Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, November 17, 1908, Image 1
?- ^ " ' _ _ ISSUED SEJWCI- WISEIKXV^^
l. m. grist s sons. publishers. % Jamilj Seirspaper: J|ur the promotion of the political. Social. Agricultural and Commercial Jnterests of the people. {,r'
single cops". pive cents.
EsrABLisiiKU 1855. YORKVLLLIt), S. C., T UESD A^^WlhMbEft l 7." l ')OH. TSTO. 92.
iw 111 m IIW in mi'MU'm finunrrtmc
? "?HS HI
i
By OPI]
i
Copyrighted 1896, by Wm. I
By Permission of La
i an m m m *" mumiami
J CHAPTER II.
The month was April, a ad the day
l was biUne, wun no oiotcii in tne say.
^ 'in< Couituy was routfii, toe road was
B peouy in tne bottuina and ninty on tne
hi.io, o?t ti.ere was a leaping joy every
wntre; in tne woods wnere the
blue-jays wtre shouting, down me
brancn where the wooupecker tapped
in an oaa tree's sounding board, it
mutt nave been a low 'imaging ambition
to oe tnrined with tne prospect of
tcacning scuool, or was it buoyant
heaitn tiiat made me happy? 1 eased
m down my trunK, and b^jlshly tnrew
stones away otf into an echo.ng bohow.
A raboit ran out into tne road and
stopped, and with a stone I knocked it
over, tenderly I picked it up, feit its
^ buttering neart, and groaned inwardly
when tne little heart was stilled. 1
called myself a murderer, an AngloSaxon
brute, to kill a harmless creature
merely upon a devi.ish impulse,
and In the graveily ground I began to
dig a grave with my knife, and I was
so mucn taken up with this work and
I with my grief,' that I heeded not the
approach of a wagon.
. "What are you doing there?" some
1 r?n<? fnllpA
f I looked up. A farmer had stopped
L his blowing horses and was looking at
me. "I'm digging a grave," I answered.
"Diggin' a grave? Why, who's dead?"
"A rabbit." He moved uneasily, and
gave me a searching look. And I saw
that he took me to be insane. "I killed
the poor thing." 1 explained, "killed
it out cf mere wantonness, and I am so
grief stncken that I am going to do
the best I can for the poor thing?go"
ing to give it a Christian burial."
The man laughed. "I wish you
would kill the last one of them," he
said. "Set out as nice a young orchard
as you ever saw last winter, and the
devilish rabbits killed 'every one of
the trees."
"Then I am not so much of a murderer
after all," I replied. "I might
have known that rabbits are not altogether
harmless. How far do you go
on this road?"
"About ten miles."
"Will you let me ride with you?"
^ "Yes, be glad to have you."
^ I put the rabbit into his grave, raked
the dirt on him with my foot?hardly
?* e^i-icHan.iiiro WAV. I admit?placed
I my trunk into the body of the wagon,
and took a seat beside the man. And
there was something about him that
at once interested me. His hat was off
and the breeze was stirring his grizzly
hair. His nose was large and thin,
and when he turned his face square
upon me, I saw that his eyes were gray
and clear. He wore no coat, his shirt
sleeves were rolled back, and though he
I must have been more than fifty years
old. I could see that he had enormous
strength in his arms. And he was
look'ng at me admiringly, for he said,
"you must be pretty much of a man."
"I am not a child except in my lack
? of wisdom," I answered.
"Gad, you talk like a preacher.
Which way are you going?"
"Over to Lim Jucklin's house."
He gave me another look and remarked,
"that's my name."
"You don't tell me so?"
"Didn't you hear me tell you so?"
"Yes, but "
r"Well, then, I did tell you so."
"I am delighted to meet you, sir. I
am a school teacher, and I hear that
one Is wanted In your neighborhood."
l He looked at me from head-to foot,
^ and replied: "I shouldn't wonder but
B you are the right man. "What's your
^ name?"
I told him and after a few moments
of silence he asked: "And kin to the
Luke Hawes that fought In the Creek
war?"
"He was my grandfather."
"Ah, hah, and my daddy fit with him
?was a lieutenant In his company.
Let's shake hands. Whoa, boys." He
stopped his horses, got up. shook down
' the wrinkled lees of his trousers and
reached forth his hand.
"You are a stranger in North Caroliny,"
he said when he had clucked to
his horses.
* "Yes. I am a stranger everywhere
you might put It," I answered. "I am
from Alabama, but the people made so
much fun of me In the community
where I was brought up that I am even
a stranger there."
"What did they make fun of you
about."
"Because I was overgrown and awkward.."
"Whoa, boys! Let's shake hands
again. I got it the same way when I
A was a boy, and I come in one of never
I gettin' over it."
I We drove on and had gone some dis
tance when he asked: "Do you know
tall about 'rtthmetlc?" |
"I at least know the multiplication
table."
"It's more than I do. Get up there,
boys. And down in my country they
think that a man that don't know a.l
about 'rithmetic is a fool. I have often
told them that there wan't no record
of the fact that the Savior was
good at Aggers, except Aggers of speech,
but they won't have It that a man is
smart unless he can go up to a barn
^ and cover one side of it with eights
and sevens and nines and all that sort
of thing. I've got a daughter that's
quicker than a flash?took it from her
mother, I reckon?and I have a son
* that's tolerable, but I have always been
left in the lurch right there. But I can
read all right, and I know the Book
about as well as the most of them, but
that makes no difference down in our
neighborhood. The pace down there Is
set by Old General Lundsford. He
knows all abort Aggers and everything
else, for that matter, but Aggers
is his strong holt. He owns nearly
( everything: is a mighty Tlstocrat and
don't bend very often: lives in the
house that his grandfather built, great
hig brick, and n^ver had no respect for
me at all until I wallowed him in the
road one dav about thlrtv odd years
ago. And along about ten years after
that he found out that he had a good
wwwiwwwwiwui hi hi n? m i
Hi IN I*
E READ.
i
H. Lee?All Rights Reserved. I
ird & Lee, Publ;-Hers. \
>HlilH t?lit?iaili?l>i?lilUiMIM> Ml IIIMII
deal of respect for me. What do you
Knuw auout game chickens?"
