The Fairfield news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1881-1900, June 19, 1883, Image 1
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TRI-WEEKLY EDITION.
WINNSBORO. S. 0.. JUNE 19. 1883.
ESTABLISHED 1848
SLANDER.
’Twas but u breath—
And yet the fair, good name was wilted;
And friends once fond grew cold and stilted
And life was worse than death.
One venomed word,
That struck its coward, poisoned blow,
In craven whispers, hushed and low—
And yet lie wide world heard.
’Twas but one whisper—one
That muttered low, for very shame,
The thing the slander dare not name—
And yet its work was done.
A hint so slight,
And yet, so mighty in its power,
A human soul in one short hour
Lies crushed beneath its blightl
THE NIGHT VISION.
In tbe Japan Sea, a sudden squall
came whooping and whizzing through
the rigging of the merchant ship
“Rainbow,” sending her down on her
beam ends, with everyth w.g cracking.
The officer of the deck gave the order
to reef and furl, and the active tars
sprang to obey.
The sea was white with foam, but
the night was dark. Blacker than
the night above the tops of the masts,
a huge object was seen rolling and
rushing swiftly along, It was the
squall cloud.
“Lively there, men!” shouted the
second mate.
This was Henry Brandon, a hapd-
some young fellow of twenty-five—as
good a sailor as ever spliced a rope.
But he had not been prepared for the
squall, which, unseen in the darkness,
and with terrible swiftness, had pounced
upon the ship.
Now away w r ent the main top-gallant
sail, tom to shreds, the other canvas
rattling all over the vessel, the sheets
whipping and snapping about the
masts with the noise of thunder.
The vessel’s crew being short handed,
Brandon moved forward, intending to
go aloft. A hand clutched his arm,
how'ever, and he turned, to discern,
by the lantern’s ruddy light, his in
tended wife, the captain’s pretty daugh
ter, Martha Weld.
Her face was deathly pale, and her
long, black hair, streaming on the
wind, gave to it an unearthly aspect.
“For God’s sake, Henry,” she said,
“don’t go aloft!”
“You here!” he exclaimed. “Go
below, Martha—quick! quick! This is
no place for you!”
“Oh, Henry! such a dreadful dream
as 1 liave had! I dreamed you were
lost overboard, and ”
At that moment the ship lurched
heavily; there was a vivid flash of
lightning, revealing the men aloft
clinging to the yards, and vainly en
deavoring to clutch the slatting canvas.
“I must go,” said Brandon, as soon
as the heavy peal -of thunder following
the flash had subsided. “Go below,
Martha, and have no fear.”
He broke away from her, and ran up
the rigging to the fore top-gallant yard.
Two boys were endeavoring to haul
up the sail. As the sec6nd mate
clutched the canvas, the lifts and hal
yards suddenly parted, and down went
the yard, carrying Brandon with it.
There was a wild cry as the yard,
striking the bulkwards, fell with its
burden ino the sea.
The boys, who, having been in-board,
contrived to save themselves, set up a
frightful yell of “Man overboard!”
Martha’s shriek was then heard.
“I knew it,” she cried. “Oh, Henry!
my Henry! Save him! save him!”
Her father, who had, ere this, come
up, ran and looked astern.
Another vivid lightning flash shot
down from the squall cloud. It lighted
the white, hissing wake of the ship,
and in that wake the skipper saw for
an instant something which looked
like an arm lifted above the sea.
“No use, Brandon is gone!” he
gasped. “We can’t lower a boat in
" such a blow.”
“But you must, you shall lower!”
cried poor Martha, her wild eyes
gleaming upon her father. “Come, I
will take charge of the boai. Oh! save
him, father, save Henry.”
Her appeal was useless; no boat could
be got down in such a gale. It blew a
perfect hurricane, and the whole ship
was shrouded in clouds of flying, blind
ing spray.
The captain forced Martha into the
cabin; then he returned on deck to at
tend to his ship.
The efforts of the men aloft had
been useless. The sheets had parted
like pack-thread, and the tom sails
were carried away and whirled off in
huge balls to leeward and aloft.
So the captain, putting his craft
before it, tried scudding, which were
the only way to save his vessel.
In about two hours the squall had
passed away, leaving behind it, how
ever, a heavy sea.
The moon broke through the drifting
clouds, and soft silver showers of light
fell upon the upheaving waves, there
farming, with the breaking waters,
many strange, fantastic shapes.
One of the men sat on the windlass
keeping a lockout; the others were get
ting up spare canvas, that they might
be ready to “bend on” new sails the
first thing In the morning. Every face
wore a solemn look, for Brandon had
been a great favorite.
