Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, September 20, 1893, Image 1
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VOL. 39. YORKVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1893. NO. 38.
?hc Horn ?rUrr. !
? I
The Crime ol Edmund Cballoner. I
i
By JAMES KNAPP REEVE.
[Copyright, 1803, by American Press Association.]
When the steamer Pelican set sail from j
the port of Vera Cruz for Havana on the !
afternoon of Jan. 28,188?, it had before
it as fair prospect for fair voyage as ever '
did ship that put to sea.
The passengers, mostly tourists who
had come down the long rail route
through Mexico or across from that
ocean which is misnamed the Pacific,
lounged contentedly about the decks and
congratulated themselves that their lines I
had fallen in pleasant places.
The voyage was begun upon Saturday, i
Sunday morning dawned clear and
bright. The sea was without a ripple, j
except as the sharp prow of the ship cut
through it. The water lay like a mass
of molten silver, and the hot sun beat
upon it and was reflected back as from
a shield.
The captain ordered awnings stretched
upon the decks, and beneath their shade |
the passengers lounged and read novels
and sipped ices which the steward
brought and dozed.
Just before nightfall a little cloud
came up out of the south. J:c was the
forerunner of one of those storms which j
sweep the southern seas so swiftly and \
so terribly.
By the time the sun was fairly below
the horizon the storm was upon them.
The passengers, who had hurried below,
could hear the rain dashing upon the
decks, feel the wind and waves sweeping
against the ship and see at intervals
the wild and vivid play of the lightning.
The calm sea was churned into a mass j
of angry foam that seethed and leaped
about the ship, but the beating of the
great engines never ceased, and the ship
held steadily upon its course.
Except when the lightning revealed I
the tossing sea it was but sailing forward
into the ocean of inky and impenetrable
blackness. Such a night demands 1
confidence in your captain and your i
compass.
The captain himself lield the wheel
and took a sailor's grim delight in {
watching how nobly his vessel withstood
the buffeting of the storm.
A single passenger, for whom the contention
of the elements seemed to have ,
? ~ oforul o liffln tViAoViolf^r
UU V4.V w?v.?v.
of the pilothouse. When the lightning j
played, the man at the wheel looked j
down and observed him curiously.
"My friend, you seem to like this sort
of thing," ho said.
"Yes, it is a divekMon," the other answered
briefly.
The storm had awakened the social
element that usually lay dormant beneath
the captain's gruff exterior. He
Beemed disposed toward conversation.
"Come, I like that," he said, then added
questioningly, "you are not a seafar- |
ing man?"
"No."
The wind was driving the ship so :
fiercely that the wheel for a time demand- !
ed the captain's whole attention.
When the lightning revealed the passenger
again, he stood with head bent
down, like one who listens.
In an instant all was black again, but !
out from the darkness the captain heavd
the Btranger's voice asking quietly:
"Are you Bure of your course, sir?"
"Sure," said the officer firmly; "I have j
been over it too often to make any mis- '
take. I can read this sea like a book in |
a blacker night than this."
"Nevertheless," replied the other quite '
as firmly, "I have just heard a whistling I
buoy, and that would be impossible upon i
your true course."
"Tut! You are crazy!' said the cap- j
tain sharply. "There is no whistling buoy
nearer than Captiva island inlet, and j
that is a good 20 miles away. You must
have sharp ears."
"It was the Captiva buoy that 1 !
heard."
The captain muttered an oath.
"Who are you?" he cried.
"They call me the king of Captiva," i
said the other. Even as he spoke there !
came to both, distinctly in the pauses of
the storm, the melancholy soughing note
of the whistling buoy so close and so '
distinct that there was no chance for
question even had there been time. But
simultaneously there came a shock that '
made the Bhip tremble from stem to
stern.
The captain signaled to reverse the
engines, but before the order could be
obeyed the waves had lifted the ship,
carried it forward and let it fall again
with an awful crash and breaking and
straining of timbers.
"We are on the reef!" cried the captain,
and a moment later:
"We are breaking in two! To the
boats! To the boats!"
"Stand back, you cowards!" he shouted.
There was little need of the order.
The crew, realizing their peril, were at
the davits and working to lower away. I
The passengers excitedly thronged the
deck and hampered the crew and officers
in their effoi ts. So many swarmed into
the first boat lowered that it swamped
before leaving the vessel's side. The J
crew, with some of the male passengers,
were about to take possession of the second
boat when the stranger who had
warned the captain sprang to the rail.
Vifon/1 vr>ti nAwov/lat" Ka aV-ir*nfori I
K/wwiu t/uva| jvu vvnaiugi uy ouvuvyu*
"No man shall enter that boat until the
women have been taken off!"
The lightning showed him standing
beside the davits, a pistol raised in either j
hand. For a moment he held the men
at bay. Then one hulking fellow spoke.
"They can't go without some one to handle
the boat, master."
"It will need men and not cowards for
that."
The sailor stood irresolute for an instant,
and then sprang forward, thinking
to catch the other off his guard.
There was tho flash of a pistol, and the
big body dropped like a log and rolled
over into the sea.
"There will be no more trouble now,"
said tho stranger, "but we have no time
to lose. Hand the women forward."
Close beside him stood an old man
and a young woman, evidently his
daughter. These two hung back, and
the young man touched the older one
impatiently ui>on tho arm.
"Come, sir," he said, "the ship is
breaking up. Let us get the lady into
the boat."
The girl threw herself upon her fa- !
ther's bosom. "Oh, 1 cannot go uutil
you do," she cried. "If wo must die, let
11 a Aia
"No, Helen, be brave. Go, ami 1 will
take my chance with the others."
The boat was filling rapidly. .
"You are too late now," said the
stranger. "Perhaps it is just as well
The boat is too full to last in such a i
sea."
As each succeeding boat was filled the
father and daughter still drew back because
they could not secure places with- j
out becoming separated. As the last '
one was lowered the young man seized ]
the girl bodily and swung her safely in- !
to it, then, giving his hand to her father, j
assisted him to a place beside her. Others
followed rapidly, and when the boat
was ready to pull away only himself
and the captain remained upon the ship.
"Shall we go?" asked the latter of his
companion.
"What is the use! She may get away
as it is, although I think she has more
now than she can carry. But with two ,
more"?he finished with a suggestive
6hake of his head.
The young girl, perceiving his determination,
started to her feet.
"Father! We must not go," she cried
"Don't you see he has given his chance j
to us?"
But her protest was of no avail, as the
oarsmen were already pulling away from j
the dangerous proximity of the ship.
When the boat was fairly away, the
two men faced each other questioningly.
"We have yet one chance." said tho i
captain..
"Yes, a raft, if we have time." respond
a/1 tha ntVior
"It Is a boat," said the captain.
It required but a few moments to
splice some planks together and launch
them into the sea, but the task was completed
none too soon. The waves had
carried them only a little way off when
the ship broke in two where it hung |
upon the rock and went down amid a
gurgle and swirl of black waters that
sucked into its maelstrom every floating
particle that swam within its reach.
The two men with difficulty maintained
their hold upon the slender mean9
that lay between themselves and death.
Through the long night they were tossed
to and fro, the wash of the waves all the
time carrying them* further seaward.
