Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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' None." "No?" mt "No. You see I have not found it possible to believe In all that your cler- of gyrnen accept." tin "No?" br< "No. I believe fully in one thing, ah though." \va "And that is " The detective turned sharply toward "Ba the waiting group. He tossed his cigar W! away with a sullen movement. da "Eternal punishment!" he said. to At which Miss Lurline Bannottle, the he: long time friend and companion of the wc newly wedded Mrs. Gilbert Senn, took I a it upon herself to weep once more. i And just then the carriages drove wa up again through the blinding storm. Gilbert Senn gravely assisted his tor bride to a place in one of the carriages, agi Hesitating a moment before taking his hei place beside her. Miss Bannottie pushed herself by him into the carriage, doi and the newly made husband found sta himself shut in with two women as the driver touched his horses with the slu whip and drove rapidly away. Iris Donald Barron and the detective fol- me lowed In the other carriage, while Rev. art John Kane faced the storm on foot. del Tim flfot nntrlnp'p rnvered the dis- it " ISSUED SEMI-WZEKL^^ l. m GRIST'S SONS, Pnbii.herS. { % Jfamilg Uetcspaper: 4or the promotion of the political, fiocial. ^griinttniat and Commercial Interests of the fJeogle. {TKR9?^'ciPVriAvE ce^.VA>CK' ESTABLISHED 1855. YORKVILLE, S. C., FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 1908. N~Q. ' rag m i e i By CLARENC: wwwwwwfuwinrwwfwii CHAPTER V. For a Father's Honor. There are possible events which ai worse than ruin, worse than loss ( money, worse than loss or rnenasni and faith and confidence. There ai alternatives presented to suffering: me and women, agrain and again, where th choice would be death?death in an awful and sudden and agrony-filled fori ?rather than the other side of the ter rible question. Do you wonder ths men and women find their hands nerv ed for .self-destruction, sometimes, an that "no reason is known" is too ofte all that the world can l?arn regardln the saddest and most fearful of huma tragedies?the tragedies of self-sacrl floe? Donald Barron knew that into his lif< if he lived, was coming that whic would embitter and darken it foreve It was written in his daughter's fac as she stood in the doorway, half hes itating before she came forward, brave ly and lovingly, as great a heroine a poet and sculptor ever made immortal it shone in her smile; it appeared i every movement and gesture. Could great angel, clothed in cloud, and brigh with majesty and power, have ben down from the heavens and offered th old man the choice between instan death and that future which a nobl human purpose had planned for hin his last breath would have been spen in making his answer?his last though would have been, "Thank God!" There are heights of self-abnegatioi so far removed from the ordinary plan of human experience that most mei doubt their existence until some sud den inspiration clears the mists am doubts away. Mr. Prler knew what wa coming when he saw Elsie Barron opei the door of the private office. He ha< seen all the depths of human depravity he had watched vile cunning am treacherous meanness; he understood how low crime may go. how wickei the heart may learn to be; but some thing from the other extremity of th long line of human impulse and passio] was acting itself out before his eyes He had seen men go to the gallows and he knew that they usually wen with an air of bravado which was o little credit to them. He had read, win ti true cynic smile, of the bravery o martyrs on their way to the stake. H< was watching: the bravest woman, now of whom he had ever heard; he wa* waiting: to see her do the bravest thin* he had ever seen done. She walked straight to Gilbert Senn did this woman, who had heard his au dacious demand as she stood for a mo ment just outside the door. "I will marry you," she said, "am guarantee the other conditions yoi mentioned." Then she turned toward Prier. "I hate you." she said, fiercely, "am I always shall; but one likes the res j>ect of one's enemies. I swore I wouh do anything for my father: I swore tha I was innocent. Do you believe mi now? Are you convinced?" "I am. I crave your pardon. I ' "Father!" she cried, springing towan the old man. He had fainted. Prier and Senn both hurried forward "Help me place him upon the lounge call for help;, send for a physician.' These were her hurried words to th< man whose everlasting and relentles enemy she had said she would be! stnnrt hark' Keen vour hand off! I will kill you if you touch him! That was what she said to the man sh had Just promised to marry! Ah, well! Consistency may be a jew el; it will never find a woman's heart ; fitting setting for itself until woman n' longer bears, in martyr-like silenc* and with saint-like resignation, th heaviest burdens laid upon the race. *** ??*** Expostulation had been of no avail There had been none to try its powe with the devoted girl, save her fathe and the detective; no others knew full; of Semi's confession and demand; fe\ others knew of her purpose. Senn hai been firm. He would recede from noth ing. He would modify no condition. Frier had had no power with hei His opposition had rather strengthene her purpose: his angry vehemence ha Miuoilated all her obstinate resolutio t? the point of absolute rebellion. Mr. Barron's opposition had grow weaker and weaker. Her sacrific would save everything else?his nami his life, his honor. She hid her pail She was brave. There was a smile up on her lips. So the end was what sh knew it would be?knew from the mo ment she went into her father's privat idlce at the bank. And the end had come! It was evening?Monday evening, th sevfnth day of November, eightee hundred and seventy. It had bee snowing for hours. The wind swep everywhere in icy waves, tossing th snow into drifts or fantastic snape: It was a fitting night?the sky like lea and the dead earth in its shroud?for beautiful woman to give