Moreover, the moans of Martha was
out thought he could hear another
moan, very faint, and apparently com
ing from the sea.
His superstitious fears were excited,
and he shifted uneasily on his seat.
Suddenly, the ship, having been
brought nearer to the wind, under the
temporary foresail and mainsail, which
had been put up, began to pitch heavier
than before.
Once, down went her head almost in
a trough of the sea.
Then the lookout man uttered a
horrible cry; for, right before him,
protruding over the bulwarks, he be
held for an instant, a white face with
disheveled hair, and fixed, staring eyes,
the tongue protruding.
It was the face, or, at least, a sem
blance of the face of the lost officer—
Henry Brandon!
“My God!” gasped the lookout.
The face, however, now disappeared,
but not before a strange, guttural, un
earthly cry had escaped his lips.
To spring from his post and rush aft,
w r as the work of a moment with the
lookout.
“I have seen it!” he gasped, hoarsely,
as all the men stared wonderingly.
“Seen what, Tom?” cried one.
“Brandon’s spirit—aye, aye—the
face of the lost—the drowned man!”
gasped Tom.
“Nonsense!”
“But all exchanged glances, and
there was a perceptible shrugging of
shoulders as Tom described where and
how he had seen it.
All eyes were turned towards the
bow, but the vision was no longer
there.
“You are a shaky fellow,” said the
first mate. “Your imagiuation!”
“I swear it was not im My God!
there it is again!” he added, pointing
forward.
A w r ild cry of horror burst from the
men, as a face was, indeed, now seen
for an instant protruded above the
bulwarks, forward!
As it again disappeared, the wind,
with a strange, hollow moan swept
through the ship, and a dark cloud
passed over the moon.
The mate called the captain who was
below trying to soothe his child.
He might have doubted the story
told him, but that all were ready to
swear they had seen the vision.
The skipper, shrugging his shoulddrs,
and like the rest, not a little imbuded
with superstitious feeling, walked
slowly forward.
He was more cautiously followed by
the others.
But ere he could reach the bow, the
ship made another violent lurch, and
up again came that terrible face, pro
truding over the bulwarks, every linea
ment with ghastly distinctiveness,
lighted by the moon.
“Brandon, sure enough!” gasped the
captain, staggering back, while a low
cry ef horror broke from the other
men.
The vision disappeared again, and the
men stood still, exchanging glances.
The steward, a Portuguese, ran into
the cabin, fell on his knees, and cross
ing himself, began to pray.
Martha hear! enough to send her
running wildly on deck.
“Where is it?” she screamed. “Alive
or dead, I cannot fear Henry!”
Even as she spoke, the face again
rose over the bulwarks. She was near
enough to see it, and with a wild cry
she staggered towards it, her arms
outstretched.
But ere she could clasp it, it disap
peared as before, and with a moan of
anguish, the girl staggered forward
against the bulwarks.
Instinctively she then peeped over
them into the sea, when a cry of strange
joy escaped her.
“Saved! saved!” she cried, pointing
downward; ‘‘Quick, father! Oh, quick!
Come here!”
He did so, and the mystery was ex
plained.
There was Brandon, hanging to the
broken spar, one of the ropes of which,
when he went overboard, had caught
in a hook which was driven into this
part of the ship, near the water line.
This had held the spar through the
gale, and, there, during all that tim j,
Brandon had remained. Subsequently,
the occasional heavy pitching of the
ship, causing the head to go far down,
had brought the poor fellow’s face in
sight above the bulwarks, as shown.
He was soon hauled abotud, when it
was discovered that he was very weak,
and that he could not speak. He had
been severely bruised by knocking
against the ship, and could not use his
hands, which had also been hurt. In
this condition he had only been able to
hold to the spar by clasping it with both
arms. His tongue, badly cut in his
fall, protruded, preventing speech; he
could only utter now and then a hoarse,
guttural moan.
The captain also noticed that only
half of the spar remained. It had
broken in two when it fell against the
bulwarks, and it was the other half
drifting away which the skipper had
seen protruding from the sea astern,
and had mistaken for Brandon’s up
lifted arm.
We have to add that Martha went
almost wild with joy over her lover’s
safety. Under her kind treatment,
Brandon in time recovered the use ol!
his limbs and tongue, to eventually
marry his pretty nurse.
heard coming up from the cabin, the
poor girl having alffiost lost her senses. Russian.—Prey to Uol, but continue
Now and then tbe man ou the look- ] to sow to the shore.
An Indian Tala.