When morning came, they scanned the
horizon anxiously for any sign of land
or of their missing companions. Far
away to the east lay the white line of
breakers that marked the reef where the j
ship struck.
"Beyond that lies Captiva," said the ,
young man.
"It might as well be a thousand miles," j
replied the captain. "We can never
reach it."
As the light grew stronger they made i
out a faint, black speck upon the water {
a long way off, yet nearer than the reef
and between themselves and it. Both I
men watched it a long time in silence. j
"It is a boat," said the captain, "and }
bottom up. Some of the poor souls have ,
gone, but only by a little shorter route j
than we shall."
"It is drifting this way," safel the
other, "but more slowly than we, bocause
it lies deeper in the water. If we
could paddle toward it or even hold our- i
Belves here"
The men looked down upon the bare ,
planks of the raft, then, moved by a !
common impulse, threw themselves i
prostrate upon it and began to paddle 1
with their hands against the beating
waves. It was slow and exhausting
work, but for an hour they continued
their effort steadily. At the end of that
time th">* were perceptibly nearer the
boat.
The sun was now hot and fierce, and
unprotected from its scorching rays, aud
without food or drink, the men were
beoinnintr to erive wav under the strain.
Still they toiled desperately on. They I
became dizzy from tjie glare of light
upon the water, yet kept their eyes fixed
steadily toward the boat. It was high
noon before they were near enough to
feel safe in resting. Then the captain. 1
after a long and steady look toward the
boat, uttered a sudden exclamation.
"There is some cue clinging to it," he j
aaid. Then added, painfully, after a
brief pause, "There are two." His mouth
was parched and cracked so that ho i
lould hardly utter the words.
"It is a man and a woman," answered
his companion; "we must reach them."
Then they fell to work again.
An hour more and the raft and the
boat touched. The throats of the men
had become so dry that they could not
hail, and the two upon the boat were so
nearly exhausted that they had not observed
the approach of the raft.
Getting close alongside, the occupants
of the raft drew first the woman and
then the man to a place of greater security
and then attempted to right the
boat. This, which would not have been
a great task for such experienced seamen
under ordinary circumstances, was now,
owing to their exhausted condition, only
accomplished after a long effort.
At last they were able to place their
rescued companions in the boat, to clamber
in themselves and to make the raft
fast against possible future needs. Then
nature would stand no more, and the
four slept and drifted.
A sudden passing rain, u shower falling
from a clear sky, came upon the
faces of the sleepers and wakened them.
It was a rain of the tropics, sudden,
heavy and brief. The four lay with upturned
faces and let it fall into their
mouths. They caught it in their hands
and moistened their parched throats.
When it had passed, they were refreshed
and hopeful.
The one who had called himself the
king of Captiva began taking tho raft
to pieces. He pulled the smaller planks
into the boat and sent tho balance adrift.
"We must use these for paddles," he
said. "Captiva island lies behind that
reef. 1 know the inlet .well. Before
nightfall we shall bo safe."
It required the last vestige of strength
which they possessed to make this promise
good, but by tho time the stars began
to come out the keel of tho boat
touched upon a sloping sandy beach.
"Here wo are at least safe," said their
guide as with the captain he helped the
others from the boat, "and a second time
we are indebted to you for our lives,"
said the girl, who was none other than
the one whom the stranger had put into
the last boat that left the ship. "I think
we are the only ones who are saved."
She shuddered as she looked out upon
tho sea.
A little way up from tho beach they
came upon a cabin?a mere thatched
hut of the most primitive construction
set in the midst of a grove of palms.
"This is my house," said the stranger.
"To it and tho little I have hero I mako
you welcome."
Ho hastily arranged a couch of palm
leaves for the old man, who seemed
weaker than his daughter from the exposure
of the shipwreck, and brought
out some rugs and some of his own
clothing for him. Then motioning tho
captain to follow he led the way to a
small shed which served tho purges of
kitchen and storehouse. Hero a fire
was soon started, some coffee put on
and some meal cakes stirred together.
Then some plantains were stripped from
the trees close by and thrust into the
fire to roast. Going a little farther
away, tho strauger returned with an
armful of ripe oranges. When tho plantains
and cakes were done, the two bore
tho repast to the cabin in triumph.
As they ate and became strengthened
they began to talk together.
"This is quite as wonderful us any of
our past experiences," said tho old man
to their host. "I beg that you will tell
us who you are and how you chance to
have here such provision for our sudden
need." '
"As for names, it does not much matter,"
was tho answer, "but if you wish
one you may call me Abbott. Our
friend the captain has heard of me, I
think, as the king of Captiva.- This is- i
land is my kingdom; right of possession |
my only title to sovereignty; I have 110 1
subjects."
"We would be glad to know more," j
said the old man courteously as Abbott
paused, "unless, indeed," he added, "wo '
seem unwarrantably curious." Tho king !
of Captiva looked so long and steadily at
his guest before he answered that tho
latter shifted uneasily.
"Perhaps you have a right to know," !
he said at last, "so long as you are forced
to be my guests." He paused again and j
looked around upon tho little circle: "I j
am a fugitive from justice."
ILltJ (JUJJUUii JjttVO C* 01V40 CI v mv j
speaker and drew a quick breath, as if
this but confirmed his suspicions. The
girl involuntarily shrank nearer her fa- |
ther.
"Twelve years ago," continued Abbott,
speaking slowly and watching the j
effect upon his hearers, "I was accused
of a crime. It does not matter now j
what or if I was guilty or innocent, tho
only safety from a long imprisonment j
lay in flight. After a timo I reached Mo- '
bile and found that tho officers were
close behind me. Tired of being haunt- j
ed on land, I determined to take to tho i
water. Having money, I bought a small 1
sloop, one that I could handle by myself,
being something of a sailor, and laid in
stores which would answer for a long
cruise if it became necessary. For three ;
days and nights I ran due south, going !
most of the time before a strong wind, i
On the morning of the fourth day the
wind changed and began to drive me toward
the cast. Before night the wind
had changed iuto a gale, and it was raining.
The night came on black and ugly.
I made everything tight and waited for
what might come. About midnight 1
was driven on the rocks just off yonder."
He paused, and with a slow gesture
motioned toward the sea. It lay a dead
black mass, except where the swelling
waves caught and sent back the scintillating
reflection of the stars that gleamed j
brilliantly from the southern sky. Be- \
yond a streak of silver showed against the
black, where the sea beat unceasingly
upon the reef.
"Aye," continued Abbott as he followed
the thought of his hearers, "it 1
looks pretty and gentle enough now, and j
it makes pleasant music. But you have |
seen it when it was angry. It is without
mercy then.,
"It was so that night. Wild and dark
as it was, I knew what was coming. I
could hear the roar of the breakers and
see the white line they made upon the
rocks. I grasped the tiller firmly with
both hands to keep her head straight for
it and braced myself for the shock. That
was the last I knew. The next wave
must have carried the sloop off again
and carried me to a safe point upon the
rocks. When I came to myself, the sun
was shining, and I could see this island
across the calm bit of water. I found j
some debris upon the rocks, and putting j
it together for a raft made my way
across."
As Abbott stopped in his recital the
j. i :i?
611CI1CO SUl ueu? uy ujiuw IUU (jiuuji.