her life an her future for a father's honor. The little church, standing back fro? the road, a little way from town, nestle among the trees, through whose branch es the bleak wind weirdly whistled, we dimly lighted up. Few knew why il narrow windows were aglow. Few ir quired. Passers-by drew coats t cloaks closer about them and hurrie on. That is the world's way, you knov One hasn't to go far in search of tragf dies in this world of ours?one has onl to pause where the wintry wind wai or where the summer sun scorchespause and watch and wait. It was late when two closely cui tained carriages drew up at the churc door. They left their loads there, an were driven swiftly away again, seemed as though the occupants mu: be ashamed of their errand, so muc did they evidently desire privacy. Ir deed, had Rev, John Kane been aske by one of whose honor and worth I had had less assurance than he had 1 '&w i FfSIBI V E BOUTELLE. immmmmtwnmii in ui mm i Donald Barron's case, he might have wondered? doubted ?investigated?declined! As it was, he only wondered e and doubted. >f Gilbert Senn came in the first of the P two carriages, and came alone. You 'e would not have taken him for a man n about to be married. As solemn a sacie rament as marriage is, his gravity and y seriousness?his deep and impenetrable ti gloom, perhaps I ought to say?could never have originated in the mere eonLt tern plat ion of his responsible present and his possible future, d Nor would Gilbert Senn have been n picked out as a criminal. His head was g erect. He looked steadily about him. n it would have been hard to believe that - he would have shunned the eyes of any one whom he might have met. He did f, not look like a man who had put himh self in danger of imprisonment and disr. grace. He did not seem a scoundrel e and an outcast. You can find in a half omoncr VAlll' npniiuint. - UUk> a uuon t?iivai niuwil(!) ,, wM? - ances a dozen men and women of pure .s and blameless lives whose cheeks would ; color quicker and whose eyes would n falter sooner under suspicion than a would those of Gilbert Senn. it The second carriage brought four it persons. Donald Barron descended e first. He was very pale. One could t not help thinking that he must almost e have his grave in sight, as he came i, down the carriage steps so slowly and t languidly. He was an old man?in t year's. He was an older man?in thoughts and feelings. He had grown a very old and very feeble in the hours e which lay between this storm-cursed n night and this day's morning. Donald Barron waited for his daughter. Her hand trembled as she laid it s upon his arm to support herself in leava ing the carriage. She looked as little 3 like a bride as one could imagine, ; dressed in black from head to foot, and 3 with a thick vail of heavy crape across 3 her face and about her shoulders. She 3 looked like a mourner; it was well she - did. Was she not about to bury her e hopes?her love?her womanhood?her i future? i. "I wish " she began, wistfully, as i, they stood where the light from the t open church-door fell upon them. She f paused, then, hesitatingly, ti "Well?" said her father, f "I wish I dared defy Mr. Senn, when e I am his wife, and shut the door of my old girlhood's home In his face." s "You cannot do that. Once his wife, X the law makes you his. Where he goes. he may command that you go also, and i, you must obey. It is a terrible fate, - Elsie, a terrible fate. Why marry him - at all? I have urged you not to sacrifice yourself thus for me. I had rather 3 die than that you should. Let us go 11 back." Her hand trembled upon his arm. But she looked back, with a silent 3 shiver, at the two who were following - them. She shook her head. Her old3 time friend and companion had bravet ly approved, though only partly undere standing, her ideas of duty, should she allow herself to fall below the merit of " the praise she had won? Detective 3 Prier had urged that she abstain from the sacrifice of her young life; should she give him the satisfaction of victory, I. after all? Never! Never! She only ; clasped her hand a little tighter over " her father's arm, and hurried a little e now, as though her resolution was proof s against everything?tears?sorrow? heartbreak?everything, except time! s They entered the church. Elsie Barron's lady companion had e objected to coming to the church; she had, as I have already said, strength ened Elsie's resolution by her strong a words of approval; hut she shrank, so o she told her friend, from being a wit?, ness to the sacrifice: at the last moe ment, however, she had consented to come. She kept her vail down, never raisin# it from the time she left her I. room until she was safely in it again, r and Mr. Prier. who took a deep interest r in her. notwithstanding the fact that y Mr. Barron and his daughter had both v neglected the formality of an introduc[1 tion. felt certain that she cried eon stantly from the time she entered the carriage until she entered it again. r. when the ceremony was over, to return il to Mr. Barron's house. It would have d been strange, could one have suddenly n lifted her vail, to have found other than tears?laughter, for instance, n While Mr. Barron and his daughter e exchanged the few sentences which ?. have been recorded, as they went up to v the church. Mr Prier and Elsie Bar ron's friend followed in silence. Mr. c Prier had politely offered his arm; the - lady had declined it with a gesture, c After which the two walked well apart. Just at the church door the lady slipped. Prier sprang to her assistance, '! and her thick veil just escaped his n fingers. She recovered her footing n without aid, however, and Mr. Prier pushed hack into his pocket the casket * which had almost slipped out. It came * very near going down under foot, d It isn't expedient, just at present, to n explain how near these two inconsiderate characters of mine, with careless footsteps and insecurely kept packages, t came to spoiling my story. Which J with tlie heroine and?and another prominent character?about to unite lS their future in marriage, would have ts been, from a historian's point of view, i- utterly without excuse. ,r Elsie Barron and her father went ford ward to the altar, Gilbert Senn was alv' ready waiting there. J. B. Brier took a seat in one of the front pews. The ly lady took a seat across the aisle from Is him. She seemed strangely hysterical, ? her frame shook with suppressed emotion during the whole time which she > sat there. Indeed, out of all those presb ent. Gilbert Senn and Elsie were the id two calmest and most self-controlled, It Rev. John Kane began the marriage st service, the beautiful service of the 'li Episcopal church. I hope for the sake ?