It was about the middle of the after
noon one day ip the summer of 1867
that we arrived at the Forks of the
Trinity and Klamath Rivere Our
arrival at the river was soon noticed by
the owner of the ferry, which plies
across the river, the river being too
deep to ford, but sooner by numerous
indians, who, much to our surprise,
seemed on perfectly good terms with
the whites. Here at this ferry three
men were stationed, surrounded by a
wild tribe of Indians. It seemed the
hight of rashness. However, I felt the
greatest desire to have a nearer view of
them, when on turning around, I found
several Indian boys quite near, gazing
at us with the most intense curiosity.
As we entered the ferry boat—which
was moving across by pulling upon a
strong rope fixed firmly at either side of
the river—these boys very sily crept on
to cross at the same time, but perceived
by the ferryman and ordered to get off,
they lightly leaped onto the shore, and
ascending a high rock, which hung over
the river, boldly threw themselves into
the deep and rapid stream. Swimming
with remarkable rapidity, they gained
the opposite shore first, where they
stood laughing at their exploit.
We found the log cabin of the ferry
man surrounded by a swarm of naked
Indians and squaws who seemed to
have no hostile inclinations and no mis
trust of our peaceful intentions. Though
not large, they were finely formed, and
evidently possessed great powers or en
durance. Their faces expressed consid
erable intelligence and kindness of dis
position—but, back of all, there was a
look of native ferocity and coarseness,
which characterizes all wild Indian
tribes.
However, at this time they were per
fectly gentle, and we did not hesitate
to mingle with them. They were ex
tremely observant of dress, and every
article a person wore was subjected to
the most rigid scrutiny. The ferryman
—Mr. Durkie—said that though we
found him leving in such apparent con
fidence among these Indians and
though they seemed so gentle and harm
less, he would not trust himself unarm
ed in their company a moment; that
should he happen to have a knife, or a
leather belt upon him, or any trifling
article that had previously taken their
fancy, they would probab’y kill him, as
the readiest means of getting possession
of it. So, said he, my pistol and my
knife are always at my side. I watch
their every action, and it is this consiant
watchfulness that prevents their taking
a thousand liberties here.
But I found the Indians had Ahe
greatest veneratian flfl^Mr. Durkie. He
had always treated them well and had
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AAW VV/A VAV/Vy VA * VX* MAAVA VAAlyJ AACftVA
greatest confidence both in his surpris
ing powers and in his good will. He
hsd had occasion once to send an Indian
some distance upon the trail of the
lackers, alone, and, fearing that the
[ndian might be shot if met by any
traders, he wrote a note for him to
carry, which simply said “the Indian
was peaceable ” This note he was to
show should he meet any whites on the
way. He did, indeed, meet a man, who,
alarmed, leveled his rifle, and was on
the point of firing, when the Indian
drew the note from his belt. The white,
immediately lowering his gun, approach
ed, read it, narrowly watched, mean
while, by the Indian, who, probably,
could have no idea of the power of com
municating by writing. The man re
turned the note and patted the Indian
on the back, who, delighted as its
mysterious effect, continued his way
unharmed, fully believing in the super
natural powers of the ferryman. It was
by such means as this that he won their
good will, but they were nothing but
untutored savages, and the slightest
cause might excite their rage against
him.
But he had lived among them for six
months, and from his past experience
he had nothing to fear. He had little
idea that danger was then hovering
over his head, threatening him and aU
of us with a terrible death. Our jour
ney on the next day was but ten miles,
and feeling no urgent hurray to start,
we had determined not to, till the mid
dle of the forenoon, which gaye us an
opportunity of learning the hdbits and
customs of the Indians. A larger num
ber than had visited us the day before
collected about us on that dav, but all
perfectly well disposed, and we carried
on with them a very unsatisfactory but
highly amusing conversation by signs.
It was while thus engaged that our at
tention was attracted by the appearance
of a single Indian on an eminence near
by, who uttered a loud and piercing
cry. He then said a few words in his
unknown language, which had an in
stant and powerful effect upon the In
dians about us. I never beheld such
looks of terror, rage and grief as then-
countenances exhibited. One moment
of indecision, and they all turned and
fied to this solitary Indian. The ferry
man, who was usually able to interpret
their singular actions, was perfectly at
a loss in this instance, but to be on the
safe side, he advised that we all—eight
in number—retire within the log cabin,
through the cracks of which we could
see all that was going on and be govern
ed accordingly. •
It was only after repeated efforts
that he was able to get one Indian suf
ficiently near to address him) and being
acquainted with their language, he ask
ed the Indian why they had left us so
hastily. The Indian made a short re
ply, which almost bewildered the ferry
man. To our anxious inquiries Mr.