"Twelve years," said the old man at
last, "is u long time. One may repent
and expiate much wrong in that time."
"Twelve years of exile and loneliness," i
said Abbott thoughtfully. "It would be
a hard thing to look forward to, but it is
not much to look back upon. I was a
man of few wants; these I made less
and learned to satisfy them myself. I
have lived almost independent of the
world. This was the first time that 1
have gone out into it. and I think it will |
be the last."
"That may be all very well," inter- I
rupted the captain impatiently, "but i
perhaps we do not all care to become
Crusoes. How are we ever to get away 1
from this blessed island? No ship will I
ever come inside that reef, and otherwise {
we cannot be seen."
"There are two ways," said Abbott. 1
"Perhaps twice a year a Spanish lugger j
lays to outside and sends in a boat to :
supply me with some small necessaries !
and to buy my oranges and cocoanuts.
You may wait for that or do as I did? j
go outside the reef and lay until somo
passing vessel spies you."
"How long did yon wait?"
"Four days. I had taken food atid
water to last a week. A schooner came
and took me to Vera Cruz."
Abbott and the captain went out and
slept beneath the palm trees and the
stars, leaving the cabin to the old man
and his daughter.
The following day and the next they
rested and began to recuperate from the j
fatigue and exposure to which they had I
been subjected. On the third day the
captain announced his intention of leaving
them. It wus arranged that he and
Abbott should take the boat and layoutside
the reef and wait for some vessel.
If they met a schooner or trading vessel,
they were to persuade it to lay to while
they came l ack for the others. If a
steamer, then the captain was to proceed
to the nearest port and dispatch a
vessel for them. It was of course out of
the question for the old man and the
girl to take the chance of spending some
days in the open boat.
Abbott and the captain went out upon
the highway of the sea until the reef and
the island were far behind and their little
boat the only visible speck upon the
whole waters, and then they waited one
day, two days, until the evening of the
third. Then a steamer bound for New
Orleans bore down upon them, hove to
and took the captain on board, and releasing
Abbott from his weary office permitted
his return to Captiva.
When the captain arrived at New Orleans,
he first made out and forwarded to
the owners a full account of the loss of
the Pelican. Then he called at the office
of the chief of police. His conference
with that official was long and animat ed.
Before its conclusion two of the oldest
detectives upon the force were brought
into the consultation.
"There can be no question as to who
your man is." said the chief finally. "The
record is very straight. Twelve years
ago the Bunker Ilill bank of Boston lost
the sum of $50,000. The money was
taken from the vault after the bank had
been closed for the night. But two men
had access to the vault?Frederick Nelson,
the cashier, and Edmund Challoner.
the presideut."
"Edmund Challoner!" exclaimed the
captain.
"Edmund Challoner! That name was
upon the passenger list of the Pelican. I
cannot remember"
"A mere coincidence of names," said
the chief. "This Challoner was a man of
the highest type of irreproachable character.
It was said that he had the greatest
confidence in Nelson, so much so that
when the loss was discovered he demanded
that the accusation bo made
equally against them both, as they each
had the same opportunity to take the
money. But before any arrests were
made Nelson had fled, and the crime
was fixed. Tho man Nelson," continued
the chief, "was traced to Mobile, where
he disappeared. The bank offered a reward
of $10,000 for his capture. The reward
is still pending."
The captain got up and mopped his
face with his handkerchief. Ten thousand
dollars was a goodly sum for a man
who had just lost his ship. And it was
almost within his grasp. Tho chief's
office seemed very close. What a fool ho
had been to come away and leave tin
man there with every opportunity for
escape. He began to doubt if Abbott
had ever gone back to the island.
"See here," he exclaimed finally, turning
to the chief, "we have no time to
lose. The man is bagged safely enough,
if he doesn't take the alarm, but we bad
better move spry. So give 1110 two of
jour best men for this business, and I
will show you where ho is, and we will ,
divide the reward."
Under sUCli a spur the "law's delays"
are easily brushed aside. A few hours
sufficed to put a good boat under way
for Captiva, with three inen in her determined
upon vindicating the majesty
of the law and securing the reward of
$10,000.
Meanwhile life went smoothly with
the three upon the island. The girl was
constantly surprised and delighted by
new discoveries, which showed how aptly
Abbott had adapted himself to the
hermit life. The conditions were such
as forced them into much free intimacy,
and it was not in nature that, she should
fail to become more than ordinarily interested
in Abbott's personality.
Her father held aloof and seemed dis
Li UdLLUl VL AUUUH, CWUUIW lie oaiu JAWVUAUg
to influence or prejudice her. This she
attributed to the fact that Abbott had
confessed himself suspected of a crime,
while not even asserting his innocence,
and that her father could not forget
this, even though the man had saved their
lives.
One night the three sat long together
beneath the skies talking in a desultory
way. Abbott, drawn on by the girl's
questionings, had been telling of his life
011 the island, how it had been so lonely
at first; then how he had grown to love
it and willing to remain there always;
then how the desire had grown to clear
his name from the shadow of tho crime
which rested upon it and of the journey
back into the world which he had essayed
for that purpose; then how at
Vera Cruz he had veered suddenly about.
"Why did you not go on?" demanded
the girl.
"Because 1 chanced to see there the
only man living who knew whether I
was innorent or guilty."
"Yes?" She breathed tho question
softly, waiting for him to finish.
"And I saw that it was better for one
to suffer than for many."
.She reached out her hand in the dark
and touched his in quiet sympathy.
"Where is he now?"
fI
^ ^
" Whrrr. Is hr iioir!"'
"He, too, was a passenger on the Pelican."
Tiie girl glanced out shudderingly upon
the sea.
"And now it is too late," she said.
The old man, who had l>een listening
to them, arose and walked down the
beach.
"It is time that fellow was back," ho
said petulantly. "Does ho mean to keep
us hero forever?"
Abbott, with n more accustomed ear
than tho others, beard just then a plashing
of oars.
"Thero is some one within tho inlet
now," he said. "It-could hardly bo any
one but tho captain."
They watched, and gradually tho form
of a boat drew out from tho further
darkness and made toward tho beach.
As it touched the shore three men sprang
out and came toward tho group waiting
to receive them. The captain was in tho
lead, and he came close and scanned their
faces eagerly. Laying his hand upon
Abbott's arm, he turned to the men with
him.
"This is the one, my lads. Make sure
of liim." Abbott made 110 resistance of
the men who seized him. "Now." said
the captain briskly, "we won't waste any
time. We have a good sloop lying outside,
and we will get aboard as quickly
as possible. We shall put into New Orleans
very shortly, and then wo can attend
to this gentlemnn here, who will be
apt to get ins deserts at last."
There was 110 opportunity for Abbott's
companions to utter any remonstrance
They were at once embarked for the
sloop, where he was placed apart from
the others.
Tho run to New Orleans, which should
have been made in a few days, had because
of contrary winds lengthened into
a week, and yet no land was in sight.
Tho voyage, which was monotonous to
the girl from the start, became almost
unendurable. Her father was ill and
kept to his own cabin most of tho time.
Her aversion for tho captain was so great
that she could hardly speak to him. But
she finally overcame this in her anxiety
to know what was in store for Abbott.
Finding him alone upon tho deck one
morning, she put the question to him.