'Not very much; i shnply know that
they are aoout tne bravest things that
live."
tie gave ine another one of his square
Iooks and repl.ed: "There Is more
wisdom in sucn taik as that than tnere
J c-vuid be crowded into a wheat bin.
J But, do you know that people make
| tun or me because r aamire a game
! rooster? They do. I don't want to
l.gnt em for money, you know; I'm a
good church member and ad that sort
of thing; I believe the Book from one
end to the other; believe that the whale
swallowed Jonah, I don't care If its
ihroat ain't bigger than a hoe-handle;
oelieve that the vine growed up In one
night, and withered at mornin'; believe
that old Samson killed all them feders
with the jaw-bone?believe everything
as I tell you from start to finish, but
i ll be blamed If I can keep from fight.n'
chickens to save my life. And I always
keep two beauties, I tell you.
Not long ago my wife ups and kills
Sam and fed him to a preacher.
Preacher was there, hungry*, and the
-ther chickens were parading around
summers on the other side of the hill,
but my wife she ups and kills Sam, a
black beauty, with a pedigree as long
as a plow line. And, sir, while that
man was clawin' of my chicken he
gave me a lecture on flghtin* roosters."
"You spoke of your son and daughter.
Do they attend school?"
"Oh, no; they are grown long ago."
"Then how is It that the teacher
usually boards at your house?"
"I don t know; but they do. Reckon
they jest fell into the habit. My house
is handy, fcr one thing-; ain't more
than three miles from the school?Jest
a nice, exercisin' sort of walk. Whoa,
boys! Sorter have to scotch 'em back
join* down here. Saw a man get killed
down there one day; horse kicked
him, and do you see that knob over
there where them hickory trees are? I
,iad a hard time there one night. A
lot of foot-burners come to my house
>ne night durin' the war and took me
out and told me that if I didn't give
them my money they would roast my
shanks. I didn't have any money and
told them so, but they didn't believe
me; and so they brought me right over
there where them hickories are, tied
me, took off my shoes and built up a
..re at my feet; but about thet time
they had got me well blistered, along
come some Yankee soldiers and nabbed
cm. And a few minutes after that
j there wasn't anything agin their feet,
l tell you, not even the ground. Well,
we are gettin' pretty close to home
now."
"But we haven't come fifteen miles
from the station, have we?"
' Well, you had come about five mne
before I overtook you and we have
come nearly ten since then. These
hosses are travelers. Oh, I reckon
we've get about three more miles to
go yet."
The country was old, with here and
there a worn out and neglected field. A
creek wound its way among the hills,
deep and dark in places, but babbling
out into a broad and shiny ford where
we crossed. One moment the scene
was desolate, with gullied hill-sides,
but further on and off to the right I
could see pcetic strips of meadow land,
and further yet, upon a hill top, stood
a grim old house of brick and stone.
We turned off to the right before coming
abreast of this place, and pursued
x winding course along a deep-shaded
avine, not rough with broken ground
ut graceful with grassy slopes and
with here and there a rock. My companion
pointed out this house, what is
'-nown as a double log building, with
x broad passage way between the two
A n.i?h c<-? Vinrrt nnd smooth
"CtUUlIC. il WV 1IU.U M..V. .... !
'hat it Rhone in the sun, ran down obiquely
into the ravine, and at the end
f it I saw a large iron kettle overturned,
and I knew that this marked
the spring. I liked the place, the forst
back of it, the steep hills far away,
he fields lying near and the meadow
down the ravine. I hate a new house.
| t new field, a wood that looks new; to
ne there must be the impress of fond
-ssociation, and here I found it, the
| spring house with moss on its roof,
he path, a great oak upon which death
bad placed its beautiful mark?a bough
f mistletoe.
"You hop right out and go in and
make yourself at home, while I take
"are cf the horses," said the old man.
Go right on," he added, for he saw
"hat I was hesitating. "You don't need
in introduction. Jest say that you are
VVhut'sname and that you are the new
-chool teacher."
"But I don't know yet that I am to
be the teacher."
"Well, then, tell 'em that you are
Whut'sname and that you don't know
whether you are to be the teacher or
not."
"But won't you stop long enough to
'ntroduee me?"
"Oh, I reckon I mout. Come on.
There is \\ ife in the door, now."
He did not go as far as the doer; he
-imply shouted: "Here's a man. Susan.
'Ie can tell you his name, for blamed
f I ain't ilun forgot."
CHAPTER III.
Into this household I was received
with open handed graciousness. Nothing
can be more charming than the
unconscious generosity of simple folk.
To this family I applied the word simple
and cut myself with a cool smile at
.ny own vanity. Was I not a countryman
and as rustic minded as they?
'tut I had come from another community,
had crossed a state line and the
:nes of several counties, and besides I
i ?f k to myself the credit of having
ead many a cunning book, and therefore
these people were surely more slmle
than I. Traveling unquestionably
athers knowledge, but the man who
eads has ever a feeling that he is the
roper critic of the man who has simily
ot served.