Durkie said: “We have no time to
talk, we must act. Bar the door; have
every rifle and pistol loaded. We shall
be attacked.”
As be said this, we perceived the In
dians were really approaching, their
numbers greatly increased. There was
a terrible significance in their painted
and wild countenances, in their bent
bows, their shining knives, and their
full quivers of arrows. MeanwhLe the
squaws, approaching, seated themselves
about tue log cabin, where they began
a deafening nut affecting lament. As
soon as be could spare a moment of
time, Mr. Durkie informed us of the
cause of this perilous state of things,
and to show you how good cause the
Indians had for their hostile feelings,
and how shamefully they are often
treated, I will narrate the circum
stances to you: A few weeks before
this time, a man, who bad been wand
ering about in the woods in a famishing
condition, having lost his way, chanced
at last to find this cabin, and, being in
a suffering condition, he was obliged to
remain here till he could recover nis
strength. Feeling, at length, able to
go on, he wished to continue his journey
down the river. But this seemed im
possible, aione and ignorant of the rosd
as he was. Besides tais, his route would
take him through several Indian villages
and his unproteeSednesB would expose
him to a thousand dangers. At length
two Indians volanteered to escort him
down, and they promised again and
again that the man shonld receive no
harm. The man consented to take this
escort, being well armed, and on his
guard against surprise. The route, as
I have said, lies along the banks of the
river through several Indian villages.
As he passed through these, he not only
received no ill-usage, but, by the faith
fulness of his guides, the greatest atten
tion—though rude enough—was shown
him. He at last came in safety to
Blackburn’s Ferry, his destination. No
sooner had the red forms of these faith
ful Indians been seen by Mr. Blackburn
as they were ascending the slope from
the river to the cabin, than he leveled
his rifle and shot one of them dead.
The other would have shared the same
fate had he not ran to the river, plung
ed into the deep stream, and escaped
among the dense bushes skirting it.
This was cold-blooded, deliberated
murder; and one cannot but ask why
did he shoot down a harmless Indian
who had just performed a friendly,
noble act? The cause was this: On
stepping from the threshold of his cabin
one morning, he found, but a little
distance off, his own father lying on the
ground, with the fatal arrow still in
His breast. This was the first intima
tion he had of his father being in Cali
fornia. He vowed that he would
wreak his revenge on every Indian who
came in his way, and this guide fell a
sacrifice to it. The other, escaping, re
turned to his tribe, and it was he whom
we had seen upon the eminence, and
who had brought the sad news of the
death of his comrade. Upon the In
dian’s approaching our log cabin, they
collected together a little distance from
the door to hold a council of war; and
as one after another came forward, and
with frantic gestures, with eyes of fire
and voice of thunder seemed urging on
the tribe to some retaliating act, we felt
our only hope of safety lay in a success
ful and we feared bloody resistance to
the jgpected attack. We regained
watching them, thus exciting each other
to revenge, till the ferrymen, noticed
wnen there was a little pause among
them, induced one of them to listen to
him. He asked a parley of the Indians
which was finally granted, and without
leaving the cabin he tried to reason
with them that we should not suffer for
what wrong our brethren had done;
that he himself had always treated them
well; there was no reason why the good
feeling that had existed between them
should be destroyed. These were new
principles to savages. They heard all
with perfect silence, but when he had
spoken they grew more excited than
ever, and the chief came forward and
said that his brother had been killed;
that he must make war upon the whites;
that were his captives; but that we
should go free if we would recover the
dead body of the Indian and lead his
tribe against the “bad man”—meaning
Mr. Blackburn. Mr. Durkie replied
that we promised to do so, and that,
would they allow us to go away and get
many men and guns, we would return
to-morrow and lead them to war. So
great was the confidence they had in his
word that they promised us a free de
parture, drove down our mules from
the neighboring hills and offered not
the slightest resistance as we came from
our cabin. But we were strongly arm
ed and ready to pour a murderous fire
upon them should they prove treacher-
to their, word. With many misgivings
as to the sincerity of their promises, we
saddled our mules and took up our line
of march, half expecting a momentary
attack; but though some of them look
ed ready to send an arrow through us,
we left the place in safety. You may
rest assured we did not return there on
the next day, though I doubt not a
hundred canoes were impatiently await
ing our coming to attack the “bad
man” down the river, as they termed
him.
ape Cod Eros*.
Thirteen Time* at the Altar.