He replied with unfeigned surprise:
"I thought you knew. You heard him
confess that he was a fugitive from justice.
Well, I found out what ho had
done. He stole $."50,000 from the Bunker
Hill bank of Boston."
"The Bunker Hill bank!" exclaimed
the girl. "Does my father know this?"
"Why, I had supposed so. Somehow
I took it for granted that you both did.
But now that you ask me I see that it
hasn't been mentioned."
Tho girl began to speak again, but
checked herself, turned and going to her
father's cabin knocked impetuously upon
the door. After some delay it was opened,
and she was startled to see how ill and
worn her father appeared. He had been
writing, as she could see from an open
portfolio.
It required but few words to tell him
why she had come. When she hud finished,
he took some papers from tho portjlio
and gave them to her with shaking
humls.
"I have tried to tell you," lie said,
"but had noi the courage. But I have
prepared this, which you must read and
then give to the man Abbott." Ho
placed the paper in her hand and gently
urged her from him.
With a heart filled with misgivings
the girl went to her own stateroom before
daring to glance at tho document.
It was headed, "Tho Confession of Edmund
Challoner." In tho briefest and
clearest phrase it stated that the writer,
Edmund Challoner, president of the
Bunker Hill bank of Boston, becoming
involved in speculation, did, in the year
ly?, abstract from the vaults of said
bank the sum of !j?U,00U. Furthermore,
he had intended to use this but temporarily
and to replaco it before the loss
should become known. Failing to do
this, tho loss was discovered. Challoner
then intended to confess the whole matter.
But delaying in this, suspicion fell
upon the cashier, Frederick Nelson, who
gave color to it by his immediate flight.
Then, as tho need of saving an innocent
man from imprisonment had passed,
Challoner kept silence rather than tarnish
his good name and destroy tho happiness
of his family. Then there were a
few wp.ilr words to testify how he had
Buffered mentally fur this double crime,
and a pathetic prayer to his daughter
not to judge him too harshly, as he had
done it for her sake.
When Miss Challoner had linishedher
reading, she was very pale, but composed.
Going at once in search of Abbott, whom
she found sitting idly near the rail in the
forward part of the vessel, she placed the
paper in his hands.
"Do you know who I am?" she asked,
and as ho nodded slightly in answer she
continued:
"Yes. 1 am Helen Challoner. It i>
for us that you have suffered all thcso
years. But, believes me, I never knew until
now."
Abbott read the paper through slowly.
"What do you want nie to do with
this?" ho asked finally.
"Why, you must use it. Make yourself
free. Clear your name of suspicion."
"Have you thought what that menus'/" '
She looked {it him with sudden fear in
i her wide eyes.
"My father"
| Abbott had been twisting the paper ;
i tightly in his hands. Now with a sudden
movement ho attempted to fling it
from him into the sea. But Miss Challoner,
as suddenly divining his purpose,
grasped his arm and wrenched the paper '
i from him. ; 1
i "No," she cried, "justice must be done ! {
you at last." She turned and saw the 1
captain near them. "This is for you," ; |
she said, giving him the paper. The , 1
captain read, it through with a lowering 1
face and handed it without comment 1
I frv fKn ftt'A dAfppfivPR Tchn Vin#1 SrtitiA/1 t
him.
"Well, this does not matter much to
us," one of them said; "we shall only j
have to take the other one, the real
thief, and let this one go." He made as
if he were going at once to the cabin oc- ,
copied by Mr. Challoner. !
"Stop," said Abbott, springing before
i him. "That will profit you nothing.
! The reward is offered 'for the arrest and
; conviction of Frederick Nelson.' I re- j
I member the wording well. I am Fred- j
I erick Nelson, and, ns you see, I am inno- j
j cent, and there is no reward offered for
j any one else."
! "We are beaten," said the man, "and as
: there is no money in it I don't care how
tho job is settled. I for ono shall not
j trouble the old man."
Tho balance of tho run into port wus
! uneventful, except for a talk between
i Abbott, Miss Challoner and her father,
i The latter was weak and childish and
I begged Abbott's forgiveness.
"I shall go homo and make restitution j
to tho bank and take whatever pujiishj
ment they see fit to give me," he said.
| But Abbott, noting his weak condition.
! thought otherwise.
i "He can never stand the journey to
' Boston," ho felt bound to tell Helen.
, "We must make him as comfortable as
wo can in New Orleans and wait for the
end."
The end came very soon, and they put
him to rest in the beautiful Metairc cemetery.
As they turned away from the
tomb Helen said to Abbott:
"You will go now and clear your
name?" !
"And smirch your father's? No. Let i
the dead past remain dead. But you?" :
"I do not know. I am alone in the j
world." i
"Helen," said Abbott gently, "could
you be content to be queen of Captiva i
and of my heart?"
"Oh," she said, "if you will share your
kingdom with me I will be very glad." j
, And so they returned to Captiva, but i
, it is no longer a place of exile. I was ;
j there last summer and had from Nelson j
1 himself something more of this story. j
I "Stop," said Abbott, springing before j ?
him. [
j By employing a confidential agent ho I
: was able to close np Mr. Challoner's af- , <
fairs and reimburse the bank so quietly j s
that there was no scandal about the j t
j matter. The reward for his own appro- ( 1
J hension was withdrawn, and it was an- r
nounced by the bank that he had been ' t
unjustly accused. But Helen was bo j 1
charmed with Captiva that she did ! t
not care for any other home. So the j t
little cabin gave way to a roomy low I r
roofed nfansion. Gardens and groves : j
sprang up, and the island became t
a little earthly paradise. The inlet ha- j j
| been deepened, and now when storms t
blow ships find safe refuge behind the u
( reef. And the fame of the king and ! 1
I queen of Captiva has gone so far abroad ! \
that many a pleasure yacht puts in for , t
! the purpose of enjoying their generous j (
hospitality. And the men who come I (
away say of Helen Challoner that she is ! r
a queen among women, and tho women ' (
say of her husband that he is every inch t
a king. ; j
The Word 'Well?" t
Frequently there is nothing a man (
; more dreads than his wife's inquiring p
"Well?" when he goes home. Strong a
hearted men have sometimes to nerve ?.
themselves for this on the way. A man f
bought a country house. The weather . c
was hot, and the women of the family ! [
made haste to move. There was, how- : fi
ever, some delay about the title, and tho ' ^
man refused to taker possession until j
j this was made clear. Each side held off, 'j
j and day after day passed. . c
Every night when the man went home ?
four women met him at the door, and ^
each said, "Well?" The carpets were j
up; the curtains were down; tho clothes, ! _
books and crockery were packed. The s
sun woke him at unearthly hours; his ^
foot gave hollow echo on the bare floors; \ ,
all his dearest possessions were inacces- !
sible in baskets and boxes. For three ^
weeks he went through all these peculiar t
discomforts, miseries and privations that j
men suffer while women revel in house- , j
cleaning raids. But these were nothing
to the nervousness he suffered each day .
when called upon to meet at the door of i .
his house the "Well?" of his wife and 1
daughters.?Chicago Times. *
Wonderful Fall In a Biblical Itlver. V
The river Jordan in Palestine has the o
most remarkable fall or descent of any "
short river in the world. The name of t
the river is from the Hebrew word jar- t
den, meaning the descender, and that it s
j is well named may be judged from the I
following figures concerning its fall: At
its source near Hasbaye the stream has
an elevation of 1,700 feet above the level
of the Mediterranean sea, and at the t
place where it empties into the Dead sea y
! it is 1,5100 feet below the level of the r
Mediterranean, making a total fall of t)
about even 51,000 feet. s
The distance from Hasbaye springs |
to the Dead sea is 120 miles, and the to- j,
tal length of the river, counting the ?
windings of the channel, 200 miles. 1 s
From this we must subtract 20 miles for s
the lake and morass of Hooleh and the
sea of Galilee, leaving but 180 miles of ' j
! river proper, which gives the river an i
average fall of 17 feet to the mile *
throughout its entire course. Few riv- ?
ers have such a fall, and fewer still de- i r
scend as the Jordan does, without either
cascades or waterfalls.?St. Louis Re- ^
public. *
Good Temper In Traveling. ?