Mrs. Jucklln gave me a strong grasp
of welcome, apologizing for the lack
of order that I must surely find in the
house and conducted me to the sitting
room, a large apartment, with a home
woven carpet on the floor. A turkey
wing, used for a fan, hung beside the
enormous fire place, and on the broad
mantlepiece, trimmed with paper cut
in scallops, an old Yankee clock was
ticking. The woman shook a cat out
cf a hickory rocking chair and urged
me to sit down. She knew that I must
be tired after my long ride, and she
said that if I would only excuse her
for a moment she would go down to
the spring house and get me a glass
of miik, to give me strength wherewith
J to wait until she could stir about and
I get something to eat. And above all,
i must pardon Limuel's abruptness of
manner. But really he meant nothing
I by it, as I would find out when I should
become better acquainted with him.
She was a little, black-eyed woman,
doubtless a descendant of a Dutch
family that had come to the colony at
an early date, for she reminded me of
my mother, and I know that mother's
( grandfather was a Dutchman. I beg,ged
Mrs. Jucklin not to go after the
milk, but she ran away almost with
(the lightness of a girl. In truth, to
think of the milk made me shudder; I
couldn't bear the thought cf It. During
the hard times at the close of the
war, when I was a child, we had to
drink rye coffee, and I remember that
once the cows got into the rye field and
gave rye milk. The coffee and the
milk together had made me sick, and
ever since then I had looked upon milk
with a reminiscent horror. But there
she came with It.
"My dear madam," I pleaded, "I
would much rather not drink it."
"Oh, but you must, for I know you
are tired out."
"But I don't drink milk."
"And it is because you can't find any
like this. Just taste it, then."
The old man came stalking into the
room and I gave him an appealing look.
"I gad, Susan," said he, "let him
alone. Don't you reckon he's got sense
enough to know what he wants? Take
the stuff away."
With a sigh of disappointment she
placed the tumbler upon the mantlepiece.
"Where's Alf?" the old man
asked.
"Gone over to the general's to help
ijihnut something."
"Where's Guinea?"
"She's about somewhere. That's her
'n the passage, I think. Guinea?"
There was no reply, save of hastening
footsteps, and a moment later a young
woman entered the room. She was not
very tall, but she was graceful, and
her dark eyes were dashed with mischief.
She reminded me of the woman
whom I had seen on the train; her
smile was the same, but her eyes were
brighter. She had a peculiar laugh, a
musical cluck, and at first sight I was
glad that I had met her, but a moment
later I was afraid that she was
going to laugh at me. The old man did
not introduce me; his wife did not
know my name, and I sought to speak
my name, but had lost it Just at that
moment and could merely splutter
something. I was not much embarrassed,
though; I recalled what I had
Hrnra the two m?n sav. and behind
me was the strong brace of a woman's
Vindly regard.
"We are glad to see you," said the
Tirl, looking straight at me. I replied
that I was glad to see her, and then
we both laughed; she with her musical
cluck and I with a goat-like rasp. It
seemed to me. We all drew up about
the Fre-place, a hahlt in the country,
and It was then that I thought of the
->ren-handed graciousness of the household.
Had I correctly caught this girl's
name, Oulnea? And with a countryman's
frankness I asked If that were
her name.
"Well, no," said Mrs. Jucklln, speaking
for her, "it ain't her sure enough
name, but It's all that she goes by.
And It came about In this way: A
long time ago, when she was a little
bit of a girl, she was toddlin' about the
vard with a checked dress on, and one
of the neighbors lookin' at her said that
she looked exactly like a little guinea
chicken, and ever since then we have
called her Guinea. Her right name Is
\ngeline."
"Her right name Is what?" the old
man asked, looking up.
"Angellne," I said.
"Well, It's the first time I ever heard
>f It."
"Now, Limuel, why do you want to
net that way? A body would think
that you don't know anything about
vour own family."
"Never heard of It before," said the
old man.
"You are surely the most provokln'
man I ever saw, Limuel. You know
'he very day we named the child and
now you pretend?"
"Pretend? I don't pretend nothln'.
~an't blame a man for never hearln'
->f the name, can you?"
"Mister," she said, turning to me,
"nlease don't pay any attention to him.
He'd pester me nearlv to death If I'd
'et him. But come, Guinea, we must
Hir about and get something to eat."
The mother and the daughter went
">ut Into the kitchen detached from the
main part of the house, and the old
men looked at me and laughed. And
~fter a moment of chuckling he said:
"I reckon that I've got two of the fln*??t
in the world."
"Children?" I asked.
"No. game roosters. One's named
^ nomoH Rnh "
^ain <xiiu uic uiuci 0 iuiiivv.
"I thought you said that Sam had
been eaten by the preacher."
"Oh. that Sam was, but I've got
another one. I always have a Sam
and a Bob. When a Sam dies I get
another Sam, and likewise with a Bob.
But you know what's a fact? I never
allow 'em to fight to a finish. If I did
the sport would be gone. You must
lever let one rooster know that the
other one can whip him, for if you do
there won't be any fight after that?
you must always keep each one bellevin'
that he is the best man. I reckon
I've had more than a hundred, but
I never let 'em fight to a finish. My
folks here don't care nothin' about fun
?they even frown on it, Alf with the
rest, and I hold that he ought to know
tetter, bein* a man, but so it is. I've
jot a chicken house back here, with
a high picket fence around it, and I
keep it locked, I tell you. Have to, or
the preachers would eat up my sport,
md this ain't findln' no fault with their
doctrine, for I believe the Book frcm
klver to kiver. After we get a snack
we'll slip off and have a set-to. What
do you say?"
