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ford], whose appellation, “ the Murderer of Fort Mims,” had formed the watch-word and war-cry of his enemies in this very engagement. Favored by the thick darkness, he floated down the river with his horse, until below the American lines, and then reaching the shore, made his way in safety to the highlinds south of the Tallapoosa.
Weatherford could not consent to fly from the nation; he felt that he owed it, as a duty to his people, not to abandon them until peace was restored. In this state of mind he was apprised that the American commander had set a price upon his head, and refused peace to the other chiefs, unless they should bring him either dead, or in confinement, to the American camp, now at Fort Jackson, near the junction of the rivers. His determination was at once taken in the same spirit of heroism that always marked his conduct. Accordingly, mounting his horse, he made his way across the country, and soon appeared at the lines of the encampment. At his request, a sentinel conducted him to the presence of the commander-in-chief, who was seated in his marquee, in consultation with several of his principal officers. The stately and noble appearance of the warrior at once excited the attention and surprise of the General, and he demanded of the Chief his name and the purpose of his visit.
In calm and deliberate tones, the chieftain said: “I am Weatherford. I have come to ask peace for myself and for my people."
The mild dignity with which these words were uttered, no less than their import, struck the American commander with surprise. [He hardly knew what to do; but he allowed some parley and Weatherford made a speech, ending thus :] “General Jackson, you are a brave man: I am another. I do not fear to die. But I rely on your generosity. You will exact no terms of a conquered and helpless people, but those to which they should accede.
You have told us what we may do and be safe. Yours is a good talk and my nation ought to listen to it. They shall listen to it!"
General Jackson acceded to the demands of Weatherford, and assured him of peace and safety for himself and people.
PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE.
Philip PENDLETON Cooke, the elder brother of the better known John Esten Cooke, was born in Martinsburg, Virginia, and spent his short life happily in his native county, engaged in field sports and in writing stories and poems for the “Southern Literary Messenger” and other magazines. His lyric, “Florence Vane," has been very popular and has been translated into many languages. He was said to be stately and impressive in manner and a brilliant talker. Philip Pendleton and John Esten Cooke were first cousins of John Pendleton Kennedy, their mothers being sisters.
His death was caused by pneumonia contracted from riding through the Shenandoah on a hunting trip.
in my fond vision, My heart's dear pain, My hope, and thy derision,
The ruin lone and hoary,
The ruin old,
At even told,-
Of sky and plain-
Thou wast lovelier than the roses
In their prime :
Of sweetest rhyme;
Without a main.
But fairest, coldest wonder !
Thy glorious clay
Alas the day!
The lilies of the valley
By young graves weep, The pansies love to dally
Where maidens sleep; May their bloom, in beauty vying,
Never wane, Where thine earthly part is lying,
THEODORE O’HARA, son of an Irish exile, was born in Danville, Kentucky, and educated at St. Joseph Academy, Bardstown, where he taught Greek to the younger classes while finishing his senior course.
He read law, was appointed clerk in the Treasury Department at Washington, 1845, and on the outbreak of the Mexican War entered the army as a soldier, rising to be captain and major. At the close of the war, he returned to Washington and practised law. He was afterwards editor of the “ Mobile Register,” and of the Frankfort “ Yeoman,” in Kentucky, and was employed in diplomatic missions. He was a colonel in the Confederate Army, and after the war, settled in Georgia. On his death the Kentucky Legislature passed a resolution to remove his remains to Frankfort and lay them beside the soldiers whom he had so well praised in his “ Bivouac of the Dead;” and there he rests, the soldier bard, among the voiceless braves of the Battle of Buena Vista.
This poem was written for the occasion of their interment; and it has furnished the lines of inscription over the gateways of several military cemeteries.
Bivouac of the Dead.
The Old Pioneer,
THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD.
(In Memory of the Kentuckians who fell at the Battle of Buena Vista, Jan. 28, 1847.)
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
That brave and fallen few.