- of Rev. John Kane that he did not ever 'd dimly guess how much of a mockery ie it was. In "If any man can show just cause why I they may not lawfully he joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace." The clergyman made a longer pause than he had ever made before at that place. Rut 110 one spoke. Gilbert Senn bowed his head a little lower than he had held it before. Elsie Barron, soon to be Elsie Barron no more forever, could be heard weeping softly behind her thick, black veil, as the gale outside half ceased?as though the very elements were listening for a righteous interruption. Elsie's father | grew paler, if possible, but what could he say more than he had said already? ! Elsie's friend sat listening expectantly, but she said nothing; what was there for her to say at a time like tills? Mr. Frier said nothing; he was like the rest in that. Rut. if he had only spoken 1 his thoughts aloud, I think the Rev. John Kane would have sent Elsie Barron home. Elsie Rarron still. These were the unvoiced thoughts which stood just behind his firm lips, waiting for the tongue which made no sign: "Or else hereafter for ever hold his peace!" Should I speak? I am going to betray this man' to the authorities, not for a paltry robbery, but for an atrocious and pitiless murder. Little by little, link by link. I am going to weave the chains of proof about him. I shall convict him. I shall use money and Influence at the beginning of every road which might lead to freedom for him; I shall watch at every door where he might find pity and mercy; I shall be sleepless and tireless; I shall hierit success, merit it through courage and energy, and I shall win it. And so, one day, this man will look up into the blue sky through a closely fitting noose ?l?M>k up for the last time: they will draw the black cap down over his eyes; and then?and then " The clergyman was speaking again. Mr. Prier would not have put his words into audible language, but if he had intended. for a moment, to do that, it was now too late. "Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, com fort lier. nonor, ana Keep iier m mttvness and in health; and, forsaking: all others, keep thee only unto her. so long: as ye both shall live?" Elsie Barron raised her veil with a sudden motion which was full of grace and dignity. Pale and tearful, she had never been so lovely in all her life before. It may be possible that she had had a half-formed hope that the sight of her suffering face would move Gilbert Senn to pity, and so save her. If she had such a hope, if she had cherished such a dream, she lost. Senn drew back; the agony in his face deepened in intensity; the tears stood in his eyes. Why? Can you not make a rea-j sonable guess at the reason? She was a beautiful woman?a radiantly beautiful woman?standing there in the 'amplight, a sort of comb, ending in an old fashioned cross, set with pearls, looking as though it might have been an heirloom in the family for generations, thrust carelessly into her hair, her only ornament. "I will," said Gilbert Senn, his voice hoarse and harsh. And, if there was any mental reservation in his marriage with this woman, let us not now inquire too closely. The ceremony was soon over. J. B. Prier signed his name in the register as a witness, and hurried out upon the stone steps; the church seemed so close and hot that lie was almost stifled; he almost wished he had spoken. "I'll be blamed if I don't hang somebody!" he muttered. The other witness, Elsie's companion and friend, was more leisurely than the detective had been. Indeed she had scarcely got her glove off by the time Mr. Prier was outside in the wind and storm. She signed with care. "Lurline Bannottie" looked very well, indeed. when she was done, though the cross to the t's and the dots for the i's were made a little spitefully, not to say viciously. "It's just as well she said, thoughtfully to herself, but was thoughtless enough (if I've used the right word) to leave her self-addressed statement unfinished. "You will take me home?that is, to my father's home?I presume, Mr. Senn. until you have?have?have completed the necessary business with my father?" asked Elsie. "Certainly," answered Senn. They waited a little for the carriages, some of them standing just outside, nn,i others iust within, the church. It was a strange group. Prier stoop just outside, vigorously chewing a cigar which he had forgotten to light. Scnn had moved close up to him. as though there was something of safety there, and more comfort in that silent companionship than could be found elsewhere. Donald Barron and his daughter stood inside, the old man leaning heavily and feebly upon her. They seemed to have forgotten the presence of any others. The clergyman, not far away, tried to think of something appropriate to say to Miss Bannottie. He had the reputation of being a gifted conversationalist. I believe some one classes silence as a strong feature in the character of a man who would rank as a great converser; if that be correct, the fame which the Rev. John Kane enjoyed was undoubtedly his due; lie could think of nothing appropriate to say: he said nothing. The Rev. John Kane, however, was emphatically a man who must talk?a typical American, if you please. If Miss Bannottie's presence could not be an inspiration to him, some one else's . t * ?u-lmi-o the ilc UlUSl. I It" uuiiir i in i <-v> uv> v ?tective stood, and being. like Miss Bannottie, among" those who had not met the acute individual that day through the regular channel of an introduction, he introduced himself, and attempted to lay the kindly foundation of a pleasant chat. "My name is Kane. John Kane," he said, extending his hand. "Mine's Prier." said that gentleman. "Glad to know you. An old friend of the family, I presume?" "Old. and a friend of the family." said Prier, a little ambiguously. He looked old at that moment?very old, much older than he had looked before ! since his arrival in Boomville; whether ' he looked like a friend of the family is, ' perhaps, an open question, i "You are from " "Boston." snapped Prier. "Indeed. To what church do you be' long?" tanco between the church and Donald Ca Barron's residence In much less time than the other did. Miss Bannottle was Prl out first, out almost before the car- 1 rlage had stopped, and running up the the steps, she entered the house without a wa word. wa Gilbert Senn helped his wife from the am carriage. He walked up the steps with wa her. or "Go in." he said, sternly, "and try to thr be happy. So far as you and your me home arc concerned, your life is to be '] as though I had never been. While Th you live here I shall simply be the man Th outside!" be "I do not understand " she be- Mr gan. He made a gesture of impatience. dei "Don't," he said; ."let us not waste Th words. I hope I may never look upon no^ your face or hear your voice again." of "Thank you," she murmured, holding yoi out her hand. vet He affected not to see it. He opened am the outside door. He pushed her gent- vai ly into the hall. He drew the door shut ? and ran down the steps to meet P.arron shi and Prier, who were just alighting from no) their carriage. "Now, gentlemen," ho said. "I am gal ready to get the money." '1 The three men went together, buffet- her ed by the wind, stung by the sleet and bee cold, and thoroughly powdered with it i snow. They passed in at a gate, at no roe very great distance from the house, faji leading- to the grounds of Barron's res- 0f ; idence. They walked back, away from j the street, away from and out of sight > of the house, until Senn stopped in the tog midst of a small clump of trees. vvh "There," he cried, pointing toward a mji nlaee where it was evident, despite the is.t< already deep snow, that the ground had tab recently been disturbed, "there Is where eff, I buried the stuff at first." wa] "Rather a cool proceeding, to bury a man's money on his own premises, wasn't it?" asked the detective. "Perhaps so," said Senn, with a rather unsatisfactory attempt at a laugh: "but I dare say I've impressed you as being rather given to cool proceedings, haven't I?" Ed "Yes. you have," replied Prier. . * Senn then retraced his steps. He led toj( his two companions back toward the hop street, back into plain view of the house, an( 0(] back to the gate. He stooped down near the gatepost, turned a stone from r the place where it had lain, and took woi the tin box from its place beneath the ell'i stone. Dl. "Any one might have found that inf< there." said Prier. wel f T*() or>a AAnaMinonilv no one . would look there." retorted Senn. car Mr. Barron took the box. The three rig; men went together to the bank. Senn wai the took his key to the outside door from ^j)e his pocket he handed it to Mr. Barron. me "Please keep it until tomorrow," he hin said; "keep it until I am your part- fe" ner." of , Mr. Barron opened the door with hin Senn's key. They all went in. aru "Please count the money and see that it is all right." requested Senn. tj,e Mr. Barron opened the tin box. Sev- rat eral minutes of silence ensued. After ^ac ,, . ani that: "It is all correct," he said. Ho "And now," said Senn, "will you kei carefully lock it up in your safe, first changing the combination by which it wj, can be opened, and not letting any one T \ except your daughter know how to get Wf in until tomorrow?" Mr. Barron attended to the safe while ha> Senn and Prier smoked, the former bef thoughtfully and meditatively, the lat- 3 us( ter watchfully and doubtfully. nei "I am done." said Mr. Barron, at last, hui closing the door of his safe with a clang, "and I suppose there is nothing * more that we can do tonight." "Nothing, I think," said Senn, rising ' and going over to the window. "The reI> storm is almost over. It will be a bet- "ut ter day tomorrow." in* "A better day?a better day," said bul Prier to himself, the grim smile in its *he place upon his face again, and his hand me busy with the mysterious parcel which reg has claimed so much of his attention ver since we have had the honor of his ac- ert quaintance. "We shall see what sort of 'n a day it will be: we shall see. I'll def be " cor And he ceased muttering, and gave himself up to his thoughts again. ^ "A better day!" moaned Donald Bar- ^ ton; "a better day! God grant I may 1T^a never know the misery of a worse one!" of He moved across the room, stood close by the side of Gilbert Senn, and laid his hand upon tlie young man's shoul- sta der. "You've done a mean and cow- are ardl.v and treacherous thing." he said, tl,t "as well as a desperately wicked one. I was your friend, Gilbert Senn, when you needed a friend, and when besides j myself you had only one other in all his the world. My daughter was the prom- me ised wife of that other friend, and you [!*' thf were the most trusted man in my employ; that was only two days ago. So What now? You robbed me. Robbery c'a was ruin to me. No one knew that bet- ?lt ter than you did, and no one knew bet- pia ter than you how hard a bargain it was is wise to try to drive. You boasted of sf.a elii your crime, rou demanded a terrible ClM price for restitution, a price which was hit paid only against my earnest protest, stl , ,, vis and ma "I kept my word, did I not?" demanned Senn, raising his head, and opi turning until he could look Mr. Rarron sta in the eyes. sy, 'You did, and I shall keep mine. Tourow I shall make you my partner." 