The Darlington news. (Darlington, S.C.) 1875-1909, March 29, 1894, Image 3
CHAPTER XII—Continued.
*' Yea, the major often teiu me m>
wishes he had him back, and me in the
place he has instead of the one he had,"
answers the clerk whimsically. "Does
be know you’re to command the escort
in? Yon got him into such a scrape
then that he’s never tired of telling of
it”
"Then he may feel gratified at the
honor 1 am doing him now. Sure it's
beneath the dignity of a first sergeant
to command a squad like this except
on an extraordinary occasion, an it’s to
take the taste of the last timeout of his
month I volunteered to escort the ma
jor now. 'Twas a strong taste to last
five years, though my reminder will go
with me many a year longer. Here
they come now."
As the sergeant speaks a little group
of officers issues from the battalion
commander's tent. Foremost among
them, in loose flapping raiment and
broad brimmed hat and green goggles,
is the rotund and portly shape of Major
Plummer, the paymaster.
"Well, old man,’’says tho cavalry
leader, “you can hardly get into a
scrape ’twixt here and Sidney. We’ve
seen you through all right so far; now
we’ll go on about our scorning. Your
old friend Feeny asked permission to
see you safely to the railway.”
"What, Feeny, and a first sergeant
too? I'm honored indeed! Well,
sergeant,” he adds, catching sight of
the grizzled red face under the old
scouting hat, “I’ll promise to let you
run the machine this time and not in
terfere, no matter what stories come to
us of beauty in distress. All ready?”
“All ready, sir, if the major is.”
“He wasn’t that civil to me in Ari
zona,” laughs the paymaster as he
turns to shake hands with the officers
about him.
"You see you were new to the busi
ness then,” explains a tall captain.
“Feeny considers you a war veteran
now, after your experience at Moreno’s.
We all had to serve our apprenticeship
as suckling lieutenants before he would
show us anything but a semblance of
respect. Goodby, major; good luck to
you. ’
“Goodby all. Goodby, Drummond.
Goodby, Wing. Here I I must shake
hands with you two again. ” And shake
he does; then is slowly “boosted” into
his wagon, where, as the whip cracks
and the mules plunge at their collars
and tilt him backward, the major's jol
ly red face beams on all around, and
he waves his broad brimmed hat in ex
uberant cordiality as they rattle away.
The group of officers presently dis
perse, two tall lieutenants strolling off
together and throwing themselves under
the spreading branches of a big cotton
wood. One of them, darker and some
what heavier boilt now, but muscular,
active, powerful, is Drummond; the
other, a younger man by a brace of
years, tall, blue eyed, blond bearded,
wearing on bis scouting blouse the
straps of a second lieutenant, is our
old friend Wing, and Wing does not
hesitate in presence of bis senior officer
—such is the bond of friendship between
them—to draw from his breast pocket
a letter just received that day when
the courier met them at the crossing of
the Dry Fork, and to lose himself in
its contents.
“All well with the madam and the
kid?” queries Drummond, after the
manner of the frontier, when at last
Wing folds and replaces his letter, a
happy light in his brave blue eyes.
“All well. Paquita says that Harvey
has captured the entire household, and
that Grandpa Harvey is his abject
slave. There isn’t anything in Chicago
too good for that 2-year-old. They’ve i
had them photoed together—the kid on
his grandfather’s shoulder. ”
“Aren’t you afraid his Arizona uncle
will be jealous for hit own boy’s sake?” i
laughs Drummond.
“I don’t believe Ned would begrudge
Fanny anything the old man might feel
for her or for hers. He is generosity
itself toward his sisters, and surely I
could never have found a warmer friend
—out of the army. You know how he
stood by me.”
“I know, and it was most gratifying
—not but that I feel sure you would
have won without his aid. The old man
simply couldn’t quite be reconciled to
her marrying in the army and living
in Arizona.”
“A strange land for ahoneymoon cer
tainly—yet where and when was there
a happier ? Do you remember how the
Apaches jumped the Verde buckboard
the very week after we were married?”