To the most esthetic Bostonian the
change from salt codito Cape Cod fresh
trout must seem considerable. But,
after trout, Boston now rejoices in frogs
—there a newly discovered delicacy. A
few years ago, frogs’ legs were a com
paratively rare dish in Boston. They
were indeed. In fact, owing to the
onslaughts of Boston boys upon the
inhabitants of the pond on the Com
mon. the frogs were rare—they wisely
made themselves scarce. The classic
Common is the original scene of the
spelling book story, the moral of which
is that what was fun for the boys was
death to the frogs. It was more fun;
for the small boy took no thought for
the table, or even of tanning the slaugh
tered frogs’ skins, but only of the keen
pleasure of the killing. But now frogs
are.paught, skinned, sold and subse
quently served in Boston hotels, restau
rants, and even in private families. Of
course, the best come from that neck-
or-nothiug strip of sand, Cape Cod.
One enterprising Capecodder makes a
business of it and sends from 50 to 100
dozen pairs of legs a week. Other sup
plies come down from Maine, shipped
alive in crates packed with wet moss or
seaweed, and they are killed as needed.
Cane da has furnished considerable sup
plies but lively competition in home
proauc^’on and catching has driven the
Canadian shipments to New York.
While the northern frogs are larger, it
is claimed that the Massachusetts frogs
are livelier, and better eating, and they
sell at from 30 to 50 cents per dozen,
according to size and quality. Every
where else frogs’ legs have long been
an accepted delicacy. Boston is just
beginning to eat and enjoy them.
Yes, 1 have had a delightful experi
ence,’’said and old gentleman yester
day. “ My last birthday, which occur
red on the 5th of this month found me
seventy-five years old, and in those near
ly four score of years I have proposed to
thirteen young’ladies and was promptly
and cordially accepted each and every
time. Was never rejected, never, sir
in my whole life. They invariably
blushed, smiled, fell into my outstretch
ed arms and murmured ‘yea ’ as soon
as I had asked them. Ah, my dear sir,
the young men of the present day are
not like we old fellows must be. My
first wife, a charming brunette, died
one year after marriage. I remained
single two years, and then again sought
the friendly aid of a minister of the
gospel with another blushing, beautiful
young lady on my arm, hope in my
heart and a greenback in my hand.
Death carried off this prize within three
brief months of the day I fondly pressed
upon her eager, willing lips the ecstatic
marriage kiss. She died from typhoid
fever.” The third wife assumed the
official domestic robe within seven
montlis thereafter. “ It was rather
quick that time,” exclaimed the old
gentleman, while a tear shone in his
worn, dimmed eyes; “ but she was a
sweet, sweet girl. It was, however,”
more cheerily, “an exception to my
general rule. That is,” explanatory,
“I mean by that my hasty marriage
then, not that particular wife, for they
were all sweet and good; every one, sir!”
Seven years she shared his joys and sor
rows, and then the touch of the great
destroyer rested upon her and she was
no more within the walls of this world.
A bad cold, or what some people ele
gantly and concisely term “gallopping
consumption,” killed her. “After a
brief interval of mourning I attenttive-
ly regarded with interest heart still an
other facinating young lady. She could
not resist my honorable and energetic
manly blandishments, and at an early
period after our introduction at a sun-
day senool picnic, during one balmy
summer day, she carefully packed her
huge Saratoga trunk for a bridal trip
which only came off at the advertised
time. I got money by her as well as a
lovely young lady,” promptly said the
old gentleman. “She was worth $25,-
000 in her own name. But I lost it all
within a year of our marriage specula
ting in them devilish stocks,” he sadly
and reflectively continued. This wife
lived nine years after the marriage.
Then one day she suddenly and unex-
pectly died at the dinner table: ‘T be
gan to think my marrying days were
certainly over,’’meditatively remarked
turf did gbutlenfSll. “I was never so
surprised, sir, in my life, never, as
when that dear wife nf mine so sudden
ly died—that particular one, sir.” he
carefully added. “My next legal
housekeeper and lawful social partner
in this especial life drama was a lady
more noted for the spirit of desposition
than for the beauty of her face or the
elegance of her form. I will frankly
confess to you, sir, that she was as ugly
as a Maryland mule, and I am sorry to
say it, because it once caused me a heap
of trouble, almost perverse,”—admitted
the old gentleman. “Why, sir, would
you believe it, she got the war fever
during the early days of the war. She
came from Georgia to Baltimore, and I
met and married her here. Got it so
bad that against my commands, sir, she
left my house and went and became a
spy for General Lee. She was red-hot,
sir; bom and raised far down south.
Loved her particular country too well,
sir. But, as you know, it is born and
bred in all southern women. I didn’t
get a divorce, because I knew if I did
and she ever lived to get back to Balti
more I would have to move out west
immediately upon her arrival. She
died, sir, from exposure during tbe
Pennsylvania campaign of General Lee.