'Tomorrow?tomorrow," with a shade disappointment in his voice, and let iff his head fall forward upon his east again; "tomorrow is a long way . end"?speaking reflectively?"a long iy into the future." 'It shall be done tomorrow," asserted rron again; "and now tell me this: 1 here shall you take your?your?my 1 ughter? Will you be kind and good ! her? Will you try to make me and '< r forget the cruel way in which you ' >n her? If you will, if you only will, vill bless " ( 3enn put up his hand as though to * rd off a blow. 'Don't. I bade her farewell forever light; I hope I shall never see her iin. He assured that I shall not cross r path unless she crosses mine." 'But what?what?why have you le as you have? I do not undernd." 'No matter," turning sharply, and iking Barron's hand impatiently from shoulder: "since you have your ney and your daughter back, what ' my reasons to you? Call it a sudi temptation; call it cowardice; call remorse; call it what you please. Il it anything?anything " Except the truth." Interrupted Mr. ler. They put out the lights. They left bank. The three men all went by y of Senn's boarding place. The sky s clear now, but the wind was higli :1 the night was bitter cold. There s little conversation. Circumstance Fate or Providence has seldom own three more strangely assorted n together. "hey paused at Senn's boarding place, e cold was keener and sharper, erf was no reason why there should time wasted in leave-taking. But . Barron lingered. Gilbert Senn," he said, "I wish I un stood all this. I trusted you fully, en I distrusted you utterly. And J ,v, you put out of your hands some a the powers you have won; you sell 9 lr manhood and your honor?your y soul even?for certain advantages, 9 1 then you neglect using those ad- * it ages. I do not understand and?" 9 5enn looked up toward the stars, f ning so clearly in the upper blue, * v that the storm had drifted away. 1 And I pray God you never may," he d. with solemn emphasis, i'he great detective turned away his a id. It may be that he had never 9 n connected with such a case before. f Tiay be that the man whose long ca- v r had known but one professional * lure saw in his future the possibility C another one. 3 Jo matter. 1 le only shut his teeth a little tighter t ether and Informed himself of a fact 1 ich should have been sufficiently faiar by that time, the fact which re- s ?d to the blame which would inevi- S ly fall upon him if he failed in his n >rts to see that some guilty wretch s duly and regularly hanged! 3 To be Continued. WILD HOGS. s sy Were at One Time Plentiful on Moore's Mountain. e Itor of The Yorkville inquirer. 2 laving read with considerable interthe story that Mr. John T. Latham 1 you some time ago about the wild 1 ;s of his recollection in the Gaston 1 1 Harshaw woods. I am also remindof old times when wild hogs were her common. e lack in 1847 or 1848 a large body of ii r>a? n? what is known as Moore's untain. about two miles above Hows ferry and about a mile from the e Wright place, was pretty thickly ested by wild hogs. These hogs r re said to have strayed originally m Josiah C. Smith and Jerry Moss, is to where the hogs came from. I e mot say: but they were wild all 1 lit. There is no question of that. I s right smart chunk of a boy about . n. and I remember mefeting one of hogs out in the open. He came at as if he would tear me up. I saw t 1 some distance away. There was a t ce near by and I got to it first, loss went out one day to catch some the hogs. He had a negro along with a n. A big hog got after the negro f 1 he skinned up a tree. It happened t there were no limbs on the tree. " e hog went on guard at the foot of tree and after a while the negro be- a i slipping down; but fortunately p k Bryant rode up about that time i scared the hog away, loss and Smith both lived on the 1 well's ferry road. Mr. T. W. WII- r son now occupies the house in which ith used to live. )nce when I was staying over in at is now a part of Cherokee county. uu.-i.i-j1 hill's mi JI hunt. * had but one dog. We caught one in before we crossed the river, and er we got over on the York side we F rged nine 'possums We got back ore 12 o'clock. e rlr. Ed Byers and tlie Parker boys (d to catch lots of red fox in this y ghborhood. It was a paradise foi iters in the old days. j M. F. S. McCullough. -ockhart. S. C'.. February 20. ( i Sknsiulk Mkasphk.?The house of r iresentatlves yesterday passed withdlvision Mr. Harman's bill prohibit the sale in South Carolina of any s t safetv matches. It is stated that e i bill has been considered "a freak t) asure." Why should it have been so c arded? It is certainly founded on a y wise regard for the safety of prop- ^ y against fire, and is just as sound principle as the regulations against 'ective electric wiring and careless istruction of chimneys and inflatable character of roofing that are in ce in practically all communities. Undoubtedly many fires are caused carelessness with easily ignited tches, left or dropped about in out c the way places, where they may be pped on or gnawed by rats or other- ] *e fired unknowingly. Especially is > danger of loss from such cause connt in the rural districts, where there no facilities for fighting' nres, ana j > estimate of a saving of $100,000 a j ir by the Harman measure is probanot extravagant.?Charleston Post. ^ r 3i kask's Platform.?in announcing ' candidacy for governor this sumr. Cole L. Please lias given out the t lowing statement for publication in . daily papers: 'I am a candidate for governor of uth Carolina and will submit my .? Ims to the Democrats of South Carna at the primary this summer. I ipose to raise the standard as to ] itforms, and if the whisky question * an issue my position will be, as ever, ( te dispensary, and with that issue minated. then I am in favor of each inty voting upon the question of pro- * >ition, county dispensaries or license 1 ietly under the constitutional proions, with a proviso to Imprison any in who violates the