“And you spent half of the honey
moon scouting the Ton to basin? 1
should say sot What with a courtship
in a robbers’ cave, a marriage in a cav
alry camp and a wedding tour in sad
dle, you had a unique experience, Wing,
but—you deserved her.” And Drum
mond turns and grips his comrade's
hand.
Wing is silent a moment. His eyes
are wistfully searching the elder’s half
averted face.
“Jim, you told me awhile agoof your
sister’s approaching marriage. Are
you not going on?”
“Yes. It will be early in October,
ghe’s blissfully happy, is Puss, and
he's a very substantial, solid sort of a
S llow. I’m well content, at last, that
ir future is assuied.”
"And you are a free agent practical
ly. Isn’t it time we heard of your own
happiness—your own vine and fig tree,
old man?”
"Time’s gone by, I reckon," laughs
Drummond, yet not merrily. "I’ve
had too much to think of—too much
{responsibility—and probably have lost
my chance.”
Wing looks as though he wanted
mightily to say something, bnt conquers
, bis impulse.
“October is a long way oil," be final
ly remarks, “and I thought you might
find earlier opportunity of going east.
Now that Ned has entire charge of the
business in Arizona the old gentleman
L takes life easier. The winter in Cuba
r did him a lot of good, and Fan writes
that ha seems so happy now, having: hi 8
two girls ana ms unie granason imam
the same roof with his sister and her
children. What a reunion after all
these years 1”
“ Where are they living In Chicago?”
"You would know better than I, for
—think of itl—I have never been east
of the Missouri since my babyhood, ”
answers Wing. “Fan writes that her
aunt has a lovely house on what they
call the North Side—near the great
waterworks at the lake front.”
“1 know the neighborhood well,”
says Drummond. “Chicago is as fa
miliar to me as San Francisco was to
you. Only—I have no roof to call my
own anywhere, and as soon as Puss is
married shall not have a relative or
friend on earth who is not much more
deeply interested in somebody else.”
And the senior lieutenant is lying on
his back now, blinking up at the rapid
ly scudding clouds. Presently he pulls
the broad brim of his campaign hat
down over his eyes. “What do you
hear from your mother, Wing?”
“Nothing new. Bless the dear old
lady I You should have seen her hap
piness In Harvey. She could hardly
bear to let the little fellow out of her
arms, and how she cried and clung to
him when we parted at the Oakland
wharf I Poor little mother 1 She has
never given up the hope of seeing that
scapegrace of an uncle of mine again.”
“Has she ever heard how he tried to
mnrder his nephew?” queries Drum
mond grimly.
"Never. Nor have we the faintest
trace of him since the break up of the
old Morales gang at Frouteras. They
went all to pieces after their encounter
with you and C troop. What a chain
of disasters! Lost their leaders and
three of their best men, lost their ren
dezvous at Moreno's, lost horses and
mules—for what our men didn't get
the Apaches did—and won absolutely
nothing except the 24 hour possession
of a safe they hadn’t time to open.
Whereas I got my commission and my
wife; Feeny, honorable wounds and
mention and the chevrons of a first ser
geant; Coetigan got his sergeant’s
stripes and the medal of honor, Murphy
his sergeantcy, Walsh and Latham med
als and corporalshipe, and the only fel
low who didn’t get a blessed thing but
scars was the commanding lieutenant
—your worthy self—thanks to wiseacres
at Washington who say Indian fighting
isn’t war.”
"Didn’t I get a letter of thanks from
the department commander?” grins
Drummond. ‘' What else could I ex
pect?”
“What else?” is Wing’s impulsive
rejoinder. Then, as though mindful
of some admonition, quieting at once
and speaking in tone leas suggestive,
“Well, in your case I suppose you can
be content with nothing, but bless me
if I could.” Then, suddenly rising and
respectfully touching his weather beat
en hat, he salntes a stoutly built, sol
dierly looking man in rough scouting
dress, whose only bodge of rank is the
tarnished shoulder strap with the sil
ver leaf on the shabbiest old fatigue
coat to be found in the battalion, most
of whoso members, however, wear no
coat at all.