I hardly knew what to say. I was
I afraid to decline, lest I might lose his
good opinion, and I was loth to accept
the invitation, fearing that I might
lower myself In the estimation of the
women; but while I was casting about
the old man relieved me by saying:
"However, we've got plenty of time
before us. It's always well to hold a
good thing in reserve, you know. After
dinner we'll go over and see Old
Perdue and find out if you can arrange
with him about the school. He's got
the whole thing in charge. General
ILundsford has charge or nearly everything
else, but he don't take much
stock In free schools. He argues that
nothln* that's free is any good, and In
the main he's about right; "but we've
had some pretty good schools here, the
'only trouble bein' to keep the teachers
out of the creek. What education my
son Alf has he picked up about home,
here, but Guinea was sent off to school,
way over at Raleigh."
"I am glad to see that you thought
so much of the importance of training
her mind," I remarked.
He gave me a troubled look, moved
uneasily, as I had seen him move when
[ told him that I was burying a rabbit,
ran his fingers through his upright,
bristling hair and for a long time was
silent. And as I looked at him I fancied
that he was trying to think of
something to say, something to lead
my mind away from what he had al-|
ready said. I had seen the quaint,
half-comical side of his nature, and
now i saw that he could be thoughtful,
and in his serious mood his face was
sti or r and rugged. His beard, cropned
close, reminded me of scraps of
wire, some of them rusted, and when
Me wiped his mouth with the back of
Mis hand I wondered that he did not
scratch the skin off.
Guinea came to the door and told
us that the meal was ready. The old
man got up, with a return of his comical
air, and told me to follow him.
The girl continued to stand near the
threshold and as I drew near unto her
"Tlilo ilnnr waon't f?llt nilltft
3IJC oatu I X lllo UUVt ti mw*? v vw?
high enough for you, was It? Look,
father, he has to duck his head. The
boys may have a time putting him Into
the creek." She was now talking
to her father, but was looking at me,
<=o I took It upon myself to answer her.
"Yes, for you have called attention to
the fact that my legs are long and
the rascals may have hard running
with trying to catch me."
"Oh." she repl'ed. "but I was thlnk"ng
of your strength rather than your
swiftness. Come this way. Father has
run off and left you."
The old man had stepped down out
->f the passage and had gone some distance
toward a small house surrounded
by a picket fence.
"You go with her." he called, look'ng
back, "and I'll be there pretty
soon."
"No telling when he will come now,"
the girl remarked, walking close beside
me. "He's got two of the most spiteful
chickens out there you ever saw,
and whenever anything goes wrong
with him he bolts right out there, pa
matter who is here, and makes those
vicious things peck at each other.
Mother and I try hard to reform him,
out we can't."
It was Mrs. Jucklin's time-grayed
privilege to apologize for the scantiness
of her fare, and this she did with
becoming modesty and regret. She
had not expected company; the regular
dinner hour was over long ago, and
somehow she never could understand
why she couldn't get a meal out of
the regular time. But if I would only
give her a chance she would reclaim
herself. She called my attention to
the corn bread; declared that it was
not fit to be eaten, and she didn't
know what made the stove act that
way. But the milk she knew was good,
riv, aVio Viq^ fr>rtrntten that I didn't
drink milk. Guinea smiled at me and
clucked at her mother. "Don't pretend
that you like anything Just to please
her," she said, when Mrs. Jucklin had
turned about to keep a hoe-cake from
burning. "All you've got to do is say
nothing until she gets through?that,
and simply to remember that she enoys
it."
While we were eating we heard a
\oice crying. "Hike, there, Sam; get
him down, Bob! Hike there!"
"They are warming up to their
work," Guinea remarked, and her
mother sighed; and then she began to
talk louder than was her won't, striving
to drown the old man's voice. "It
isn't any use, mother," said the girl.
'The gentleman will find it out sooner
or later."
"And I suppose," said I, "that you
think that you may find out my name
sooner or later. Please pardon me for
not introducing myself. My name is?"
"Hike, there, Bob! Get him down,
eam! Now you are at it! Hike,
there!"
"My name is Hawes, William Hawes,
and I am from Alabama."
"And you have come to teach the
chool?" said the girl.
"Yes, if I can make the arrangements.'
' But Is there anything very satisfying
in such an occupation?" she asked.
I felt then that she placed no very
high estimate upon my worth, and on
her part this was but natural, for
among country people school teaching
is looked upon as a lazy calling.
"I have not chosen teaching as my
real vocation," I answered.
"Hike, there, I tell you! Hike!"
"It is my aim to be a lawyer, to be
eloquent, to stir emotion, to be strong
in the presence of men. My earlier
advantages, no matter how I sought
to turn them about, gave me no promise
of reaching the bar; I had good pri
'I*.. t try
nary training, dui in reamy i imu iu
educate myself, and in the work of a
teacher I saw a hope to lead me onward."
"Came within one of letting them
fight to a finish," said the old man,
topping into the room.
"Limuel, why will you always humiliate
me?" his wife asked, placing a
chair for him.
"Humiliate you! Bless your life, I
wouldn't humiliate you. The only
trouble is that you are tryin' to make
me fit a farment you've got, ruther
than to make the garment fit me. I
ain't doln' no harm, Susan, and it's
my way. and you can't very well knock
tiie spots off'en a leopard nur skin an
Etheopian. Here comes Alf."
The son v.-as a young fellow of good
>'/.e. shapely, and with his mother's
' lack eyes. Guinea Introduced me to
him, and at once I felt that I should
like to win his friendship. The old
man explained my presence there.
