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The moment that Jasper discovered that the flag had fallen, he jumped from one of the embrasures, and mounted the colours, which he tied to a sponge staff, on the parapet, where he supported them until another flag was procured. The subsequent enterprise and activity of this patriot induced Colonel Moultrie to give him a sort of roving commission, to go and come at pleasure, confident that he was always usefully employed.

He was privileged to select such men from the regiment as he should choose, to accompany him in his enterprises. His parties consisted generally of five or six, and he often returned with prisoners before Moultrie was apprised of his absence. Jasper was distinguished for his humane treatment of any of the enemy who fell into his power. By his sagacity and enterprise, he often succeeded in capturing those who were lying in ambush for him; and, in one of his excursions, an instance of bravery and humanity occurred, as recorded by the biographer of General Marion, which would stagger credulity, if it were not well attested.

While he was examining the British camp at Ebenezer, all his sympathy was awakened by the distresses of Mrs Jones, whose husband, an American by birth, had taken the king's protection, and had been confined in irons, for deserting the royal cause, after he had taken the oath of allegiance. The well-founded belief was, that nothing short of the life of her husband would atone for the offence with which he was charged.

The anticipation of the awful scene of a beloved husband expiring upon a gibbet, had excited the severest emotions of grief and distraction. Jasper secretly consulted with his companion, Serjeant Newton, whose feelings for the distressed female and her child were equally excited with his own, upon the practicability of releasing Jones from his impending fate.

Though they were unable to suggest a plan of operation, they were determined to watch for the most favourable opportunity, and make the effort. The departure of Jones and several others (all in irons) to Savannah, for trial, under a guard, consisting of a serjeant, corporal, and eight men, was ordered upon the succeeding morning.

Within two miles of Savannah, about thirty yards from the main road, is a spring of fine water, surrounded by a deep and thick underwood, where travellers often halt, to

refresh themselves with a cool draught from the pure fountain. Jasper and his companion considered this spot the most favourable for their enterprise. They accord ingly passed the guard, and concealed themselves near the spring.

When the company came up, the corporal, with his guard of four men, conducted the prisoners to the spring, while the serjeant, with the other four, having grounded their arms near the road, brought up the rear. The prisoners, wearied with their long walk, were permitted to rest themselves on the earth. Two of the corporal's men were ordered to keep guard, and the other two to give the prisoners drink out of their canteens.

The two last approached the spring where our heroes lay concealed, and, resting their muskets against a tree, took up water; and, having drunk themselves, turned away, with replenished canteens, to give to the prisoners also. "Now, Newton, is our time!" said Jasper; and, bursting from their concealment, they snatched up the two muskets that were resting against the tree, and instantly shot down the two soldiers that kept guard.

By this time, the serjeant and corporal, a couple of brave Englishmen, having recovered from their panic, had seized the two muskets which belonged to their dead companions; but, before they could use them, Jasper and his friend, armed with clubbed guns, had levelled, each at the head of his antagonist, a fatal blow. Then, securing their weapons, they flew between the surviving enemy and their arms, grounded near the road, and compelled them to surrender.

The prisoners were relieved from their irons, and arms were put in their hands; and the whole party started for Parisburgh, where they arrived next morning, and joined the American camp. There are but few instances upon record of similar efforts being made, even for self-preservation; how much more laudable, therefore, is a deed like this, where the spring to action is roused by the lamentations of a female unknown to the adventurers.

After the gallant defence of Sullivan's Island, Colonel Moultrie's regiment was presented with a stand of colours by Mrs Elliot, which she had richly embroidered with her own hands; and, as a reward for Jasper's particular merit, Governor Rutledge presented him with a very handsome sword. During the assault against Savannah, two officers

had been killed, and one wounded, while endeavouring to plant these colours upon a parapet of the enemy's redoubt. Just before the retreat was ordered, Jasper endeavoured to replace them upon the works, and, while he was in the act, received a mortal wound, and fell into the ditch.