“ Hullo, Wing—didn’t mean to dis
turb your siesta—Drummond here?”
aays the commander in his offhand
way, and at sound of the well known
voice Drummond, too, is on bis feet in
a twinkling.
“Seen the papers that came in to
day?” queries the colonel, obliterating
from bis sentences all verbal superflui
ties.
“Not yet, sir; any news?”
“H—1 to pay in Chicago, so far as
beard from. The railway strike has
taken firm hold there. Police and mi
litia both seem nnable to do anything
against tho mob, and the authorities
are stampeded. . Your home, isn’t it?”
“It was once, sir, but that was many
a long year ago. ”
“W-e-ell ” says the colonel reflect
ively, stroking his grixzled beard,” it’s
my belief there is worse to come. It
isn't the striking railway handa that
will do the mischief, but every time
there’s a strike all the thieves and
thuga and blackguards in the commu
nity turn out. That’s what happened
in Pittsburg—that’s what’s the matter
in Chicago. It looks to me as thongh
the plea for regular troops would have
to be granted.”
“Think we can get there, air?” asks
Wing eagerly.
“Can’tsay. We’re supposed to have
our handa full covering this section of
Nebrsska, though I haven't heard of a
hostile Sioux this summer. Besides,
they have full regiments of infantry at
Omaha and along the lakes. Doesn’t
Mrs. Wing say anything about the
trouble?”
“Her letter Is four days old, sir, and
only says her father looks upon the ait-
nation aa one of much gravity, but
women rarely see troubles of this kind
until they come to their doors.”
“ Well, this is The Times of two days
ago. It reached Sidney at breakfast
time this morning, and Hatton brought
two or three copies out when he came
with the mail. I thought you two might
be interested.” And with that the
colonel goes strolling along down the
hank of the stream, pausing here and
there to chat with some officers or give
some order relative to the grazing of
the horses—one of his especial “fads.”
And this evening, just as the sun dis
appears over the low bluff lying to tne
west and the horses are being picketed
for the night, while from a score of cook
fires the appetizing savor of antelope
steak and the aroma of “soldier coffee”
rise upon the air, a little dust cloud
sweeps out from the ravine into which
disappears the Sidney road and comee
floating put across the prairie. Keep
eyed troopers quickly pote the speed
with which it travels toward them.
Officers and men, who have just been
looking to the security of their steeds,
pause now on their way to supper and
stand gazing through the gloaming at
the coining cloud. In five minutes the
cause la apparent—two swift riders,
urging their horses to full speed, racing
for the ford. Five minutes more and
the frremoet tnrows mmsetr iro.a tne
saddle In the midst of the group at the
colonel’s tent and hands that officer a
telegraphic dispatch, which is received,
opened, read with imperturbable grav
ity and pocketed. To the manifest
chagrin of the courier and disappoist-
raent of his officers, the colonel simply
says:
“W-e-ell, I’m going to supper. You
ail’d better have yours too.”
“Why, blame his old hide!” pants
the courier later, “the quartermaster
told me never to lose a second, hut git
that to him before dark. The hull
outfit’s ordered to Chicago by special
train. ”
And so, finding the eecret out. the
colonel presently puts aside professional
sang froid and condescends to be hu
man again.
“Get a hearty supper all round, gen
tlemen, then—‘boots and saddles’ and
away for Sidney 1”
Two days later. A fierce July sun is
pouring down a flood of humid, mois
ture laden heat upon a densely packed,
sweltering mass of turbulent men,
many of them flushed with drink, all
of them flushed with triumph, for the ill
armed, ill disciplined militia of the sev
enties—a pygmy force as compared with
the expert “guardsmen” of today—has
been scattered to the winds; the sturdy
police have been swept from the streets
and driven to the shelter of the sta
tions. Mob law rules supreme. Dense
clouds of smoke are rising from sacked
and rained warehouses and from long
trains of burning cars. Here and there
little groups of striking employees have
gathered, holding aloof from the reck
less and infuriated mob, appalled at the
sight of riot and devastation resulting
from their ill advised action. Many of
their number, conscious of their re
sponsibility for the scenes of bloodshed
and pillage and wanton destruction of
property, publio and private, would
now gladly undo their work and array
themselves among the few defenders of
the great corporations they have served
for years and deserted at the call of
leaders whom they never saw and in a
cause they never understood, bnt there
can be “no footsteps backward” now.