There, sir, is an autograph letter from
the old general himself commending her
devotion and bravery to the southern
cause. I am proud of that wife, even
if she was ugly and stubborn! Indeed
I am, sir.
The succeeding wives, like the acts
in a two-an^-a-half-hour society play,
according to the old gentleman, follow
ed each other and disappeared on the
stage of domestic happiness in rapid
succession. None of them lived long
after they had uttered at the altar the
most important and significant words
of all their life verbal remarks. “I be
gan,” exclaimed the old gentleman, “at
this time of my life to consider myself
unlucky. No sooner would I have a
wedding than it would kind of creep
into my heart much against my will,
yes, indeed, sir, much against my will,
that I would have to begin preparations
for a funeral. It seemed awful hard.
Bride in my house one month, corpse
in my house the next month.”
This sad state of affairs appears to
have constantly and persistently con
tinued until the thirteenth blushing
bride of this moral hero was transferred
from this vale of activitv to the great
future. “When I married thirteen, or,
rather, I should say my thirteenth wife,”
quietly and firmly remarked the old
gentleman. “I said to myself, ‘John,
fliis is the last time you will ever stand
in this kind of company at this kind of
an altar.’ 1 made up my mmd decid
edly at that time, sir. You see, I have
lost so many wives in quick succession
that I began to get afraid myself. And
then, tell you the truth, sir, I am a
great home body, as you may now im-
asrine; don’t travel much, never did;
and the single girlsaround my neighbor
hood began to become afraid of me,
too. Actually began to shun me, sir.
I hardly think I couid have got anoth
er wife if I had tried. Rather a hard
thing for me, a man who had been so
lucky this way, to aayj but I promised
you, if you would positively not put my
name in your newspaper, that 1 would
tell you nothing but the truth, and I
am a man of my word, sir. You know
honest confession is good for the heart,”
and then the old gentleman laughed
the feeble, cracked laugh of the aged.
This life is not ordained in vain; it is
constituted for a grand purpose, if
threugh the lessons of experience we
beccme convinced that this life is not
»U
One of Washington'* Odd FUaee.
Recently in a stroll on Pennsylvania
avenue we noticed a couple of Congress
men entering a little saloon directly op
posite the National Theatre. It was a
low wooden building, old and weather
worn, and on the lintels of its door I
noticed the words. “John Hancock,
founded 1840.” Directly over this en
trance was the sign “Old Curiosity
Shop.” I entered a long, narrow room,
with a ceiling so low that the hand of a
Slade would scrape it. The bar, fitted
out as elegantly as any in Washington,
covered the wall at the right of the en
trance. Back of it hung pictures and
relics of the crimes and -honors of the
past, and the walls of the rest of the
room were covered with articles which
would make any museum rich.
The old, gray-headed negro who tend
ed the bar was in himself a curiosity.
He told, as he filled my glass, that he
had been tending the same bar for thirty-
five years, and that his saloon was the
chief resort in former times of the states
men of the capital. Said he: “I have
often seen Clay, Webster, and Calhoun
drinking here together. Henry Clay
and Daniel Webster used to be here
night after night. Clay always drank
brandy juleps, and his spirits rose rapid
ly under the influence of liquor. Web
ster drank considerable, and the only
observable change in him was that his
eyes grew brighter and his talk became,
if anything, more measured. Calhoun
seldom drank strong drinks, and usually
took lemonade or sherry, and often
nothing. He would come in|to talk.
They were lively fellows in them days,
and they liked their fun just as well as
the big men do now. They often play
ed cards here.”
“Did they gamble?” I asked. “No,
not for money, but generally for the
drinks. I remember a game of cards
Clay and Webster and two other men
played here one rainy night. They
played here for the drinks and smells.
The men that won drank, and those that
were defeated paid for the drinks and
were forced to smell the glasses of their
opponents. They started in at ten
o’clock and they played until two. Luck
was against Clay, and I don’t think he
won a drink during the whole evening. ”
I spent a very pleasant half hour ex
amining the curiosities hung on the
walls and put up in cases around tne
room. In one place there was a pair of
shoes worn by Washington. No. 10s, I
should say, witli broad, flat soles and
commonsense heels. No aristocratic
instep had the father of his country,and
this pair .looks more like the slipshod
pair of a cobbler tlian those of an F. F.
Y.
Next to this was the seediest-looking
white plug liat I had ever seen. Large,
old, and fuzzy, its nap worn off, and its
ooloi changed by the diri ot several de
cades, it was labelled as the hat of Gen.
Zach Taylor, and the card stated that
it came from the battle of Palo Alto.
