Clemson University - Taps Yearbook (Clemson, SC)

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THE CLEMSON COLLEGE CHRONICLE. 349 friend, and that he must give the great chief some reason for his indifference. It was several minutes before he replied, then, taking the great chief by the hand, he said: Wisuska is sad because the spirits of our dead braves have been taking to him. When the night is dark, Wisus- ka will scalp the pale-face who killed his brother. Wisuska has many scalps in his wigwam, his feet are never tired, his moccasin leaves no tracks. Wisuska would go to-night and watch the pale-face with his women. The old chief was deceived. Wisuska ' s request was granted; that night he was sent as a scout, to the settle- ments along the Saluda in the lower part of what is now Anderson county. Before leaving, however, he went to the wigwam of Lona, an old fortune-telling squaw. By sunrise the next morning, Wisuska had reached a spring that was only four or five miles from the nearest English settlement. While eating his simple breakfast of parched meal and dried venison, he was startled by hearing a heavy groan in the thicket just behind him. There, by the side of a fallen tree, could be seen the form of a sleeping Indian. Wisuska crept up, pushed back the grass and leaves and carefully examined the sleeper ' s face. Yes, it was his only living brother, and he was drunk. The white men that had murdered his other brother at Fort Prince George, had also made a dog of Nokoma by selling him their ( poison water. This thought maddened Wisuska. He longed to hear the pale-face ' s death-shriek, as he sank beneath the Indian ' s tomahawk ; he longed to hold their warm, bloody scalp in his hand. But he must save Eona, the pale-face ' s beautiful daughter, first, for, if she were lost, what would all earth besides be worth ? There Wisuska stood pondering whether or not to wake

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48 THE CLEMSON COLLEGE CHRONICLE. luck would smile upon him, his revelry was suddenly ended by a low moan. Not till then had he thought of Lucy, but now he staggered to her room. Kneeling by the open window, the soft rays of the moon falling in silvery waves upon her long, untied hair, clad in white and with folded hands, breathing a prayer for her brother ' s soul, was his sister. He staggered more as it seemed from being ushered into the presence of one who seemed transformed from the living to one of God ' s Angels. He stood and watched the still kneeling figure, then crossed the room and kneeling, placed his arm about his sister, while his he art tones blended with earnest prayer, in thanks for her love and forgiveness of his wrongs. The whippoorwill whistled more softly, the cool breeze blew the perfume of roses and violets about the room ;the gray mists floated lazily about the mountain tops, while God smiled down on the saver and the saved. F. G. D., ' 02. An Indian Hartyr. Chulochculla ' s treaty with the Great King had been broken, and the whole Cherokee Nation was preparing for a general massacre of the frontier settlements to avenge the horrible butchery of the Indian prisoners at Fort Prince George. Messengers were hurrying from town to town, the women were chanting their war songs, and the warriors were covering themselves with their hideous war paints; but the brave young chief, Wisuska, had been sitting by his wigwam fire all day. Late in the afternoon, the great sachem came in and said, What makes the brave young chief sit by his fire when the sun shines warm ? Is he sick ? Wisuska knew that he had already been accused of being the pale-face ' s

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350 THE CLEMSON COLLEGE CHRONICLE. his brother. He knew that for a small bribe Nokoma would willingly join him in his dangerous undertaking, but would Nokoma keep the secret ? When you have finished this story, reader, you may answer Wisuska ' s question as you wish, but for the present we must leave him to accomplish his purpose as best he can while we listen to another tale. ' Twas nearly dark when John Welton reached his cozy little cabin. Here he had expected to find waiting for him a warm supper and his children : Eona, a beautiful girl of seventeen, and Tommie, her little ten-year old brother. But the house was still, the fire had burned out. Where were his children ? He called Eona, but heard no answer save the echoes of his own voice as it died away in the dark, wild woods around him. The news of Captain Cotymore ' s insidious murder and its accompanying atrocities along with the rumors that the Cherokees were taking the war-path, had just reached the settlement that day. Hence John Welton ' s first thought and final conclusion was that his children had been murdered by the Indians. Overpowered with sorrow and anguish, he sank down on the door step, and wept. His tears had ceased to flow ; and, with a desperate, burning hatred for the Indian that nothing but their blood could satisfy, he sat staring into the darkness. But look ! His hand has clutched the hilt of the hunting knife at his side. Noiselessly he raises himself and steps back into the shadow. The fatal moment has come and, with the knife drawn, he rushes on the Indian as he enters the door. But the savage is ready and with one hand wards off the dangerous blow while with the other he buries his toma- hawk in the white man ' s brain. John Welton was dead, and his scalp, along with another that was still wet with blood, was soon dangling from the Indian ' s belt as he