The tide of riot has engulfed tha great
city of the west, and the majesty of the
law is but the laughing stock of the
lowest of the masses. Huddled in their
precinct stations, the police are bandag
ing their bruised and broken heads.
Rallied at their armories, the more de
termined of the militia are preparing to
defend them and their colors against
the anticipated attack of SO times their
force in “toughs”—Chicago’s vast
accnmnlation of outlawed, vagabond
or criminal men. The city fathers are
well nigh hopeless. Merchants and
business men gather on ’change with
blanched faces and the oft repeated
query: “What next? What next?”
Every moment brings tidings of fresh
dismay. New fires and a crippled and
helpless department, for the rioters
slash the hose and laugh all efforts
to scorn. A gleam of hope shone in at
10 o’clock, and the boardroom rang
with cheers at the president’s annonnee-
ment that the regulars were coming.—a
whole regiment of infantry from Oma
ha was already more than half way.
But the gleam died out at noon when,
with white lips, an official read the tel
egram saying the strikers bad “side
tracked” the special trains bearing the
soldiers, and they could not advance
another mile.
And so they had on one road, bnt
there are others, better guarded, better
run. The snn is well over to the west
again, Chicago is resigning itself to
another night of horror, when from the
suburbs there comes gliding in to the
heart of the city the oddest looking
railway train that has been seen for
years, a sight at which a host of riot
ous men break away from the threat
ening front, dragging with them those
“pals” whom drink has either mad
dened or stupefied; a sight at which
skulking blackguards who have picked
up paving stouee drop them into the
gutters and think twice before they lay
hand on their revolver bntts. No puff
ing engine hauls the train; the motive
power is at the rear. First and fore
most is a platform car—open, uncover
ed, but over Its buffer glisten the bar
rels of the dreaded gatling gun, and
around the gun—can these be soldiers?
Covered with dost and cinders, hardly
a vestige of uniform among them, in
the shabbiest of old felt hats, in hunt
ing shirts of flannel or buckskin, in
scout worn trousers and Indian leg
gings, bnt with their prairie belts
crammed with copper cartridges, their
brawny brown handa grasping the
browner carbine, their keen eyes peer
ing straight into the faces of the throng
ing crowd, their bronze features set and
stern, the whole car fairly bristles with
men who have fought tribe after tribe
of savage foes from the Yellowstone to
the Sonora line, and who hold a savage
mob in utter contempt. Here by the
hnb of the gatling’a wheel stands old
Feeny, close at the elbow of dark faced
Drommond. C troop’s first platoon,
“mans” the gatling gnn, and nnder its
old leader of the Arizona campaigns
"leads the procession” into the Garden
City of the antebellum days. By
Drummond's side is a railway official
gazing ahead to see that every switch
Is properly set and signaling hack to
the engineer when to “slow,” when to
come confidently ahead. Behind the
platform oar come ordinary baggage
and passenger coaches, black with men
in the same rough, devil may care
scouting rig. All, except their horses and
horse equipments left with the quarter
master at Sidney station, the battalion
has been run to Chicago exactly aa it
came from the plains, and Chicago’s
"toughs,” who would have hooted and
jeered perhaps at sight of polished
brasses and natty uniforms, recoil be
wildered before this gang of silent and
disciplined "jayhawkers.” Steadily,
silently, ominously, the train rolls
along. As it is rounding a curve sev
eral ugly looking fellows are seen run
ning at speed toward the switch lever
at tne next street crossing, eaciteuiy
the railway man clutches Drummond’*
elbow and points. Two troopers are
kneeling close at hand.