law as passed by > general assembly. I am absolutely t posed to the so-called old barroom <tem. and would, under no cireum- . inces. sign a bill to reinstate that stem." * iUisccllancouo iUadintj. SOUTH CAROLINA SENATORS. Two Lines of Succession?Those Who Have Died In Office. Since the formation of this govern- , ment, South Carolina has had thirtyIve representatives in the United , States senate. Some of these names tre illustrious in national history as .veil as beloved and revered at home. There are eight of this number who ; lied in office: John Ewing Calhoun, Fohn Gaillard, John C. Calhoun. Frank- ( in H. Elmore. Andrew P. Butler, Joslah F. Evans. Joseph Ft. Earle and Ashury J. Latimer. ( John Gaillard served longer than any | >ther senator from this state, nearly , :wenty-two years continuously. Frank- 1 in H. Elmore, who succeeded John C. Jnlhoun. served but twenty-three days i jefore his own death. Among those senators who also served the state as governor are Charles FMnckney, John Taylor. S. D. Miller. | Jeorge McDuffie, J. H. Hammond, iVade Harr|pton and B. R. Tillman. There were several senators who re- i signed. In the early days of the re jubllc it seemed to bo the proper thing I 'or n senator to resign before ills term < expired. Those who from one cause or i mother resigned are Pierce .Butler < twice). John Hunter. Charles Pinck- 1 ley, Thomas Sumter, John Taylor, i Robert Y. Hayne, Stephen D. Miller, 1 Tolin C. Calhoun, D. E. Huger, William i ?. Preston, George McDuffle, R. B. I thett, James Chestnut, Jr., and James J. Hammond. Some resigned to be- I some governor. Mr. Calhoun resigned o become vice president. The largest number of senators in i my one year was in 1850. Calhoun i lied March 31: Elmore died May 20, Jarnwell was appointed June 4, and i vas succeeded by Rhett December 18. < fudge A. P. Butler was the junior sen- < tor who was the contemporary of these ! enators In that year. < There were from the beginning two ] enators. Pierce Butler was allotted i he four-year term and Ralph Izard the i Ix-year term. At the expiration of the ] bur-year term it too became a six- | ear term. This was in order to keep he two offices from being co-terminal, j Pierce Butler served seven years ana < esigned. Later lie served two years nd resigned again. William Smith erved seven years. loiter he served Ive years. John C. Calhoun served ten 'ears and resigned. His successor afer two year's sendee, resigned and Calhoun was returned to his old seat, erving five years?until his death. These are the only cases of senators eing returned after once retiring from he senate. Senator Tillman today occupies the eat once held by Pierce Butler; and Senator Latimer succeeded to the chair f Ralph Izard. Following is the list of senators who ucceeded Pierce Butler: Pierce Butler, service commenced Jarch 4. 1789; re-elected 1793; reslgnn 1796. John Hunter, December 8th, 1796, reigned 1798. Charles Pinckney, March 4, 1798; lected for full term in 1799; resigned 801. Thomas Sumter, December 3, 1801; in 80f? elected for full term; resigned 810. John Taylor, December 19, 1810; lected in 1811 for full term; resigned n 1816. William Smith, December 4, 1816; lected in 1817 for full term. Robert Young Hayne, March 4, 1823; e-elected 1829. and resigned in 1832. John C. Calhoun. December 12, 1832; lected for full term in 1833; re-elected 841. Resigned 1842. Re-elected 1845. Daniel Elliott Huger, December 15, 842: resigned in 1845. John C. Calhoun. December 26, 1845; o fill out Huger's term; elected full erm in 1847: died March 31, 1850. Franklin h. Elmore, April n, is;>u; i ppointed temporarily by governor to j ill out Calhoun's term, and died May I 0. ] Robert W. Barnwell, June 4, 1850; I .ppointed temporarily by governor to l ill out Elmore's term. < Robert Barnwell Rhett, December 18, ] 850; elected by legislature to perma- i lently till out Calhoun's term. Resign- s d in 1852. Win. F. DeSaussure. May 10. 1852. ( Josiah J. Evans, March 4, 1853, died ? ,la.v 6, 1858. 1 Arthur P. Hayne, May 11, 1858: ap- 1 lointed by governor temporarily. I James Chesnut, Jr., December 3. 1858; l lected full term in 1850. Retired from I enate November 10, 1860. For the next four years there was a i datus?during the war between the I tates. Senator Chesnut's term would l lave expired in 1865. ] Benjamin F. Perry and John L. Man- < ling were elected in 1865, but never 1 lualifled. ( Then followed the period of recon- i truction. Thos. J. Robertson and Fredrick A. Sawyer were elected on June j - i sot si Ruhf rtson ha<t the seat which i anie down from Pierce Butler, and in 871 succeeded himself, serving until 877. M. C. Butler, March 4, 1877; re-eleet d 1883 and in 1889. B. R. Tilman, March 4. 1895, re-eleetd in 19ni and 1906. Ralph Izard, March 4. 1789, six years. Jacob Read, March 4. 179"). John Ewing Calhoun. March 4. 1801; lied November 23. 1802. Pierce Butler, (who had resigned in 796). November 1802: resigned 1804. John Galllard, December 6. 1804, looted for full term in 1807; in 1813: in 819 and in 1825. Died February 26, .826. William Harper, March 8. 1826: apjointed by governor to succeed Gailard. William Smith, elected by legislature o succeed Galllard. November 18, 826. Stephen D. Miller, March 4, 1831. Resigned in 1833. William C. Preston, November 26, , .833: elected for full term in 1837. Re- , signed in 1842 (at the same time with , ..it iii>>uii;. Geo. McDuffle, December 1S42; elect>d in ls43 for full term; resigned in 1846. Andrew Pickens Butler, December 21, [846: elected 1849 for full term: and j iguin in 1855. Died May 25, 1857. . James Hammond, Dec. 7, 1857; reired from senate November 1ft. 186ft (at same time with Chesnut). After the interim occasioned by the war, Frederick A. Sawyer was elected June 25, 1868, for live years. John J. Patterson, March 4, 1873. Wade Hampton, March 4, 1879: reelected in 1885. John L. M. Irby, March 4, 1891. Jos. H. Earle, March 4, 1897; died June 1. 