We hear of a good many requisites for t
traveling in comfort, but none of them v
surpasses good teini>er, especially in liot, j
dusty weather. To be indifferent to the c
crying of cross and tired babies, to draw ^
a shawl or a wrap over the shoulders
when some fresh air fiend persists in a
sending a current of cold wind from an s
oj>en window, or equally to bo patient ,
when you want the window open and
somebody else wants it shut, to bo ready '
to accept delays without grumbling and j
to be as sweet at a journey's end its at its 1 t
beginning, this is to be indeed good tem'
l?ered.
If one travels easily and is not made
faint and ill by the rapid motion of the )
train or seasick by the roll of the steamor,
there is little credit in keeping amiable.
But many women suffer fearfully 1
from jolting and jarring. Their heads i c
ache, their stomachs rebel, their nerves j ^
are on edge. It is nothing short of saint- ; s
1*r 4-r\ nlimannf. in tliown ^
1J I.W uv ,
but some people Achieve it, and they aro i 1
held in pleasant memory by their fellow j h
i travelers.? Hjirper's Bazar. I
|UtSffHanrous grading.
SIZE OF Til K SKA.
L'oni|)urisoiiH Which Will Ho Found Holh
Novel ami Instinctive.
There are not many people who, if
hey were to he naked the question,
tould tell the size of the salt waters
)f the earth. The figures are so great
hat they could only say, with Dominie
sampson: "Prodigious!" And yet some
llustrations may be given and eom"inrisons
made as to the size of the sea,
vhich will be found both novel and incresting.
ine wnoie sea is composed 01 me
Vtlantic and Pacilic, the Indian ocean, :
he Arctic and Antarctic seas, and I
rurious smaller bodies of water. It
las an area of 140,000,000 square miles, !
ind would forma circle of 13,360 miles
n diameter.
The relative size of the areas of the [
vhole surface of the earth, of the whole !
;ca, of the Pacific and of the Atlantic, I
inn he represented by a silver dollar for
he surface of the earth, a half a dollar
or the surface of the whole sea, a twen.y-live
cent piece for the surface of the ,
Pacific, and a silver half half dime for j
lie surface of the Atlantic.
The number of gallons of water in
lie Pacific* is 200,000,000,000,000, an j
imount which would take 1,000,000 I
( ears to pass over the Falls at Niagara, {
ind yet, if it was put into a sphere, the
vhole of the Pacific would only meas- ;
ire 720 miles across.
The number of cubic feet in the Atantic
is 117, followed by seventeen i
nphers, a number that, counting one
'oot at a time, would be ticked oil" by ;
1,000,000 clocks in 370,000 years.
The Pacific could contain the Atuntic
bodily nearly three times. If!
he Atlantic were made to fill a eircuar
pipe reaching from the earth to the j
sun, the diameter of the pipe would
rnve to be a little over a mile, while |
hat of a pipe of similar length to con- j
ain the Pacific, would have to be alnost
two miles.
Incidentally it may be said that the j
listance to the sun is so great, if a :
jhild was born with an arm long enough
0 reach the sun, it would not live
ong enough to know it had touched it,
or sensation passes along the nerves at
he rate of 100 feet a second. At that
ate, the sense of feeling would take
[HO years to travel from the sun to
he earth, and that is an unlikely age
or one to live nowadays.
If the whole sea were formed into I
1 round column reaching to the sun,
he diameter of the column would be
learly 2j miles, while the Pacific would
'orm ">3,000,000 miles of its total length
>f 93,000,000, and the Atlantic 18,000,)00
miles.
If the column was of ice, and the
mtire heat of the sun could be concenrated
upon it, it would all be melted
n one second and converted into steam
n eight seconds.
These figures enable us to arrive at
ionic stupendous results in discussing j
lot only the size of the sea, but the
?? -f ti.? t?n..??
It'Ut UI U1U 9UU. UUlUUi O. I
TOMB OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT.
In an out-of-the-way nook in the \
British Museum the sight-seer is con- j
routed by a dust-covered object, which '
it first sight would be taken for a gi- j
,antic millstone. But it is not a corn- '
jrinder, neither is it a cast of an Eski- j
no's hut, nor of "Montezuma's watch."
}n the contrary, it is one of the most I
sacred Oriental relics in existence?the 1
omb of Alexander the (treat. The ,
eader who takes an interest in the cu- 1
ious points of history, will remember
hat it has been said of Alexander that !
le was "born in Europe, died in Asia, ;
iml is buried in Africa." lie was born
it Bella, Macedonia, (which is in Eu- j ,
ope, of course), died near Babylon, !
Vsia, and was finally buried at Alex- '
indria, Egypt. Preparatory to removng
the remains from Babylon to Alexmdria,
a solid gold cotlin was provided
ind filled with honey. In this costly
eeeptacle the body of the Conqueror
vas tenderly laid and conveyed across
he deserts to Alexandria, a distance ;
>f over a thousand miles. This curi- j
>us funeral pageant, led by 04 white j
nules drawing the immense funeral i
:ar, is said to have been composed of
>ver 7,000 persons, including some
1,000 slaves.
At Alexandria the golden coffin was
leposited in a circular (or as Dr. ;
Marke's account says, a "cistern- j
ihaped") sarcophagus of green stone
md enshrined at the great mosque of
tt. Athanasius. It is hardly to the ; ,
redit of the British Museum officials, |
ir to the English people, that this (
omb is now on exhibition at their |
;reat repository of curious relics, espe:inlly
when we consider the manner of
neans used to obtain possession of it.
rhe tomb was first violated by Selen:us
Cibyofaetes, who carried away the
cold collin and left the Conqueror's
tones in a badlv iumbled mass at the
>ottom of the tomb. Finally the renains
were "religiously cared for by
ome of the worshipers at the shrine/' ;
>ut no one knows to this day where ,
hey were deposited. The empty ! j
greenstone tomb was long an object of
feneration, even down to 1804, the .
ime when I)r. Clarke obtained posses- j
ion of it and shipped it to Kngland.
t will be remembered that that was
he year of the French invasion of
Ogypt. Mcnon, the French general, ,
lad promised and guaranteed to the ,
doslems the inviolable possession of i
heir sanctuaries, but as soon as they j i
ver'e in possession of the city of Alex- (
mdria, they despoiled St. Athanasius (
ind took charge of the Conqueror's
onil). When the British heard this <
hey wrested it from the French and i
cut it to Kngland and put it on exhi- , ]
>ition in their great London Museum. i
- ' 1
TH GRAFT ARMS.