“Shoot if they touch that switch,’’
says Drummond, and instantly the
locks click as the hammers are brought
to full pock, The foremost lunnef is
almost at the Iron stand; his hand is
outstretched to grasp it when a gasping,
warning cry reaches his ears. Glancing
back, he sees his fellows scattering to
either side, and one look at the smooth
rolling car reveals tho cause; two car
bine# are leveled at him, and flat he
throws himself on hi- face and rolls to
one sido amid derisive laughter from
the striked tbemeelm A little JEjr-
ther on a knot or surly rioters are garn
ered on the track. No warning whis
tle sonnds, and the clanging bell is too
far to the rear to attract their attention.
"Out of the way therel” is the blnnt,
roughly spoken order. No time this
for standing on ceremony. Vengeful
and scowling the men spring aside,
some stooping to pick up rocks, others
reaching into their pockets for the
ready pistol, hut rocks are dropped and
pistols undrawn as the train whirls
rapidly by, and wrath gives place to
mystification. Who—what are these
strange, silent, stubbly bearded, sun
tanned fellows in alonch hats, flannel
shirts and the worn old black belts over
the shoulder? Even the engine has its
guard, and half a dozen of them, perch
ed upon the tender, have leveled their
carbines to flank and rear, ready to let
drive into the crowd the instant a brick
ia heaved or a trigger pulled.
Steadily, tUcnUv, ominously, the train
tout alony.
And so into tne great stone station
they roll, and here they find the plat
forms jammed with citizens—some
drawn by curiosity, some active sym
pathizers in the strike, and many of
them prominent leaders of the mob surg
ing in the crowded thoroughfare with
out. The train has hardly come to a
stand when from every direction the
mass of outsiders is heaving np around
it.
“Now, Feeny, clear tho platform to
the left. Take the other side, Wing,"
says Drummond quietly to tho offic*"
at the front door of the next car.
In tho very fraction of a second the
first sergeant and a dozen men have
leaped from the deck, and straight into
the heart of the crowd they go. " Back
with yel Out o’ this!” are the stern,
determined orders, emphasized by vig
orous prods with the heavy carbine
butts. Astonished at methods so prompt
and decided, there is only such resist
ance as the weight and balk of those in
rear can offer, and that is bnt moment
ary. The sight of those gleaming gat
ling barrels, the stem, brief orders and
the rapid, confident advance combine
to overcome all idea of resistance. On
both sides, at the head of the train, the
huge crowd, halt laughing, half suffo
cating, is heaved back upon itself and
sent like a great tinman wave rolling
up to the iron lattice at the office end.
Meantime, without an instant’s delay
the battalion springs out from the cars,
forms ranks on the north platform,
counts fours, and then, anna at right
shoulder, away it goes with swinging,
steady tramp around the rear of the
train, acrosa the parallel rows of rails,
and in another moment, greeted by tre
mendous cheers from the occupants of
long lines and high tiers of stores, offices,
business blocks, the grimy, dusty, war
worn campaigners come striding down
the crowded street. Heavens, how
the people shout I Staid old burghers,
portly business men, trot panting along
side, waving their hats and cheering
themselves hoarse. “Them fellers
hasn’t no bonqnets in their guns, ” is the
way a street gamin expresses it.
“Whither are they going?” “What
have they first to do?” is the cry. Po
lice officials ride now with the captain
temporarily in command; a carriage
has whisked the colonel over to head
quarters, hut haste 1 haste 1 is the word.