Major Horry called to see him, soon after the retreat, to whom, it is said, he made the following communication: "I have got my furlough. That sword was presented to me by Governor Rutledge, for my services in the defence of Fort Moultrie;—give it to my father, and tell him I have worn it in honour. If the old man should weep, tell him his son died in the hope of a better life. Tell Mrs Elliot, that I lost my life supporting the colours which she presented to our regiment. Should you ever see Jones, his wife, and son, tell them that Jasper is gone, but that the remembrance of that battle which he fought for them brought a secret joy into his heart, when it was about to stop its motion for ever." He expired a few moments after closing this sentence.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTYFOURTH.

DEJECTION.

When sickness clouds the languid eye,

And seeds of sharp diseases fly

Swift through the vital frame,
Rich drugs are torn from earth and sea,
And balsam drops from every tree,
To quench the parching flame.

But oh! what opiate can assuage
The throbbing breast's tumultuous rage,
Which mingling passions tear?
What art the wounds of grief can bind,
Or soothe the sick, impatient mind,
Beneath corroding care?

Not all the potent herbs that grow
On purple heath, or mountain's brow,
Can banish'd peace restore:

In vain, the spring of tears to dry,
For purer air or softer sky,
We quit our native shore.

Friendship, the richest balm that flows,
Was meant to heal our sharpest woes,
But runs not always pure;
And Love has sorrows of his own,
Which not an herb beneath the moon
Is found of power to cure.
Soft Pity, mild, dejected maid,
With tenderest hand applies her aid
To dry the frequent tear;
But her own griefs, of finer kind,
Too deeply wound the feeling mind,
With anguish more severe.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY

FIFTH.

THE DYING WARRIOR.

On the 7th of October, says the Baroness of Reidesel, I expected Generals Burgoyne, Philips, and Fraser to dine with us. I saw a great movement among the troops: my husband told me, it was merely a reconnoisance; which gave me no concern, as it often happened. I walked out of the house, and met several Indians in their war-dresses, with guns in their hands. When I asked them where they were going, they cried out, "War! war!" (meaning that they were going to battle). This filled me with apprehension, and I had scarcely got home, before I heard reports of cannon and musketry, which grew louder by degrees, till, at last, the noise became excessive.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, instead of the guests whom I expected, General Fraser was brought on a litter mortally wounded. The table, which was already set, was instantly removed, and a bed placed in its stead, for the wounded general. I sat trembling in a corner. The noise grew louder, and the alarm increased: the thought that my husband might perhaps be brought in wounded in the same manner, was terrible to me, and distressed me exceedingly.

"Tell me if my

General Fraser said to the surgeon, wound is mortal; do not flatter me.' The ball had passed through his body; and, unhappily for the general, he had eaten a very hearty breakfast, by which the stomach was distended, and the ball, as the surgeon said, had passed through it. I heard him often exclaim, with a sigh, "O fatal ambition! Poor General Burgoyne! O my poor wife!"

He was asked if he had any request to make, to which he replied, that, "If General Burgoyne would permit it, he should like to be buried at six o'clock in the evening, on the top of a mountain, in a redoubt which had been built there." I did not know which way to turn; all the other rooms were full of sick. Towards evening, my husband coming, then I forgot all my sorrows, and thanked God that he was spared to me. He ate in great haste, with me and his aid-de-camp, behind the house.

We had been told that we had the advantage of the enemy, but the sorrowful faces I beheld told a different tale; and, before my husband went away, he took me to one side, and said everything was going very bad; that I must keep myself in readiness to leave the place, but not mention it to any one. I made the pretence that I would move the next morning into my new house, and had everything packed up ready.

I spent much of the night in comforting the wife of the wounded general, and then went again to my children, whom I had put to bed. I could not go to sleep, as I had General Fraser, and all the other wounded gentlemen, in my room; and I was sadly afraid my children would awake, and, by their crying, disturb the dying man in his last moments, who often addressed me, and apologised "for the trouble he gave me."

About three o'clock in the morning, I was told he could not hold out much longer: I had desired to be informed of the near approach of this sad crisis, and I then wrapped up my children in their clothes, and went with them into the room below. About eight o'clock in the morning, he died.

After he was laid out, and his corpse wrapped up in a sheet, we came again into the room, and had this sorrowful sight before us the whole day; and, to add to the melancholy scene, almost every moment some officer of my acquaint

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