"And now," said he, "I want you to
go over to old Purdue's with him after
dinner and see If any arrangements can
be made. He's goln' to board with us,
and I want to tell you right now that
he is from good stock; his grandaddy
was the captain of the company that
my daddy fit in durln' the Creek war,
and from what I learn I don't reckon
there was ever slch flghtln' before nor
since. What are they doln' over at the
Ueneral's?"
"Nothing much," Alf answered.
"They started to plow this morning,
but It lg still most too wet."
"Was Millie at home?" Guinea asked.
"T '1-1-1. ?? t>ii? T onnnnaa untl linnw
1 111 III K SU, UUl A ouppuwv / wm *?*v??
that Chid Isn't."
"Never mind that," the old man
spoke up. "Leave all cuttln' and slashIn'
to folks that ain't no kin to each
other. You've been to dinner, have
vou. Alf? Well, hitch the mare to the
buckboard and go with this gentleman
over to old Perdue's."
To be Continued.
pisfctliumms padittg.
NEW WOMAN IN TURKEY.
She Demands Abolition of the Harem
I and the Veil.
|| In the recent rejoicing at the procI
tarnation of a constitution In Turkey,
many Turkish women took part, and
for the first time In history appeared
In public without their veils.
They have appealed to the Young
Turk party to abolish the harem system,
and with It the compulsory veiling
of women. The word harem, says
the queen, Is Arabic for anything forbidden
or not to be touched, and as
against the rules of the Koran. Games
if chance, witchcraft and portrait making
are "harem."
In practice the word Is used by Europeans
to designate that portion of a
polygamist's house, which Is devoted
to the exclusive occupancy of his wives
and their attendants. Thence It comes
to refer to the female portion of his
household, while the word may be
used by westerners to designate the
system of plurality of wives.
In Turkey the system has been
maintained not only as part of the
Moslem religion, but as an Integral
part of Mohammedan polity, of which
the sultan Is the chief spiritual head,
to whom all orthodox Mussulmans look
up, and to whom, as the appointer of
Sheikh-ul-Islam, all religious questions
may be finally referred.
Whether the sultans will follow the
'ead of their subjects In this matter
IS very ctouonui. ine iictiein sjfaiem 10
so Interwoven with the court life and
government of a Mohammedan ruler
that It would take a strong man to
break through the rule, even If he desired
to do so.
The etiquette of the harem of the
sultan of Turkey, like that of most
Moslem potentates, Is very severe, and
Is strictly carried out. Each wife has
her own suite of apartments, her own
and garden and her__(iwn
body of servants, male and female.
Their wives are not called by their
names, but are distinguished as Kadin
(or lady) No. 1, arid so on.
The title of Sultana Is given only to
the mother, sister or daughter of a
sultan, consequently It is the Kadin
who first gives birth to an heir to
the throne who can have this distinction.
Should an odalisk, or female
slave of the harem, become the mother
of her lord's first born son, then she
becomes the reigning sultana. Even
then she has little influence, this being
wielded alone by the sultan's mother,
the Sultana Valide, who controls the
harem' and exercises considerable Influence
in all court and many govern
mental matters.
THE WORLD'S COAL.
How Long It will Last Need Not Trouble
Ue.
The question of the exhaust'on of
the coal supply of the United States
Is not one which can affect the present
generation or the next, says Harper's
Weekly. Yet the American supply
is likely to be exhausted before
that of Europe, and particularly before
Great Britain. Looking at the
matter from the point of view of national
providence or provision, covering
generations and generations,
America should beyond doubt be a
little saving of its coal.
It has been estimated that Penn
sylvania has about enough anthracite
.oal to last at the rate of production
that prevailed last year a little less
than 200 years. Proatiy the supply
will be exhausted much sooner than
, that, unless some profitable substitute
s found for anthracite. As to bitum|
inous coal In the United States, the
[ supply is very great and widespread.
It is estimated that it will last, at the
rate of consumption which prevai.ed
during the last decade something less
j than 4 50 years.
If the coal supply of the world at
large were likely to be exhausted in
any such way as to make a consideraI
ule drain on American coals for forI
eign consumption, the situation might
J De regarded as alarming If we could
put ourselves In the place of our
great-grandchildren. But there is not
nkeiy to arrive a time when we shall
nave to "teed the world" with coal.
In 1880 Great Britain had "in
sight," so to speak?although it was
an below the ground?an available
Loal deposit estimated at nearly 885,0u0,00u,000
tons. At the race of pzouuction
and consumption then prevail,ng,
the supply would last about
years. The coal measures of Lanj
.ashire are 9,000 feet in thickness.
Moreover, there are many countries
which possess coal deposits that
nave never been touched. Besidec
ihe great coal fields of Europe and
.vmerica, as now worked, there are
undoubtedly deposits in China, in the
r-hilippines, in Australia in South
America, in British North America,
in Alaska, in the maian arcmpeiagu i
and elsewhere.
With one circumstance the American
people, looking at the matter
from the consumer's standpoint, may
well be pleased. Europe does not
want our anthracite coal, the best
fuel, on the whole, that the earth has
ever produced. Europe does not understand
the use of anthracite, and
it is apparently not willing to learn it.
It calls on us for bituminous coal,
which we can spare more readily.
| The assumption that the coal fields
of Great Britain and America will be
exhausted, even at the end of several
uentunes, is founded on the further
assumption that heat will continue
to be made and power generated in
the future much as they are now.
Eut our inventors and chemists hold
out the assurance that great changes
may be looked for in the methods of
producing heat and mechanical energy
A FAMOUS COMBAT.
How the Warspite Fought the Dutch
In 1666.