On they go, silent, grim, with the al
kali dost of the North Platte crossing
still coating their rusty garb. A great
swing bridge looms ahead; a dozen po
lice deploy on either side and check the
attending crowd. Over they go at
route step, and then, turning to the
right, tramp on down a roughly paved
street, growing dim and dimmer every
minnte with stifling smoke. Presently
they are crossing snakelike lines of
hose, gashed and useless; passing fire
apparatus standing unhitched and neg
lected; passing firemen exhausted and
listless. Then occasional squads of
scowling men give way before their
steady tramp and are driven down alley
ways and around street comers by re
viving police. Then the head of col
umn turns to the left and cornea fnll
npon a scene of tumult—a great build
ing in flames, a great mob surging
about it defying police interference and
bent apparently on gutting the strae-
tnre from roof to cellar and pillaging the
neighboring stores. Now, men of the
—th, here’s work cut out for you I
Drive that mob, bloodlessly if you can,
blood letting if you must I
The colonel is again at the head. All
are on foot. "Lett front into line,
doable time;’’ the first company throws
its long double rank from curb to curb,
Drummond, its commander, striding
at Its front, Wing, his subaltern, anx
iously watching him from among the
file closers. Already they have reach
ed the rearmost of the rioting groups,
and with warning cries and impreca
tions these aro scurrying to either side
and falling into the hands of the ac
companying police. Thicker, denser
grows the smoke; thicker, denser the
mob.
“Clear this street! Out of the way I”
are the orders, and for a half block or
so clear it is. Then comee the first op
position. On a pile of lumber a tall,
stalwart man in grizzled heard and
slouching hat—evidently a leader of
mark among the mob—is shouting or
ders and encouragement. What he says
cannot be heard, but now, tightly
wedged between the rows of buildings,
the mob is at bay, and yelling mad re
sponse to the frantic appeals and gestic
ulations of their leader at least 2,000
reckless and infuriated men have faced
the little battalion surging steadily up
the narrow street,
“ you may have to fire, Drummond, ’’
says the colonel coolly. "Get in rear
of your company.” Obedient, the tall
lientenant tarns and follows his chief
along the front of his advancing line ao
as to pass around the flank. Ho ia not
50 paces from the pile on which the
mob leader, with half a dozen half
dranktn satellites, ia shouting his ex
hortations. Just as the lien ten ant’s
arm is grazing grim Feepy‘fellow
aa be passes tne rrrst serg- am a nutm_,
a brick comes hurtling through tho air,
strikes full upon the back of the offi
cer’s unprotected head and sends him,
face forward. Into the mnddy street
In the yell of triumph that follows,
Wing's voice for an instant is unheard.
Obedient to its principle, “Never load
until about to fire,” the battalion's car
bines are still empty, bnt all on a sud
den C troop halts. “With ball car
tridges, load!" is Wing's hoarse, stern
order. "Now aim low when I give the
word. Fire by company. Company,
ready I” and like one tho hammers
click. But no command “Aim” fol
lows. "Look oat! Look ontt For
God’s sake don’t fire! Out of the way!”
are the frantic yells from the throats
of the mob. Away they go, scattering
down side streets, alley jv*y*> behind
lumber piles, everywhere—anywhere.
Many even throw themselves flat on
their faces to escape the expected tem
pest'of lead. "Don’t fire,“says the
colonel mercifully. “ Forward, double
time, and give them the butt. We’ll
support you. ” Down from the lumber
piles come the erstwhile truculent lead
ers. "Draw cartridge, men,” orders
Wing in wrath and disappointment.
"Now, butts to the front, and give
them h—1. Forward 1” And ont he
leape to take the lead, dashing straight
into tho thick of tho scattering mob, his
men after him. There is a minute of
wild yelling, cursing, of resounding
blows and trampling feet, and in the
midst of it all a single shot, and when
Wing, breathless, is finally halted two
squares farther on only a dozen broken
headed wretches remain along tho street
to represent tho furious mob that con
fronted them a few minutes before.
Only these few and one writhing, bleed
ing form, aronnd which half a dozen
policemen aro curiously gathered, and
at whoso side tho battalion surgeon has
just knelt.
“He’s shot through and through,"
is his verdict presently. "No power
can save him. Who ia he ?’
“About the worst ami most danger
ous ringleader of riot this town has
known, sir, ” is tho answer of one of
the police officials. “No ono know
where he camo from either—or his real
name. ”
And then tn hie dying agony tho fall
en demagoguo turns, and the other side
of his twitching face cornea uppermost.
Even through tho thin, grizzly beard
there is plainly seen an ugly, jagged
scar stretching from ear to chin.
"This isn’t his first row by any man
ner of means, if it is his last,” says a
sergeant of police. “Look at that!
