Clemson University - Taps Yearbook (Clemson, SC)

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THE CLEMSON COLLEGE CHRONICLE. 413 City of the Dead. These pines stand about seven feet apart, and are the only trees of their kind within the boundary of the church-yard. I walked over to where they stood, hoping to find some tombstone or other mark which would furnish some clue to the reason why these pines had been left standing while all the rest of their kind had been hewn down. Fortunately, as I neared the trees, I saw an old man walking in the same direction. I quickened my pace and as soon as I drew near him accosted him pleasantly, and asked him if he could tell me anything of the history of those two pines. He replied that some thirty years ago a newly-made grave had been found in the church-yard with a pine stick at each end, and on one of these sticks were carved the words, George Neville. The sticks, he said, had taken root and grown to be the large pines which we now saw. Thinking that there must be something interesting behind all this, I asked him if he knew anything about the pines and the grave which they marked. He said that he knew nothing more, as the whole history of the grave was shrouded in deep mystery, the grave having been dug, and the body buried by night. I was very much disappointed at this, having hoped to hear an interesting story. After return- ing home I thought much about the mysterious grave and the two pines. A few weeks ago, while looking over some old papers I found one with the words, The Story of Two Pines, ' ' written across the top. The paper was yellow with age and the ink so faded that I could scarcely make out the words. However, I managed to make out the follow- ing tale : It is a wild scene on a small island in the Savannah River. The ceaseless roar of the waters may be heard

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412 THE CLEMSON COLLEGE CHRONICLE. VOICES. Rage on, ye elements above, While torrents downward pour ; The soul of man undaunted stands And rises grandly oe ' r The fury of thy storm. But in the stillness of the night When peacefulness holds sway The voices multitudinous Then to his thoughts may say What shape they shall assume. Thus in the little lives we lead Within this tear-dimmed vale, ' Tis not the awful, the sublime Which makes our faces pale That influences most. The quiet, still, small voices that May meet us anywhere; They change our living here, and say What we ' ll be over there Where is eternity. J. C. T. ' 99. The Story of the Two Pines. It was one of those pleasant days in early Spring when all nature seems to be inviting man to cease from strife with his fellow-man, that I found myself strolling through one of the oldest country church-yards in upper South Carolina. As I strolled leisurely about, reading epitaphs, I was struck with the age of some of them, many dating back to before the Revolution. The dust of some of South Carolina ' s most illustrious dead repose in this old church-yard. My notice was attracted by the position of two mag- nificent pines, which stand on the southern edge of this

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4U THE CLEMSON COLLEGE CHRONICLE. on either hand as they rush over the shoals and rocks which attempt to hinder their onward flow. The sun will set within an hour, leaving shrouded in darkness a small party of men who are gathered on the small island. These men are divided into two groups of about equal size. Off to one side two men stand talking earnestly. In the midst of each group stands a man, coatless and hatless, sword in hand. What does all this mean ? A duel ! The next ques- tion is, ' ' What is the cause of the dispute that can deserve so bloody a mode of settling ? Let us go back a few months and see. The scene to which we now take our readers forms a marked contrast with the one which we have just left. It is in the magnificent pavilion on the beach of Sullivan ' s Island. It is nearly midnight and every object is bathed in the silvery light of the moon. Within the pavilion the light of many candles is reflected by the jewels worn by the many couples of dancers, who are floating through the dreamy mazes of a waltz. Immediately upon enter- ing our attention is drawn to a group of young people on the north side of the building. The young lady, Miss Helen St. Clare, who is seated in the midst of this group, and who is evidently the centre of attraction, is the rec- ognized belle of the place. Of all the admirers who crowd around her, two seem to be in special favor. One of these gentlemen is George Neville and the other is Henry Conwall. Before the appearance of Miss St. Clare on the beach these gentlemen h ad been warm friends, but since her arrival a coldness had sprung up between them, for both were madly in love with her, and each had sworn to make her his wife. At the time we sec these gentlemen in the pavilion they arc not on speaking terms.