The history of the British navy is
full of pages which are unknown to
all but its most diligent students, and
many engagements which have helped
to make history have passed into
the limbo of forgotten things and are
never thought of even casually. It
would probably puzzle any one to
say offhand whether there had ever
^een a naval battle on Christmas
day, and yet the victory of Capt. Robont
DnKlnann nf tho Wa ranltp T 0 fnnc
on December 25, 1666, deserves to be
remembered. For not oniy does It
hold a unique position In the annals
of the navy; but It also preserved tor
ring-land tne Gottenburg fleet and Its
precious cargo and gave the shattered
vesseis of Abermarle's fleet the
wherewithal to refit. The Gottenburg
neet was a convoy of merchantmen
which left Sweden for England every
winter with a cargo of spars, cordage
and sails. In the year 1666 the sate
arrival of the convoy was of more
importance, for the engagements of
ihe betond Dutch war had occasioned
much damage, and repairs were
absolutely necessary to most of the
ships to make them at all battle
worthy. There had been the "Fourdays'
Fight" of Rupert and Monk In
June and the great St. James' day
tight In July, in the former of which
the English were more than half defeated
and In the latter victorious.
This was due to the bravado of Van
iromp, who, in his eagerness to engage
the English White squadron be-.
_ame separated from the remainder
of the Dutch fleet under De Ruyter,
After five-hours' pounding with the
gun-muzzles of opponent ships often
-ouching, De Ruyter withdrew, leaving
Van Tromp to his fate, but that
officer also succeeded, though with
great loss, in eluding his pursuers.
In the fight the Dutch loss was 20
men-of-war and among their killed
and wounded (who numbered thousands),
were four flag' officers, Jan
Eversten, De Vries, Rudolf Coenders,
and Covert T'Hoen. The English
losses were not so heavy, but it can
be gathered that the fighting was very
.severe and that many vessels were
severely mauled.
The navy board realized that the
commander of the Gottenburg convoy
that year would need to be a man of
resource and energy, for small convoy
actions were taking place almost
daily, and that he would need to be
well supplied with warships. Accord.ngly
they appointed Capt. Robert
Robinson to the command with his
pennant on the Warsplte. A year
earlier, when in command of the Elizabeth,
Capt. Robinson had fallen In
with a convoy-of Dutchmen in the
Channel and had captured several,
a feat which he had followed up
with Opdam. When- the Warsplte,
the second of her name was completed
e^rly in July, 1666, he was apday
fight, when she had only be*m
a fortnight In service, she engaged
and beat three of the enemy's shl,:*
at once. For four years Capt. Robinson
commanded the Warsplte, and
was then transferred to Greenwich.
In 1670 he was in charge of a convoy
of merchantmen to Gibraltar, and got
them all through the bay in most
tempestuous weather. He was knighted
in 1673, commanded the Mon
mouth at the battle of Barfleur, and
reached the rank of commodore In
1678.
The ships under his command on
the expedition to Gottenburg were
the Warsplte, which was nearly new,
and the Diamond, 48 guns, Dragon,
Constan Warwick, Jersey, St. Patrick,
Oxford, Nightingale, with a flreshlp,
the Malaga Merchant, all In as good
condition as the miserably parsimonious
administration of the navy at
that time would permit It was on
November 23, 1666, that Capt. Robinson
and his fleet left England for GotV-v
11 aw V*lo o rrhra 1 iVioro h A
found the convoy far from ready to
start. Many of the merchantmen
had not come in, and others could
not get full crews, and on every hand
there were delays. It was not until
December 18 that they put to sea,
and even then their troubles were
not all at an end. Two days out they
were caught in a furious storm, which
lasted until the 23d, and left the fleet,
which had originally numbered, without
the warships, 72 vessels, with only
60 sail, all told.
Capt. Robinson knew well that this
was Just the opportunity the Dutch
had boen praying for. He dispatched
the Dragon and the Constant Warwick,
together with the fire ship, to
pick up the stragglers they could find
and to rejoin the fleet with all possible
haste. Eut the Dutch had not
been asleep. One of their small vessels
had put into Texal to report the
approach of the convoy, and the
Dutch admiral there sent out on
Christmas eve five ships to waylay
Capt. Robinson. This squadron was
composed of three two-deckers, the
Cleen Harderwijk of 38 guns; the
Leijden and the Els, each of 36 guns
a smaller frigate, and an armed
yacht. And at 11 o'clock on the
morning of Christmas day the two
forces met. Capt. Robinson held his
course in line, the convoy being to
leeward. The exact order in which
;he vessels met Is not known, but according
to the lighting etiquette of
the day. the two flagships, the Warspite
and the Cleen Harderwijk would
tackle each other, the Diamond and
the Jersey presumably engaged one
each of the enemy's two-deckers, and
the Oxford and Xlghtingale, each 20gun
ships, attacking the other Dutch
frigates. The yacht headed for the
Dutch coast, presumably seeking reenforcements,
but the St. Patrick
chased and captured her, rejoining
Capt. Robinson with the prize next
day.
The effect of the tempest was still
foil in thp heaw seas which were
running, and consequently the larger
vessels were, In the parlance of the
day "muzzled", that Is to say, the
lower gun ports had to be kept closed.
The lower tier guns were thus out of
action, and the ships became to all
intents and purposes one-tier vessels,
but the fight was none the less fast
and furious. Two of the Dutch vessels
were burning at the end of two
hours, and two others, one of them
the Cleen Haderwljk, were nearly
sinking, totally dismasted. The Dutch
commodore surrended when he saw
that futher resistance was Impossible,
and one of the prizes, Indeed,
sank before she could be got to port.