Who shot him anyhow?”
“1 did,” is the cool, prompt answer,
and Sergeant Feeny raises his hand to
his carried carbine and stands atten
tion as be sees the snrgeon kneeling
there. “1 did, and just in the nick of
timo. He had drawn a bead on onr
lieutenant, bnt even If ho hadn’t I’d
have downed him, and so would any
man in that company yonder.’’ And
Feeny points to where C troop stands
resting after tts charge.
"You knew him then?”
“Knew him instantly, as a deserter,
thafe, highwayman and murderer—
knew him as Private Bland in Arizona
and wonld know him anywhere by that
scar.”
A policeman bends and wrenches a
loaded revolver from the clutching,
quivering fingers just as Wing cornea
striding back and ahouldura his way
into the group.
“Ia he badly hurt, doctor? That
was an awful whack.”
“It is the lientenant, sir, ” aays Feeny
respectfully, bnt with strange signifi
cance in hia tone as he draws a police
man aside. “Look!”
And Wing, bending over, gives one
glance into the dying face, then covers
his eyes with hands and turns blindly,
dizzily, away.
That evening a host of citizens are
gathered about the bivouac of the bat
talion at the waterworks while the
trumpets are sounding tattoo. A few
sqnares away the familiar notes come
floating in through the open windows
of a room where Jim Drummond is ly
ing on a most comfortable sofa, which
has been rolled close to tho casement
where every whiff of the cool lake
breeze can fan his face, and where,
glancing languidly around, he contrasts
the luxury of these surroundings with
the rude simplicity of the life he has
lived and loved so many years. Gray
haired George Harvey, kindly Mrs.
Stone, his sister; blissful,heautifnl Fan
ny Wing with burly baby Harvey in
her arms and her proud, soldierly hus
band by her aide, and a tall, lovely, si
lent girl have all been there to minister
to his needs and bid him thrice wel
come and make him feel that here, if
anywhere on earth, he is at home. And
here the battalion surgeon and the fam
ily physician unite in declaring he must
remain until released by their order,
and here for three days and nights he is
nursed and petted and made so much of
that he is unable to recognize himself,
and here sister Puss comes to cry over
and kiss and bless him and in her turn
to be made much of and forbidden to
leave, and then, after her big brother's
return to duty with the battalion, now
being fed and feted by all the North
Side, he must needs come over every
evening to see her, and, now that pre
sentable uniforms have arrived and the
rough beards have been shaved and tho
men of the old regiment look less like
“toughs," bnt no more like American
soldiers as onr soldiers look in the field
of their sternest service, her sisterly
pride in her big brother is beautiful to
see—so is her self abnegation, for,
somehow or other, thongh he comee to
see her, he stays to look at Rnth Har
vey, ahy,silent and heautifnl, and soon,
as thongh by common consent, that
corner of the big parlor Is given up to
those two, the tall, stalwart trooper and
the slender, willowy girl. And one
evening he comee earlier than usual in
manifest discomposure, and soon it
transpires that important orders have
reached him. Fanny turns pale. “Are
yon—all—ordered back?" she cries
and is for an instant radiant at hia as
surance that tbs order involve* only
himself. He is called to department
headquarters to report in person to the
general commanding, who is about to
make a tour througn the mountain* in
northwestern Wyoming and wants
Drummond with the escort She is
radiant only until she catches sight of
her sister's face. It is not go very
warm an evening, yet she marshals the
household out on tho steps, nut on the
back veranda—anywhere ont of that
parlor, where, just as the faint notes of
the trumpets are beard sounding their
martial tattoo, and jnst as Lieuten
ant Wins, returning trap » tiptop}
■ rj
visit to his sleeping hoy ana eecapea
for the moment from the vigilance of
his wife, now happens to go blundering
in—there is heard from the dimly light
ed corner n. nr the piano the sound of
subdued subbing, the sound of a deep,
manly voice, low, soothing, wondrously
happy, the sound—a sound—iudescrih.
ablo in appropriate English, yet never
misunderstood -a sound at which Wing
hulls short, pauses one instant irreso
lute. then faces about and goes tipto-
ing out into the brilliant sheen of the
vestibule lam]is, into tho brilliant
gleam of his fond wife's questioning,
renroaohftil eves.
