been powerful; it labored with the very soul of the traffic, with those who put the pence in the dealers' coffers. It was more powerful than all laws that could have been enacted. Forbidding them to sell while customers crowded their doors would have had no effect, unless to create riot; inducing their customers to leave them soon induced them to leave the business, for where there are none to buy there will be none to sell.

In view of all this, the rumsellers of Tapville gave up; and, strange to say, joined with the people that night in their rejoicing, and made a bonfire of their stock in trade.

By the light of that fire my friend and I left the town; and when far away we could see its glare, and hear the shouts of a disenthralled people.

After a few months' travel in the south and west, I revisited Tapville, or rather the place where it once stood; but no Tapville was there. The town had regained its former sobriety and quiet, and became "Springvale."

I called at the widow's cottage; Tommy ran out to meet me, and I received a welcome I shall never forget. But Jenny was no more; with her last breath she had blessed the temperance cause, and then her pure spirit winged its way to that home where sorrows never come, and where the troubles of earth are forgotten amid the joys of heaven.

THE BATTLE OF THE RED MEN.

'T WAS cold, bleak winter, on a rock-bound coast, When bands of exiles trod its frozen sh.o.r.e.

Who then stood forth to greet the coming host And shelter freely give when storms did pour?

Old Samoset-peace to his memory still!-

He bade them welcome, welcome, with good will.

Then was the red man's nation broad and strong- O'er field and forest he held firm control; Then power was his to stay the coming throng, And back the wave of usurpation roll.

He might have crushed them on old Plymouth's rock,

And freedom to this day have felt the shock.

Not so he willed it; he would have them sit In peace and amity around his door; The pipe of peace in friendship would have lit, And, as its white cloud up towards heaven did soar,

Learned that like it the spirits pure and white

Ascend, to live in never-ceasing light.

But what return did they profusely give Who were dependent on the red man's corn?

Not even to them the privilege to live, But war and fire, torture, hate and scorn!

Hunted like wild beasts through the forests' track;

For food and welcome such they gave him back.

Then roused to madness was the Indian's soul, Then grasped with firmness every one his bow; No mortal power his purpose could control, Till he had seen the traitors lying low.

Revenge! revenge! was sounded far and wide,

O'er every field and every river's tide.

The little child that scarce could lisp a word Was taught to hate the white man; maidens fair Were roused to fearful vengeance, as they heard Their brothers' wrongs, and madly tore their hair;

Old men urged on the young, and young men fled

Swift to increase the armies of the dead.

And thus the war began,--the fearful war That swept o'er happy homesteads like a flood; The white and red man knew no other law Than that which wrote its every act in blood.

Daylight beheld the ball and arrow's flight,

And blazing homes made terrible the night.

The rifle's sharp report, the arrow's whiz, The shout, the yell, the fearful shriek of death; Despair in him who saw the last of his, And heard "good-by" from children's dying breath;

The last sad look of prisoners borne away,

And groan of torture, marked the night and day.

With arms more skilful-not with hearts more true, Or souls more brave to battle for the right- The white the unjust warfare did pursue, Till, inch by inch, the red man took his flight

From homes he loved, from altars he revered,

And left, forever, scenes to him endeared.

O, what an hour for those brave people that!

Old men, whose homes were loved as homes can be; Young men and maidens who had often sat In love and peace beneath the forest tree;

Parents who'd planted flowers; and with warm tears

Watered the graves of dearest-gone for years!

From every tree a voice did seem to start, And every shrub that could a shadow cast Seemed to lament the fate that bade them part, So closely twined was each one with the past.

O, was it strange they fought with furious zeal?

Say, men who think, and have warm hearts to feel.

And thus they went,--a concourse of wronged men,-- Not with a speedy flight; each inch they gave, Each blade of gra.s.s that pa.s.sed beyond their ken, Was sold for blood, and for a patriot's grave;

And white men paid the price-and now they hold

This broad, broad land for cost more dear than gold.

And yet 't is not enough; the cry for more Hath vexed the Indian, till the Atlantic's wave Now blends with it the thunder of its roar, And soon shall sound the requiem o'er the grave

Of the last Indian,--last of that brave band

Who once held sway o'er all this fertile land.

Methinks to-day I see him stand alone, Drawing his blanket close around his form; He hath braved all, hath heard the dying moan Rise from the fields of strife; and now the storm

That hath swept all before it, age on age,

On him, the last, seeks to pour forth its rage.