An autograph letter of President Lin
coln stood near by one of John C. Cal
houn’s, the great Secessionist and the
great unionist almost kissing each other.
A picture of Charles Guiteau was ap
propriately made a companion to one of
J. Wilkes Booth, and on the other side
of the room was a theatre bill, giving
the play at Ford’s the night the assas
sination of Lincoln occured. Bills of
fering $100,000 reward for Booth arrest,
the extras published by the Washington
papers the morning after the tragedy,
and one containing a special telegram
announcing that the assassin had been
shot, and calling for rejoicing, made up
mrt of the collection.
A Ran. Fait.
THE VERDICT
i
-or-
A dangerous Raft part recently took
place at Lachine on the St. Lawrence
river. The tugboat “John MacDonald”
had towed a valuable raft of timber
from Chateaugauy to the head of the
Lachine Rapids with the intention of
leaving it in the South channel. How
ever, just as the raft had neared the
channel in question the current, which
here takes a sharp bend, swept it around
with terrib’e velocity towards the more
dangerous and rocky South channel,
whence escape is rarely made. The
strain was so great that the hawser
parted and the raft dashed down the
tortuous rapids at lightning speed. The
men on board, 13 in number, assembled
on the front of the raft perfectly power
less to save themselves from their im
minent peril. They had not preceded
far, however, before a terrible shock
was felt, the raft having struck a reef
and parted in two pieces. The men still
escaped unhurt and managed to raise a
sail with the intention of steering the
raft through the rocks, which arose on
every side. The waves swept over the
hardy raftsmen, threatening them with
destruction every moment, and finally
the whole number took refuge by climb
ing to the top of the mast. The raft
struck a rock the second time, smashing
it into fragments, and the men were
precipitated into the water, butstil held
on to the mast for dear life. They had
nearly reached the foot of the rapids by
this time, and soon drifted out into still
water. An Indian passing in a large
boat, seeing their perilous position,
came to their assistance and rescued
them in a half-drowned condition, sev
eral of the men having nearly succumb
ed from exposure to the icy water. The
raft, which is of oak, is the property of
Mr. John Calvin, of Kingston, and is
valued at $0,000.
A Dynamite sore.
A gentleman of Saginaw Michigan,
who wrote a friend in England, the en
velope bearing his business card as fol
lows:—“If not called for in ten da;”S re
turn to H. H. Thomas, dealer in nitro
glycerine, dynamite, giant powder, and
high explosives, Bay City, Mich.,” Mr.
Thomas being engaged- in the business
of torpedoing salt wells and handling
dynamite for stump-pulling purposes.
The result was that the excitable Brit
ons jailed his friend, thinking him to be
an Irish Fenian, Land-Leaguer, Phre-
nix-Parker, or something of the kind,
and that he was in league with an aw
ful Saginaw house for materials with
which to demolish every Clerkenwell
jail and Parliament building in the
United Kingdom. A brief explanation,
however, was sufficient to let the pri
soner go free and to call in the extra
guards.
THE PEOPLE
BUY THE BEST!
Ma. J. O. Boao-Dear Sir: I bought the first
Davis Machine sold bj you over five years ago for
my wife, who haa given it a long and fair trial. 1
am well pleaaed with It. It lie®— elves any
rouble, and la as good aa when am nought.
J. W. bouck.
Winns boro, 8. C., April 1888.
Mr. Boao : You wish to know what I hare to
say In regard to the Darla Machine bought of you
three years ago. I feel I can’t sar too much In its
faror. 1 made about $80.08 within fire months, at
times running It so fsst that the needle would
f it perfectly hot from friction. I feel confide -.
could not hare done the same work with as much
ease and so well with any other machine. No
time lost in adjusting attachments. Toe lightest
running machine I hare erer treadled. Brother
James and William's families are aa much pleased
with their Davis Machines booghtof yon. I want
no better machine. Aa I said before, I don’t
think too much can be said for tbe Daria Machine.
Respectfully,
Ellkn SnvkNSox.
Fairfield county, April, 1883.
Mr. Boao : My machine gives me perfect satis -
faction. I find no fault with It. The attachments
are ao simple. 1 wish for no better than the Darla
Vertical Feed.
ReapectfnUy.
Mrs. R. Miu.ihu.
Fairfield county, April, 1883.
Mr. Boao: I bought a Darts Vertical Feed
Sewing Machine from yon four years ago. I am
delighted with It. It never haa given me any
trouble, and baa never been the least out of order.
It is as good as when I first bought it. 1 can
cheerfuUy recommend It.
Respectfully,
Mrs. M. J. Kirkland.
Moutioello, April 30,1888.