It is said that Theodore Lee, a well- i
o-do, though armless man, of Tacomn,
.Vash., is encouraged to hope that his
nissing members may be replaced by
irms, not wooden, or cork, or rubber -I
ubstitutes, but real arms of flesh and '
ilood and bone. He has been going I
ibout among the surgeons of the east, <
md they think that if he can persuade '
ome criminal condemned to death to i
ell him a pair of healthy arms, they | :
night succeed in grafting them to him. i
Cs to the method of grafting an arm,
dr. Lee has been informed that the 1
plice would have to be made just i
ibove the elbow joint, where there arc I
(radically only two muscles, one main i
irtcry, and only one nerve. When ?
dr. Lee has found a person who will <
ubmit to the operation, they will have i
o be brought together in such a posi- I
ion as to permit of the arms of both, i
vhich are to be operated upon, being I
daeed in plaster casts, so that they I
annot be moved. Then it is proposed i
o cut the back part of both the arms, 1
ilso cutting through the bone. The i
irm that is to be grafted to Mr. Lee's i
tump, or that portion of it that is cut 1
iway at the first operation, is to be t
djlisted and fastened to the stump and (
illowed to remain until it heals, and i
here is evidence of circulation between i
he stump and the part that is grafted i
m. The second operation will be the
utting of the remainder of the inside
tortion of the arm, together with the s
rtery and the nerve. This operation, 1 J
lowever, is not to be undertaken until j
he surgeons are satisfied that the cir- i
t .1 1. ?1.? ,1,?
illation iiinm^u inu [mii ui uik uiui
;rafted on is sullicient to nourish and f
upport the forearm. This would l>e ' i
scertained by placing a ligament on i
he arm of the person who was eontrib- ^
iting the new member, above the elbow, i
ml shutting oil' the blood which was j t
flowing through the artery into his own
arm through that portion that was not
already cut ofT. Mr. Lee is now looking
for somebody with a healthy pair
of arms to sell.?New Orleans Picayune.
INCONSISTENT MAN.
A man can take his life in his hand
and go boldly into the trackless prairie
to meet a herd of savage buffalo, or he
can traverse the horrors of an African
jungle without a shudder in his body,
says the Chicago Dispatch. Hut he can
not enter a fancy wool shop to match
a special hue without breaking into a
violent perspiration and finally rushing
away without fulfilling his task.
A man can suffer the amputation of
a limb in a heroic manner, but he cannot
endure a mustard plaster on his
chest without shrieking aloud for
mercy.
A man can stand the deprivation of
his wealth with the calmness of a stoic,
but he cannot lose his collar stud on
the bed room lloor without a violent
outburst of temper.
A man can endure the pangs of hunger
on a desert island with a brave
spirit, but he cannot eat his bride's first
pudding without a smothered ejaculation.
A man can smile grimly under the
tortures of the rack, but he cannot
tread on a tin tack with his bare feet
without a bitter howl.
A man can walk forty miles a day
and arrive fresh and bright at the end
of his journey, but he cannot nurse a
baby half an hour without complaining
that he is utterly worn out.
A man can calculate to the uttermost
farthing the cost of the Sue/canal, but
he cannot estimate the price of a woman's
bonnet without egregious errors.
A man can possess the physical
strength of a Samson, but he cannot
help take down the pictures for the annual
spring cleaning without feeling
completely exhausted with his labors.
A man can beard the savage tiger in
his lair without a quiver of his muscle,
but he cannot bring an unexpected
friend to dinner on a washing day without
trembling in every limb.
A man can suffer death at the stake
with the dignity of a martyr, but he
cannot chase after his hat in a public
road without looking ridiculous.
A man can wait many years in proud
silence for the public appreciation of
his work, but at a domestic crisis he
cannot get up and light the fire every
day for a week without feeling that he
is lit for immediate canonization.
"HELD I P."
"I have traveled through the States
of Washington and Oregon, and parts
of California, Idaho and Montana, for
eigniecn years, sum a aouinwesiera
slioe drummer. "Ten years of that
time I traveled by stage, horseback,
steamboat and canal, and my life has
been fuller of adventures than that of
most traveling men. It has been my
misfortune to have been twice held up
by stage robbers. In both instances
my hands went up as quickly as those
of my fellow-passengers. I have no
patience with those people who tell
what they would do if they met robbers.
I know what they would do.
They would fall into line with the rest
of the passengers, and reserve their
expressions of indignation until later
in the day. There is no use of talking,
the stage robber has killed and he will
kill ugain, and a man never realizes
how dear Ids life is until it is in actual
peril.
"One day, in October, 1877, I was
staging it in northern California. There
were six of us in the coach. We were
talking about stage robbers. Suddenly
there was a halt, and one of the party
said, 'Speak of the devil and he will
appear.' Well, we ull got out and
stood in a line, and gave up our purses
and watches. The driver had thrown
off the mail-bag and the Wells-Targo
safe. There were two robbers, neither
of them masked. They were not polite,
like the knights of the road in romance,
but s vore continuously, and
without artistic effect. One of the
bandits could not get oaths enough
between words, so he interjected a few
choice specimens of profanity between
the syllables, and greatly shocked a
professor from the Smithsonian Institution
by the coining of such words as
hesitdamnation,' meaning hesitation.
"The job was done in about five
minutes, and the robbers told the driver
to go ahead. We did so for a half
mile or so, when one of the passengers,
a silent man, whom I had taken
for j\ commercial man, said to the
driver, 'Go slowly, and wait for me at
the ford.' He then produced a Winchester
from the coach, and started
back over the road alone. 'Who is
lie?' we asked of the driver. 'Wells
Fargo man, I guess; never saw him
before, but I guess he knows his business.
If he conies back, he will have
got them; if lie don't, they'll have
got him.' Twenty minutes later we
heard some rapid firing. We stopped
at the ford.
"Nearly an hour passed, and then
the man who had gone back appeared
on tbc trail. He walked slowly, as if
in pain, and a bloody handkerchief
was tied ubout his head. 'Drive back
and get the box,' he said to the driver.
'Did you get 'em ?' asked the driver.
'Doth of 'em.' he replied. We drove
back. In the middle of the road where
we had been held up, both men lay
dead. The Wells-Fargo detective, calculating
that they would stop to rifle
the mail-bag and the strong box, divide
the plunder, and then separate, had
quietly walked back. One of them he
dropped with his Winchester, before he
was suspected; the other got in one
shot before he fell, and that had struck
the brave man a glancing blow on the
bead. Our property was all restored
to us. We helped bury the robbers
by the roadside. The brave officer refused
to accept the purse we hastily
raised for him, saying, 'The company
will pay me, gentlemen.' "
Thk Disk ok a Do v.?This boy goes
to business, and at his business begins
by simply doing the things he is told
to do and doing them in a common and
ordinary way. If he stops here, he
remains all his lifelong a drudge. Dut
if he begins to see that business lias a
significance : that his life is not merely
sweeping the store, not merely writing
letters, not merely selling goods; if lie
begins to see the higher life involved
11 business; if he begins to see that
business is a, greater instrument of beneficence
tlian what we call benefiienre
; that trade is clothing thousands
)f men where charity clothes ten ; that
igricultural and milling industries are
feeding thousands of men where charty
feeds ten ; if he begins to see how
[he whole history of the world is linked
together, and is (lod's way of building
;ip humanity, and serving humanity, as
:ie gets this larger view and enters
nto it. life is enriched and becomes
tself the minister whereby love is enarged
and conscience is strengthened,
he school wherein he is educated out
)f the lower into the higher, lie has
low risen, or is rising, from that which
s mortal into that which is immortal
uid eternal.?Dr. Lyman Abbott.
