for wine and segars, and either attended to the conversation of the negro girls who had spread their blankets on the floor, or entertained myself with the half-formed notions of the landlord and coachman, who had brought their chairs to the fire, and were disputing on politics. Both Americans and English are subject to loquacious imbecility. Their subjects only differ. The American talks of his government,* the Englishman of himself.

Early in the morning, I resumed my journey in the coach that was proceeding to Savannah; I had but a short distance more to go; for Coosohatchie is only ten miles from Pocotaligo. In journeying through America, the Indian names of places have always awakened in my breast a train of reflection; a single word will speak volumes to a speculative mind; and the names of Pocotaligo, and Coosohatchie, and Occoquan, have pictured to my fancy the havoc of time, the decay and succession of generations, together with the final extirpation of savage nations, who, unconscious of the existence of another people, dreamt not of invasions from foreign enemies, or inroads from colonists, but believed their power invincible and their race eternal.

[* Cf. Chastellux, Travels in North America, 1780-1782. New York, 1828, p. 276.—“ This subject led us naturally to that which is the most favourite topic among the Americans, the origin and commencement of the present revolution." ]

I was put down at the post office of Coosohatchie. The post-master was risen, expecting the mail. He invited me to partake of a fire he had just kindled, before which a negro boy was administering pap to a sickly infant, whom the man always addressed by the homeric title of My Son.

I sat with the post-master an hour, when I sought out the village tavern, where with some trouble I knocked up a miserable Negress, who, on my entrance, resumed her slumbers on an old rug spread before the embers of the kitchen fire, and snored in oblivion of all care. After all, I know not whether those whose condition wears the appearance of wretchedness, are not greater favourites of nature than the opulent. Nothing comes amiss to the slave; he will find repose on the flint, when sleep flies the eye-lids of his master on a bed of down. I seated myself in a nook of the chimney till daylight, when the landlord came down; and, not long after, a servant was announced with horses to conduct me to the house of Mr. Drayton.*

An hour's ride through a forest of stately pines brought me to the plantation, where I

“Mag

[* It is very likely this was Thomas Drayton, of nolia," on Ashley River, d. circa 1820, brother of Charles Drayton, of Drayton Hall." Of this family John Drayton, Governor, etc., published a book of Travels, Letters Written During a Tour Through the Northern and Eastern States,

was received with much affability by Mr. Drayton and his lady, and where I was doomed to pass the winter in the woods of Carolina.

CHAP. III.

MEMOIR OF MY LIFE

IN THE WOODS OF SOUTH CAROLINA

*

Ocean Plantation.-Poetry delightful in Solitude. -Walks in the Woods.-Family of Mr. Drayton.-Midnight Lucubrations.-Sketches of Natural History.-Deer-Hunting.-Remarks on Slaves and Slavery.-Militia of Coosohatchie District.-A School Groupe.-Journey into Georgia.

Deep in the bosom of a lofty wood,

Near Coosohatchie's slow revolving flood,
Where the blithe Mocking-bird repeats the lay
Of all the choir that warble from the spray;
Where the soft fawn, and not less tim'rous hind,
Beset by dogs, outstrip in speed the wind;
Where the grim wolf, at silent close of day,
With hunger bold, comes near the house for prey;

[* Volney, who was in the United States at this time, partitioned the country into three cantons or forests: the Southern forest, the Middle forest, and the Northern foresthis Middle forest comprising the mountainous parts of the Carolinas and of Virginia; all Pennsylvania, Southern New York, all Kentucky, and Northern Ohio. Climat et Sol des Etats-Unis, &c. Paris. 1803. I, 9-11.]

Along the road, near yonder fields of corn,
Where the soft dove resorts at early morn,

There would my breast with love of Nature glow,
And oft my thoughts in tuneful numbers flow;
While friendly George, by ev'ry Muse belov'd,
Smil'd his assent, and all my lays approv'd.

ABOUT half way on the road from Charleston to Savannah is situated a little village called Coosohatchie, consisting of a blacksmith's shop, a court-house, and a jail. A small river rolls its stagnant water near the place, on whose dismal banks are to be found many vestiges of the Indians that once inhabited them; and in the immeasurable forests of the neighbourhood (comprehended within the district of Coosohatchie), are several scattered plantations of cotton and of rice, whose stubborn soil the poor negro moistens with his tears, and

Whose sore task

Does not divide the Sunday from the week!

It was on one of these plantations that I passed the Winter of 1798, and the Spring of the following year.

I lived in the family of Mr. Drayton, of whose children I had undertaken the tuition, and enjoyed every comfort that opulence could bestow.

To form an idea of Ocean Plantation, let the reader picture to his imagination an avenue

of several miles, leading from the Savannah road, through a continued forest, to a wooden house, encompassed by rice-grounds, corn and cotton-fields. On the right, a kitchen and other offices; on the left, a stable and coachhouse; a little further a row of negro huts, a barn and yard; the view of the eye bounded by lofty woods of pine, oak and hickory.

The solitude of the woods I found at first rather dreary; but the polite attention of an elegant family, a sparkling fire in my room every night, and a horse always at my command, reconciled me to my situation; and my impulse to sacrifice to the Muses, which had been repressed by a wandering life, was once more awakened by the scenery of the woods of Carolina.

I indulged in the composition of lyric poetry, and when I had produced an Ode, transmitted it to Freneau at Charleston, who published it in his Gazette.* But planters have little disposition for poetry, and the eye of the Carolina reader was diverted from my effusions by the more interesting advertisements for fugitive slaves. I was therefore apprehensive that my reputation would not become extended by the Muse, when at the

[* Peter Freneau (younger brother of Philip Freneau), Secretary of State of South Carolina, about 1795 became editor, and proprietor of the Charleston City Gazette. d. 1813. Cf. Duyckinck, I, 334.]