Clemson University - Taps Yearbook (Clemson, SC)

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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.

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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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THE CLEMSON COLLEGE CHRONICLE. 415 George Neville had made up his mind to propose to Miss St. Clare that very night, and thus decide his fate; his rival, who was the more prudent of the two, had no idea of thus prematurely risking his future happiness by over-haste. Neville had the good fortnne, as he thought, to be the one to see Miss St. Clare home. He proposed and received as his answer that, while he was regarded as a friend, he had not been known long enough to be loved. After seeing her safely home George Neville returned to his rooms in a very troubled state of mind. The next day he left the island, determined not to remain longer where he could daily see the object of his misplaced affections. Let us now pass over a period of six months and come to the afternoon of January the 6th. Had you been near the door of St. Michael ' s church, in Charleston, you would have seen a newly-married couple emerge from the church and enter a carriage. Had you been a close observer you would have also noticed that as the couple crossed the pavement on their way to the carriage, a gentleman who chanced to be passing just then, lifted his hat and bowed. The lady did not see this person, but the gentleman did, but did not pretend to return the bow. Who is this couple ? It is Mr. and Mrs. Henry Conwall. Two months later in a small town in upper Carolina, in one of the rooms of the only hotel of which the place could boast, sits a man whose handsome face and form seem strangely familiar. This person is evidently lost in a very pleasant revery, for his eyes are half closed and there is a smile on his lips. He is thinking of a beautiful wife far away in Charleston. Suddenly his pleasant thoughts are broken into by a sharp rap on the door. He rises and, still smiling, opens the door. Instantly the