1897. i John L. McLaurin, appointed to sue- . ceed Jos. H. Earle in 1897. Teerm ex- < pired March 3, 1906. Asbury C. Latimer, elected in 1903. I Died February 20. 1908. Term expires < March 3, 1909. 3 The basis of representatives in the ' congress of the Confederate States of 11 AmoHr?a was tho same as feir the I ( United States senate. The South Carolina senators in the Confederate congress were James L. Orr of Anderson, and Robert W. Barnwell of Beaufort. They were commissioned December 20, 1861, and served until the dissolution of the Confederacy.?The State. LAST DAYS OF THE WAR. Interesting Reminiscences of the Surrender by a Chester Man. Chester Lantern. This was a very exciting time with man and beast. The men and women illd not know just whom or what to expect. The horses and cows and chickens, though few In number, did not have much to eat. The negroes thought that the long looked for Jubilee had come at last and that forty acres of land and a mule would be the fulfillment of prophecies. It was a time of mourning to many because their loved ones did not return from the war. It was a time of joy and gladness to some to receive father or husband or brother into their arms again. Many were filled with great anxiety, and some seemed to think that it would be a good time for the world to come to an end. Everybody knew that Sherman and his thieving soldiers were gone, but still there were fears lest what was left of personal property might be taken away. Many valuable LI La4 Kill iliili?a uuu utrcu uuncu wx uiuucu, no one knew whether or not to bring Lhem to light. Every train was an excitement, and iwaited with anxious looking to know whom or what it would bring. For many days long trains of freight cars :ame loaded with Confederate mlll:ary supplies, especially, ammunition, :annon balls, loaded bomb shells, cariridges and artillery powder in barrels and kegs. The cars were up by :he woods above where the old oil mill jnce stood and were in the care of no rgcnt or guard. Anybody who wanted inythlng In the cars just helped him?elf. No one seemed to realize the ?reat danger of walking on gunpowder , learly shoe mouth deep. The powder tiad been poured out Just to get the aarrels and kegs. The shells and balls were thrown out in the ditch and no ( loubt many are there now burled up 1 ilong the railroad track. With the 1 isslstance of my brother, I hauled I 1500 pounds to my father's house in < ?ast Chester, dug a hole in the middle { af the garden and put 800 pounds in < :he hole and then poured water on It. 1 We then rolled a large tierce into the ' garden and poured 700 pounds in it < ind poured water on it. Our first ob- < iect was to keep the Yankee soldiers 'rom getting the powder, and to make t safe on our hands, we poured water in It. Our second object was to make 'ertilizer; because gunpowder is composed of sulphur, saltpetre and charcoal. So we had 1125 pounds of sulphur, 187i pounds of saltpetre and 187J charcoal In a non-explosive harmess condition. I put the fertilizer on >ur corn and beans and cabbage and potatoes that spring and we had a fine garden by the use of a novel fertilizer. In passing the depot late one evenng I saw all the doors open. I walked in and saw nothing but a box and a :runk. I could see that the box was 'ull of books. The box was more than i square yard in size. The next mornng I went to the depot and the agent, Mr. Robinson I think, told me that fie knew nothing about the box or ;runk and he advised me to take charge of them and haul them home. [ had a key that unlocked the trunk ind I found in It a fine Confederate surgeon's uniform,- a fine pistol, some surgical instruments, letters and a iiary, with the surgeon's name and id dress. In abuut a month I wrote to film that I had his trunk. In a few ivceks I heard from him, and sent him his trunk by express. I have forgotten his name, but I remember that he ived in Sumter or Darlington. I kept a diary through all the war ind if I had the books of each year from I860 to 1867, I could refresh my memory and tell a great many things [ saw and heard and felt in South Carnlina, North Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia. But all my diaries are in Dklahoma or California in the care of my daughters. When I opened the box, I was surprised and delighted to And that the nooks belonged to Jefferson Davis. ' Some had his name in them, some Varlna Davis and some Eliza Davis. Some of the books were in the finest ' kind of binding, others were old and f not well bound. It was reported that { [he Yankee soldiers would search ev- < ?ry house in town to find Confederate 1 property. This caused me to tear out 1 [he names in the books so that no one 1 ;ould say that they belonged to Pres- < ident Davis. I knew the Yankees were < trying to get him but I was determined I that they should not get any of his ' Pooks in my care. < One evening just as the sun was go- ? ne down, two erentlemen dressed in 1 citizen's clothes drove up to the gate, rhoy were In an ambulance, and asked !or lodging. We did not know whether they were friends or foes. My father, 'not forgetful to entertain strangers." told them to come in and feel at home, rhey did not turn out to be "angels." but the older one proved to be Gen. Braxton Bragg, a hero of two wars, the other, Col. Johnson, one of President Davis' secretaries. We were glad of the privilege of entertaining such distinguished men and we gave them the very best entertainment at our command. They seemed despondent and careworn, told us of the surrender and that President Davis was going towards Georgia, between Chester and Yorkville, not making himself known to any one. The next morning I showed to them Lhe books of President Davis. Col. 1 VNi.a .1. 