(1 uowixu Xkw Eyks.?A remark iblc
story is told of John lialiler, of
llattle Creek, Mich. Thirty-two years
igo he became totally blind. As his
iseless eyeballs became diseased they
iverc removed ; for ten years he wore
jlass eyes, but finally discarded them,
uid covered his sightless sockets with
i pair of smoked glass goggles. A
,'ear ago, as he was sitting with his
kViic one evening, ne suuueuiy inuugiu
hat lie perceived a light, and asked
his wife what was that, pointing in the
direction where he seemed to see
something. She replied that it was
, a lamp. On examination it was found
that small eyeballs were growing on ,
the ends of the optic nerves that were
left exposed when his eyes were removed.
Since that time his sight has
' gradually improved, and from being
i able to catch a sensation of light, he 1
is able in a good light to distinguish
I strong colors. It is said that he has
been examined by physicians, who de- | i
clare that there is no doubt about the j
formation of new eyeballs, but they :
say tney never heard ol such another
case. Bahler, who is a devout Adventist,
thinks that his siglit is returning as
a direct answer to prayer.?Picayune. !
TWO KINDS OK KVIDENCK.
Writers in the law periodicals are
j advocating all sorts of strange doe|
trines at present. One correspondent
thinks that circumstantial evidence
; should have scarcely any weight. His j
i argument is that when direct evidence ,
is given there is only the perjury of the I
witness to he guarded against, while
! in circumstantial evidence there arc
both the possibility of perjury and the i
i liability to a wrong inference from the
circumstances. The strength of circum- 1
stantial evidence, according to most
j writers, however, is that there is little
' probability of perjury, as the circum- J
stances are frequently slight in themselves,
and not likely to be distorted
by the witnesses who do not know
of their full effect. The New York
Tribune thinks it is probable that
many more unjust convictions have I
taken place from perjured direct'evi- 1
dence than from mistaken inferences
from circumstances.
Artemus Stewart, in "The American j
I Law Register," belittles the value of
, expert evidence to an even greater ex- >
teibt than most previous writers. Kng- J 1
j- lisn lawyers, writing to the London
: papers, have advocated to some extent
! a strange plan for doing away with all
, oaths in legal proceedings, on the
ground that perjury is so common that :
simple declarations to which the same j
penalties for incorrect statements [
might attach, would he just as valua- (
hie as testimony given under the present
form. Another new theory which
has found its advocates is that in crim- \
inal trials, except for treason, the defence,
as well as the prosecution, shall
! he conducted by public officials. This ,
; suggestion is rather more startling than ;
: any of the others, and is even more
; unlikely than they of adoption. It
may be that in the abundance of law
periodicals, writers find it easier to invent
a theory than to make some val- j
liable contributions to legal literature.
Going to Bed Hungry.?Dr. \V. j
T. Cathell has entered a strong pro
: test against tne oiu-msnioneu laeainat
i people should go to bed comparatively
I hungry. He is of the opinion that ,
I fasting during the long interval be- '
; tween supper and breakfast, and esj
pecially complete emptiness of the
' stomach during sleep, add greatly to
j the emaciation, sleeplessness and gen1
eral weakness so often met with. It
j is well known that in the body there ,
! is a perpetual disintegration of tissue, .
! sleeping or waking; it is, therefore, j
uatural to believe that the supply of ;
nourishment should be somewhat con- j
tinuous, especially in those whom the :
vitality is lowered. As bodily exer- !
I cise is suspended during sleep, with I
J wear and tear correspondingly dimin- ;
j ished, while digestion, assimilation and !
nutritive activity continue as usual,
the food furnished during this period
adds more than is destroyed, and in!
creased general vigor is the result. ;
All animals except man eat before ;
sleep, and there is no reason why man
should be an exception to the rule.
Dr. Cathell is satisfied that were the j
j weakly, the emaciated and the sleepless,
nightly to take a light meal of
! simple, nutritious food before going to i
bed for a prolonged-period, nine in
ten of them would be thereby raised to
i a better standard of health. He has
found that after digesting a bowl of
j bread and milk * * * or a saucer !
I of oatmeal or cream before going to
j bed, for a few months, a surprising in;
crease in weight, strength and general j
j tone has resulted. Persons who are too
: stout and plethoric are recommended to
j follow the opposite cgurse.?Philadel|
phia Press.
What Oleomargarine is Made
I Of.?Since we assume that most peoj
pie who speak about oleomargarine do
; not either know the method of its mani
ufacture nor the materials of which it
is composed, we wish to say that oleomargarine
is composed of butter, but!
ter oil, neutral lard, and oleo oil.
; Elgiu creamery butter and butter
: made at the factory daily are the products
used in oleomargarine.
Butter oil is made by pressing the
oil from American cotton seed. It is a
pure nutritious vegetable oil, which is j
used in small quantities to soften the
| texture of oleomargarine.
Neutral lard is pure, chilled leaf.
i lard, cooked at a low temperature, and
; is then put into a bath of pure cold
! water for about forty-eight hours,
which removes all flavor, leaving a
perfectly neutral material.
] Oleo oil is made from the choicest
j fat of beef cattle, chilled in ice water,
then melted at a temperature of 140? |
Fahrenheit. From this is pressed a
perfectly soluble oil known as oleo oil,
which is the only beef product used in
. oleomargarine.
, The above named ingredients, when
1 properly combined, salted, and worked
the same as butter, form what is known
j as oleomargarine, which is one of the
, most wholesome articles of food in ;
general use. the manufacture of which '
should not be prohibited.?National '
I Provisioned ! 1
teaT"''(iath" reports to the Chicago j
! Tribune a recent conversation with |
Mr. (ieorge Pullman, of the Pullman .?
- ? \t.. i11 ? *?i.i
far company. ?ur. i unman iuiu m,
teresting thing* of the company's business.
lie said : "We have 1 i>,000 employees.
of whom S.000 or 9,000 are
mechanics and mechanical operatives.
We serve 4,">00,000 meals over the
land, between the St. Lawrence and
Texas, and every one of these meals
has to have a voucher in this ollice.
We have built over 400 cars for the
World's Fair alone, at a cost of $5,500,i
000, and we own of palace cars between
2,200 and 2,.'500, and carried last
year more than *,00t),000 passengers:
our mileage in this country is five s
times the circumference of the globe. '
liesides, we are car-builders for any- '
body, and manufactured $10,000,000 I
j worth of cars last year. At the town i
n..u i ,
ui I m1111illij wiiiBiuc ui v.iiiingu, hi. i
pay $.'{,000,000 a year in wages. Our \
savings bank has over $">00,000 in it." t
j ? ,
i Thk Nava.ioks.?It is the opinion of .
men familiar with the character of the .