The action ended within sight of the
English coast off Erlll, and Capt. Robinson
stood In for Hollesley bay. Ee- 1
fore he cast anchor he was rejoined
fcy the Constant Warllck and the rest 1
of the convoy, e.very one of the ships 1
having been safely gathered together. I
He arrived on December 29, with, as 1
he himself In his dispatch states, "the '
Dutch colors and the king's flying." '
The news was received with every '
manifestation of joy in London, and
Pepys, who was then clerk to the na- 1
vy board, wrote In his diary under 1
that date: "Then to the office and '
have the news brought us of Capt. '
Robinson coming with his fleet from
Gottenburg; dispersed through by 1
foul weather. But he hath light of
Ave Dutch men-of-war, and taken !
three, whereof one is sunk, which is 1
very good news to close up the year J
with."?London Globe.
m I
FLODDtN FIELD. '
Legends of the Battle and Before the <
Battle. J
A fact recorded by Tlmbs and
others brings home to us In a start- 1
ling way how few generations occasionally
separate the present from
historical occurrences which as a rule
we associate with "ancient history."
Scarcely more than sixty years ago,
namely, in 1847?and quite possib'.y
after that date?a man was able to
tell that his father had spoken with
a man who as a boy was present on
that memorable 9th of September,
1513, when was fought the battle of
"Flodden's fatal field." Admittedly
this was an exceptional case of compression.
involving two lives which ,
reached the almost incredible though
well authenticated ages of a hundred
and sixty nine and a hundred i
and twenty-seven respectively, but
the story is none the less fascinating ,
and suggestive. And the qua.ntness
of the coincidence suits not inaptly ,
an event which, more perhaps than
any other occurrence of similar nature,
is illuminated by the gleam of
romance.
James, the protagonist in the
drama, may be considered as in some
respects the last hero of the old
chivalry, with its faults and virtues. .
He had cause of quarrel enough with
Henry In the latter's fraudulent retention
of the portion due to his sister,
James's consort, but the Immediate
and determined cause of the
.Scottish Invasion was, it is generally
admitted the romantic appeal of the
beautiful Anne of Bretagne, queen
of France. France and England
were then at variance and Anne had
sent to James a ring and glove, urging
him as her "own knight" to
march three miles on English ground
for the 8a ke of her who cabled him
her defender, ft was in vain that
Margaret, his own fair queen, sought
to djssuadeh.m, plaintively asking
wn^nft pifflifritju me qftdBil1 ui wine
to her, the mother of his children, ,
whom he had wedded in her girlhood, i
Xor were other dissuasions wanting,
seemingly of supernatural kind. A .
ghostly concourse was seen moving
around the Market Cross in Edin- <
burgh?spectral heralds and pursai- 1
vants, "figues that seemed to rise and ]
die, gibber and sigh"?and a voice i
was heard calling by name king and 1
princes and knights, summoning i
*' * ? ** frlhnnfl 1 1
llieili iu appeal ucivi v v*4\> %? #% ?
of Pluto" within forty days. At Lin- ]
lithgow, when the king was at ves- |
pers, a weird, dignified figure appeared
clad In strange eastern garb, w*th
a pilgrim's staff in his hand and long !
yellow hair flowing over his shoul- i
uers. " i
"Sir king," said this solemn ap- i
parliion, "my mother hath sent me i
to thee, desiring thee not to pass at 1
this time where thou art purposed, i
ior if thou dost thou wilt not fare <
well in thy journey, nor any who pass i
with thee. Further, she bade thee i
meddle with no women, nor use their \
. Anneal frit" if t h nil riflSf thflU Shall 1
be coniounded and put to shame."
ihen the tigure vanished as if. in the
words of the chronicles, he had been
"a blink of the sun or a whiff of the
whirlwind," and an awed whisper ran
through the church that he was none
other than the Apostle bt. John, who
had been authorized to style the
blessed Virgin his "mother." And
some said that on the night belore
ihe latelul fight the same dread hgure
was seen to enter the royal tent
where the doomed monarch was
Sleeping. It is however, only fair to
otace that historians incline to attribute
both the spectral summons at the
Edinburgh Cross and the saint.y pii- |
grnn's visit to a pious fraud perpetrated
by James's queen and statesmen
to deter him if possiole lrom an en- (
terprise which they r.ghuy consider- |
ed must end disastrous.y. I
Ihe legends of * loouen are not ]
limited to the portents that preced- (
ed it. For long tradition averred i
that the chivalrous James did no?. :
in reality meet his death on the "taial
tieiu, where shivered was fa.r <
ocotland s spear and broken was her(<
shieid." borne said that he had beer j<
oetn afterward in palmer's weed si t
making the pilgrimage to Jerusa.em,
which it is said he had vowed: others ,
ueciared that "in the twilight, when (
the tight was nigh ended, four tall i
horsemen came upon the field, hav- t
mg each a bunch of straw on the ,
point of their spears as a token for y
.hem to know each other by, and
that these men mounted the king on :
a dun hackney and that he was last (
seen to cross the Tweed with them (
at nignfa.l." ^\nd the rumor ran
.hat ne was muruered at Home Cas- '
tie. One fact and one alone seems t
to give a shadow of reason tor tnese j
uouots. James was known to wear
a belt of iron next his body, in penifonflnl
mamnrv of his father's death, *
and on the corpse which was founu .
by Lord Dacre after the battle and
recogn.zed as the king's there was
no such belt. Eut the body was fui.y
Identified by many who were
well acquainted with the hapless
monarch, and historic statements
seem to place his death on t lodden
Field beyond the possibility of question.