This Is to certify that I have been nslng a Dana
Vertical Feed Sewing Machine for over two years,
J. O. Boag. I haven’t fonnd It
purchased of Mr. J. D. Boag.
possessed of any fault -all the attachments are ao
simple. It never refuses to work, and la uertalnly
the lightest running in tbe market. I consider it
a first-class machine.
Very respectfully,
Minnir m. Willingham.
Oakland, Fairfield county, S. C.
Mr Boao : 1 am wen pleased in every particular
with the Davis Machine nought of you. I think It
a first-class machine In every respect. You know
you sold several machines of the same make to
ditferent members of our famlMge, all of whom,
aa far as I know, are well pleaaeu with them.
Haspeotfully,
Mrs. M. H. Mobley.
Fairfield county, April, 1888.
This Is to certify we hare had la constant use
the Darts Machine bought of you about three years
ago. As we take iu work, and hare made the
price of It eereral timet over, we don’t want aay
better machine. It la always ready to do any kind
of work we nave to do. No puokerlngor skipping
stitches. We can only say we are well pleased
and wiah no better machine,
Cathirinb Wylie and Suter.
April 88,1888.
I hare no fault to find with my machine, and
don’t want any tietter. I hare made the price of
It several times by taking In sewing. It Is always
ready to do Us work. I think It n first-class ma
chine. Ifeelloan'tsaytoomncn for the Darts
Vertical Feed Machine.
Mrs, Thomas Smith.
Fairfield county, April, 1883.
Mr. J. O. Boao—Dear Sir: It gives me mich
pleasure to testify to the merits of the Darts Ver
tical Feed Sewing Machine. The machine I got of
you about five years ago. baa been almost in con
stant use ever since that time. I cannot see that
it Is worn any, and haa not coat me one cent for
repairs since we hare had it Am well pleaaed
and don't wish for any better.
Yours trn'y,
Hon. Criwbord,
Granite quarry, near Wtnnsboro,8. C.
We hare used the Davis Vertical Fee 1 Sewing
Mschine for the last fire years. We would not
have any other make at any price. The machine
haa given us unbounded satisfaction.
Very respectfully,
Mrs. W. K. Turnir and Daughter*!
Fairfield county. 8. C., Jan. 81,1888.
J.O Boao,
Agent—Dear Sir: My wile
worn n particle and it works as wed as when new.
Respectfully,
Mbs. R. C. Gooding.
Wlnnaboro, S. C„ April, 1888,
m
. J
''3
Raving bought a Darts Vertical Feed Sewing
Machine from Mr. J. O. Boag some three yesrs
ago, and It haring given me perfect satisfaction In
every respect aa a family machine, both for heavy
and fight sewing, and never needed the least re
pair In any way, I can cheerfully recommend it to
any one as s first-class machine in erary particu
lar, and think It aecond to none. It la one ot the
simplest machines made; my children use it with
all ease. The attachments are more easily ad
justed and it dost a greater range of work by
means of its Vertical Feed than any other ma
chine I hare ever seen or used.
Mbs. Thomas gwinoa
Wlnnsboro, Fairfield county, 8. C.
We hare had one of the Darts Machines about
four years and have always found It ready to do all
kinds of work we hare had occasion to do. Can’t
see that the machine Is worn any, and works as
well as wnen new.
Mbs. W. J. Crawpobd,
Jackson’* Creek, Fairfield county, 8. C.
My wife Is highly pleased with the Davis Ma
chine bought of you. She would not take doable
wnat she gave for it. The machine has not
beer oat of order since she had It, and she can do
any kind of work on 1L
Very Respectfully,
JAB. F. Fkbb.
MontlceUo, Fairfield county, & C.
The Darts Sewing Machine U simply a treas
ure Mba J. A. Goodwtn.
Ridgeway, N. C., Jan. 10, 1888.
- -
haa been using a Darts Sewing Machine constant
ly for the past lour years, an.fit haa never needed
any repairs anJ works just as well as when first
bought. She says It will do a greater range of
practical work end do it easier and better than
any machine aba haa ever used. We cheerfully
recommend It as a No. l family machine,
— loir trajr,
Jaa q. datia
Wlnnaboro, 8. C., Jan. 8,1881.
' ..'H
Mm. Boag : I hare always]foaBd my Deris Ms-
bine ready ao aU kinds of to work I hare had oo-
csalon to do. I cannot see that the machine la
Kb. Boao: Mr wife has been constantly i
the Daria Machine bought of yon about are ;
ago. i have never regretted beymglt, m
always ready for any Kind of family sewing,
heavy or light It is never o« of fix or m
Fairfield, 8.0.(1
""■'’"IS