Navajo Indians, that a war with them f
will prove to be a serious business for
j the government. The tribe numbers
about 30,000, of whom 9,000 are fight- <
ing warriors. The reservation where j
! they are intrenched is rough and difli- 1
i cult, and contains many passes, where ;
: according to one authority, "two In- t
dianscan hold their ground against the (
entire United States army." The >
Xavajoes have trained their ponies to <
I go without water for two days, if nee- 1
essary. The whole tribe is armed (
with the most approved repeating ri fles, (
and the bucks have been storing amu- (
nition for years in anticipation of trou- ;
Die. i ne iMivujoes mive ;i j>ei itn i
system of signals and scouts, and are j \
' always informed hours in advance of i 1
j the movements of troops sent against j t
j them. j t
MARINE HAND'S IH'TIKS.
The Famous Organization K at Hit* l)i?po?al
of tin* I'rt'slilcnl.
The Marino band is considered in a
manner to belong to the president of
the United States. According to the
Washington Star it is always at his
disposal, so that the finest music is at
his command whenever he cares to
listen to it. At White Kou.se receptions
it is on hand with its most melodious
strains. Every member of it must enlist
in the ordinary way and serve five
years as a private at $13 a month, after
which lie may be promoted through
the grade of first, second and third
class musicians. A first-class musician
gets $35 a month; a second-class, $21 a
month, and a third-class, $17 a month.
The leader draws $90 a month. There
are thirty musicians and ten privates
in the baud. Every man of them gets
$48 a year extra for playing in summer
at the grounds of the eapitol and
the executive mansion. At the first
glance it seems astonishing that firstrate
musicians should be willing to
serve for such small pay. The fact
is that, as a rule, the men enlist for
the sake of the prestige which they
obtain from five years' service in the
Marine band. After serving out this
term they have become attached to the
organization and commonly remain
with it. They enjoy many privileges
which go far to make up for the small
renumeration which they receive.
They are permitted to earn money
outside by concerts and otherwise, in
this way making a great many dollars.
One source of income to them recently
has been tooting into huge brass funnels
for making phonograph record
cylinders. Thousands of these cylinders
have been sent out all over the
country, gratifying millions of listeners
with music of the Marine band at
second hand. Most people who have
heard this music by phonograph have
noticed without surprise the applause
which follows the rendition of each
piece. The signs of approval are actually
made by the members of the
I 1 *1. ...Un ,t on/1 n
UUIiU IIICIUSCIVW) ? UU OIIUUV Ull\i V iujr
as soon as they have finished delivering
a selection into the funnels aforesaid.
This is part of the business for which
they are hired, but it is very funny to
them applauding their own performance.
5lr. Sousa, who made his reputation
as a leader of this musical orchestra,
was himself a child of the
Marine band. His father was a member
of it, and he himself was trained to
it as a small boy. Twenty-five drummers
and buglers, temporarily attached
to the band, are always in training
at the barracks here. They are
boys enlisted at the ages of fourteen
to sixteen, and tlipy serve by enlistment
up to twenty-one, when they are
assigned to ships. It is their duty in
the service to sound the calls to quarters
in the morning, for hoisting and
pulling down the Hag, etc., whether
on shore or on board.
OLD TWO-SEED BAPTISTS.
A sect with a strange name is that
known as the Old-Two-Seed-in-theSpirit
Predestinarian Baptists, particulars
of which are given in a Census
Bulletin. It is a very conservative
body, and is not in sympathy with the
Kegular or Missionary, the Primitive
or any other body of Baptists. They
ar.e strongly C'alvinistic, holding firmly
to the doctrine of predestination.
The phrase "Two Seed" is understood
to indicate their belief that there are
two seeds, one of death aud one of life.
The former became implanted in man
when he fell from the state of holiness
in which he was created originally ; it
brings torth the fruitage of eternal
death. The seed of life is communicated
by the Holy Spirit to those who
are called and regenerated ; it springs
up into eternal life. Many of the TwoSeed
Baptists are strongly opposed to
a paid ministry. They hold that the
calling of the ministry is "to comfort
Zion, feed the Hock, and contend earnestly
for the faith once delivered to the
saints." They are Antinomians, and
do not believe that the help of a minister
is needed by the Saviour to reach
and save sinners. Sunday schools,
theological seminaries, Bible and missionary
societies, are regarded with
marked disfavor, as among the Primitive
Baptists. The census enumerates
forty-four associations, with four hundred
and fifteen organizations, three
hundred and thirty-three church edifices,
valued at one hundred and thirty-five
thousand two hundred and
thirty dollars, and ninety-nine hundred
and thirty-two communicants, scattered
over twenty-three States, and
most numerous in Texas, Tennessee,
Kentucky, Mississippi, and Arkansas.
Formiki: a Habit.?No effort is required
to form a bad habit. It forms
itself by mere repetition. Unpleasant
habits arc usually the result of thoughtlessness
in the beginning. It is so with
slang phrases, forms of speech, and
disagreeable mannerisms. Any habit
of word or manner once acquired is
only broken by most persistent effort.
In things comparatively small and frequently
practiced, we lose conciousness
of what is done, hence it is nigh impossible
to break away from their habitual
use. The safe way is to commence
right, and the only sure method
is to think about what is saiu or done.
If speech is golden we cannot afford to
let counterfeit words become current.
In accepting change we look carefully
at the five cent pieces and dimes, as
well as the larger coins. Words are
the currency of communication, and
they should he fitly chosen as well as
"fitly spoken.'' (food manneis do not
always insure uprightness, but when
assumed by a villain they are garments
stolen from the wardrobe of true gentility.
First of all the heart should be
right; then proper habit of speech
and manner should be the outward expression
of the true gentility of the
>oul.?Young Men's Kra.
Stars in* thk Fi.ag.?It is often remarked
as singular, and possibly an
ndication of lack of patriotism, that
:he average American, always exceptng
school children, cannot tell oflland
how many stars there now are
11 his country's flag. If any reader of
:his desires to try the question on ten
)f his friends lie will probably find that
mly three or four can give the correct
lumber even after a minute of bard
:bought. The ordinary reply will
range from thirty-eight to forty-two
stars, instead of the correct forty-four,
riie admission within four years of
S'ortli Dakota, South Dakota, Moilana,
Washington,Idaho and Wyomng
has brought the list up to the last
mentioned number. The shape of the
inion has been changed from a square
.0 a rectangle, and the stars are arranged
in six straight lines, the upper
uid lower ones containing eight stars
uul the remaining four having seven
stars.
Thk (?rkat Tkiumvihatk.?Ucf;rce
Murphy, of the San Angelo Standin!,
voices a true sentiment in the folowing:
"A preacher recently saiil that
i newspaper that told the truth, and
lie whole truth, couldn't he a pe uniary
success. The minister who
>vill at all times and under any eir uinstances
tell the whole truth about
lis members, alive or dead, might not
iceiinv the nulnit more than one Sun
lay, and in some cases might find it
convenient to leave town. The press
uul the pulpit go hniul in hand with
he whitewash brush and pleasant
vords, magnifying little virtues into
>ig ones. The pulpit, the press and
he gravestone are the saint-making
riumvirate."