1 G.rma honwd. Johnson picked out a half dozen or more of the nicest, saying, "I shall take them to Mr. Davis." I said to him, "Tell President Davis that I will take care of the balance, and you can tell him where they are," giving him my name and address. I never heard anything more of Gen. Bragg or Col. Johnson or Jefferson Davis in reference to the books. I moved to "West Virginia and left all of the books in the care of my sister, Mrs. J. W. Baird, except nine volumes of the American Encyclopedia by Prof. Lieber of the 3. C., college, bound In cloth. The books left with my sister were destroyed by a cyclone that blew her house ?way and everything it it, chimney, and all the pillars thereof. I took the encyclopedias to West Virginia, whore [ lived and preached for twenty-five pears. When I returned to South Carolina I brought the books with me and it the late S. C. U. D. C. convention In Chester I turned over the books to Mrs. D. R. Wright, the chairman of the Historical Society, that they might be kept and preserved as souvenirs of the noble leader of the Confederacy, on the condition that If any of tils descendants should ever ask for Ihem. they shall be delivered up to them. The morning thut Gen. Rragg left my father's house he took a large bunlie out of his ambulance and gave it to me saying, "This is the last flag cap-. tured during the war." I do not re- . member at what battle he said, but 1 think it was some place In North Carbllna. The flag was large and very . beautiful, made of heavy blue silk with an eagle painted on it. The staff was made of mahogany, had a joint in the middle so that it could be folded together. It was a most magniflcant lag, as fine as it could be made of mahogany, silk and polished brass ornaments. It had "New Jersey" painted on It, but I have forgotten the reg-ment. Gen. Bragg did not tell me what to do with it. We all admired its beauty, but had no love for those who carried it in battle against the :ause wc loved so dearly. We really 3id not know what to do with It. But we had it, and unlike the Philistines wun ine urn, ?\e uiu nut .vuiil h cyci to get back Into the hands of those who owned It. So we took it off the Jtaff, rolled It up Is as small a bundle is we could, to Us great Injury, and juietly hid it. We told but few people about It for fear the Yankees should hear of it and take it by force. For a year or more It remained under :he garret floor, and when It was taken put It fell into pieces, a ruined mass f silk strips and paint, and then It went up In smoke as many Southern homes had done perhaps by the hands pf those who had carried it. But I im glad that a change has taken place n our northern and southern hearts, [f I had that beautiful flag now, I :ouM fold it up with a Palmetto flag ind send it back to New Jersey in :oken of peace and friendship. John H. Simpson. ? ? OUR PACIFIC FLEET. 223,000 Tons Naval Strength In Our Squadron. The fleet is made up of 223,000 tons )f lighting ships, mounting 925 modern nine of the latest Improved types, says Barper's Weekly. Although the 13-inch ?uns are the Tieariest tti all the ships, :he most powerful weapons in the fleet ire the 144 12-inch guns.' Each one of ihese shoots a projectile weighing 870 pounds, with a muzzle velocity of 2,700 feet a second and a muzzle energy of 14,000 foot-tons, which is to say a pow;r that could lift 44,000 tons one foot. It is difficult even for a navy man to jrasp the full significance of the figures :hat tell of the effectiveness of these freat ships. Probably no battleship is setter known to Americans than the Oregon, which raced around South America from the Pacific In 1898, and with her thirty-six guns played a most iffectlve part in the destruction of Cer.'era's fleet off Santiago. n^nftria poocntlv Mmof equal tonnage with the Oregon, also carries thirty-six guns, but they are vastly more effective. The Oregon has 'our 13-inch guns in her main battery; The Georgia four 12-inch guns in her main battery. Each has eight 8-inch funs. The Oregon has four 6-inch guns igainst twelve on the Georgia. The Georgia has twelve 3-inch guns, whereis the Oregon had twenty mere 6xmnders. Gunnery experts declare :hat the Oregon develops 918,456 foot:ons of energy in five minutes of firing vhile in the same time the Georgia develops 3,927,172 foot-tons of energy. That is to say, the Georgia is five limes as effective as the famous Oregon. This advance is due to the increased rapidity of fire, due to improved mechanism in handling the guns and :he Improved methods of trainjng the runners. Marvelously excellent mechanical devices have much to do with :he greater efficiency, but best of all is :he system of teamwork in each gun crew, whereby every man, In obedience ;o signals given, if necessary in panlomime, does his work with all the speed and precision of a football or aaseball player, to whom instantaneous ntelligent action is the price of vie nrv GUIDE POSTS IN FRANCE. \ Striking Feature of the Road* Throughout the Country. A feature of the roads of France is :he ever present guidepost. These juideposts consist of an iron plaque ibout two feet long and a foot high securely mounted on sturdy posts or fas:ened to some substantial wall. They tre painted in white and blue and show ivithout any possibility of mistake not mly the commune or township in which :hey stand, but the next important place in either direction as well as the distances between al lthe chief points upon that route. Thus you will find if you ire traveling on a road which leads to Paris that the name of the metropolis nill appear on the signboard, although It may be several hundred kilometers jistant. In addition to these guideposts the Touring Club of France has put on the tchief roads a series of signs and symL-' ' - mnfnflafa anil hvnV OOIS HI Iliuicaic iw u.v/vv/. V...V. clists what sort of a road they are approaching'. The sign "ralentlr," which translated into good United States means to "let up," has caused many a motorist who is unfamiliar with the road he is traveling to slow down and to find shortly after the sign had been passed that it was well that he paid attention to it because of a steep grade or some aprupt turn. There is no excuse. in view of the symbols and signboards, for any one motoring in France to get on the wrong road or to come unexpectedly into trouble.?Frank Presbrey in Outing Magazine.