It was covered with wounds,
as "beseemed the monarch slain"
among his lords and knights fighting
to the last and falling face to face to
the foe. And none can say where
now lies the dust of this king so well
beloved. But in the Herald's college
may still be seen the turquoise ring
which tradition affirms is the very
ring sent him by the queen of France
and as which beseemed the chivalrous
knight he was, he wore when he met
his death fighting her foes and his
own.?London Globe.
START OF AN AKII9I.
John Opie't First Portrait and What It
Cost Him.
'John Ople, the English painter, Is
described in "Coke of Norfolk and
His Friends," by Mrs. A. M. W. Stirling,
as a man of humble origin who
achieved success wholly by his own
genius and perseverance. The story
of his first effort In that line of art
ivhich afterward brought him fame
he related to Coke, first Earl of Lei:ester
of Holkham, as follows:
When a small boy of ten or twelve
he was left at home one Sunday afternoon
with his father, while his mothsr
went to church. The father established
himself in the parlor with hi*
Bible and told the boy to be quiet and
amuse himself.
Young Opie, who had procured
some paints, took up his position unJbserved
in the kitchen directly opposite
the parlor door. Very quietly
he drew a portrait of the old man
bending over his Bible until he had
finished everything except the head,
V? A v. MMnninty Koolfti/QrH
? ucii lie uugau i U111H115 wuvu ? v.
and forward to study his father's
tace.
The old gentleman grew very angry
at these apparent.y senseless interruptions
and threatened to punish
his son if they continued.
This was exactly what the boy
wanted, as he wished to paint his
father's eyes lit up and sparkling with
anger. So he continued his Irritating
behavior until he met with the
desired result, and his father Justly
wrathful, administered a sound
thrashing.
This achieved, the boy resumed his
task eagerly and transferred to his
picture the expression which he had
just seen upon the face of his indignant
parent.
When his mother returned from
church he placed the picture triumphantly
before her; but, although
astonished and delighted with It, she
thought It her duty to scold her son
severely for painting on a Sunday.
Young Ople, however, cared no
more for the scolding than for the
beating he had received In accomplishing
his work and only hugged
his mother delightedly in his excitement
at Its success.
His father, coming into the room
at that juncture and spying the portrait
of himself, was so surprised and
pleased at It that he told the mother
not to scold the boy any more.
Subsequently, whenever the picture
was shown, he uied to tell with great
relish the story of young Opie's
plucky acceptmhce of a beating In
order to Insure Its success.
HUNTER'S CL08E E3CAPE.
Hung For a Long Time at the Edge of
a Canyon.
Hanging to a narrow ledge of the
wall of Wheat Canyon, with a drop of
more than a hundred feet below him,
Louts rarmoR, so ye*r old of Los
Angeles, was rescued from certain
death by Chief J. C. Shill of the Hollywood
Are department, says the Los
Angeles Dispatch.
Leamon was exhausted when the rescuer
reached him. His hands were
torn and bleeding. To hold to his perilous
perch he had dug his Angers Into
the scale of reck, and the nails had
been broken Into the Aesh. His arms,
neck and face were purplish from the
terrible strain which he had been compelled
to undergo to keep from pitching
headlong to the rocks of the canyon
bed, far below.
j_,eamun nau ten eany tii uic muniIng
for a day's dove shooting. He shot
a. dove and It fell into the soft earth
of the wall, a few feet below the ridge,
and Leamon started after it. He
reached the dove and started to crawl
back to the top, when the ground be?an
to slide away, and he was carried
down twenty-five feet before he gained
a footing. The man had been there almost
an hour before hln cries attracted
the attention of a ptisserby. Chief
Shill was notified and hurried to the
place with an automobile truck. Ladtiers
were placed against the cliff, but
Leamon was afraid to let go his hold.
Chief Shill then, by a roundabout path,
reached the ridge of the canyon. He
tied a heavy rope to a tree and lowered
himself over the rldge to wnere tne exhausted
man hung. Tying another
rope about Leamon's body, Shlll lifted
him to the ladder and lowered him
<ently. It was more than an hour before
Leamon had sufficiently recovered
to board a car for his home.
ANCIENT SCONE PALACE.
Modern Improvements In the Crowning
Place of Scottish Kings.
One of the finest old Scottish resllences
Is Scone Palace, near Perth,
the ancient centre of the Plctlsh captal,
former crowning place of the
Kings of Scotland, and now the resilence
of the Earl of Mansfield, rep-esentatlve
of the ancient family of
stormont, says the Queen.
Although the old abbey of Scone
'as destroyed several hundred years
.^o and the site Is now occupied by
i cot " ^ratively modern building,
nuch of ancient association has been
sreserved and the palace is still a
ioble and venerable looking pile, its
lull red castellated towers backed
:y luxuriant woods and facing over
itretches of rolling green park, the
neetlng place of the Almond and
ray.
Ihe great gallery at Scone, which
s 100 feet long, occupies the place
)f the old hall where kings were
:rowned In days of yore, the coronaion
of Charles II having taken place
here in 1651 and tnat or ine unevaier
St. George In "the Fifteen." Anong
the valued relics of the house
ire the old four post bed used by
Tames VI, and another with hangngs
of richly wrought velvet, said to
lave been the work of the fair but
II fated Queen Mary during her im>risonment
at Lochleven.
Even of later years Scone has been
lonored by the visits of royalty, her
ate Majesty Queen Victoria hav.ng
jaid qui^e a long visit at the palace
n 1842, the occasion of her first
,'isit to Perth, and again after the
leath of the prince consort. The present
earl has done wonders for the
jalace in the way of introducing
nodern improvements, both within
ind without, and bringing the donestic
arrangements up to date in
:very way.