H'lrnioiec* one alanre Into the dying face
Amr tor all answer, it neing peruapx
too public a spot for other demonstra
tion, Wing simply hugs himself.
That night, under tho arching roof of
the great railway station, tho comrades,
so long united by the ties of such re
spect and affection as are engendered
only by years of danger and hardship
borne in common, and now so happily
united by a closer tio, aro pacing the
platform absorbed in parting words.
“Jim, think what a load I’ve had to
carry all these five years and forbidden
by my good angel to hreatho a word of
it to you.”
“I can’t realize my own happiness,
old man. I never dreamed that, after
sho got ont into the world and saw for
herself, that she would remember her
girlish fancy or have another thought
for mo.”
“1 know you didn't Yet Fan says
that over since the voyago In tho New
born little Ruth has never had a
thought for anybody clso.”
There is a moment's silence, then
Wing speaks again:
* ’ There has not been timo for mother’s
letter to reach me. I had to write, of
course, and tell her of the fate that at
last befell him. Do you know 1 feel as
though after all it was my hand that
did it.”
“How so?"
“Feeny says he knew him the instant
that side of his face was turned toward
him—tho side my knife laid open years
ago. That was a fatal scar. ”
THE END.
A Family of Ciantn.
“The best evidence of the truth of the
theory of heredity I ever saw,” said T.
E. Lucas to the corridor man at the Lin-
dell, “is a family named Walker, living
in Mitchell county, N. C. There are at
present seven brothers and five sisters,
the lowest stature of any of them being
6 feet, which is the height of one of the
girls. Her sisters run in regular gradu
ation as to height—6 feet 1 inch, 0 feet
2 inches and 6 feet 3 inches. The tallest
brother is 7 'eet 9 inches, and the short
est 6 feet 8 inches.
“The mother is short, being but 5 feet
8 inches, while the father, from whom
the children inherit their remarkable
growth, is 7 feet 2 inches. He is of a
family of nine brothers, the tallest of
whom was 8 feet in height and the short
est 7 feet, and all of thorn lived to a con
siderable age, tiie only one surviving,
however, being the father of the sons
and daughters mentioned. If the pres
ent family were arranged one above the
other, they would reach 73 feet 8 inches
in height. It is said that all of the an
cestors back through several generations
were of like proportions.”—St. Louis
Globe-Democrat.
Where fie llelnnged.
An English nnper tells the following
old story as of something having recent
ly happened: The Dartford magistrate
sent a boy named Mace to z truant
school for two years, whereupon this
colloquy ensued:
Clerk—You arc bound to ask the father
what is his religious persuasion.
Chairman—Do you go to church?
Defendant—No, sir.
Chairman—Do yon go anywhere?
Defendant—No, sir.
Chairman—Does the hoy go anywhere?
Defendant—No, sir.
Clerk—Then we shall put him down
as belonging to the Church of England.
CHARLESTON, SUMTER AND
^ NORTHERN RAILROAD
CHARLES E. KIMBALL Receiver
In Effect Jan. 16, 1894
NORTH.
HOV. .Ml 11. m,
J.OV*
SOUTH.
1
$
AM.
P.M.
Lv 7.30
Charleston
8.45
Ar
8.40
Pregnall’s
7.27
10.47
Sumter
5.27
12.05
Darlington
4.12
12 56
Bennettsville 8.21
1.20
Gibson
2.57
1.47
Hamlet
2.30
Ar 6.00
Raleigh
10.15
Lv
P.M.
P.M.
No. 1 connnects with Seaboard
Air Line at Hamlet for Raleigh
Wilmington, Charlotte, Shel
by, Routherfordton ; and at Charlotte
with R. A D. Vestibule Limited for
Washington and New York. Passen
gers can take sleepers at Charlotte at
8 :39 p. in.
No. 2 passengers by this train have
through Sleepers. New York to Char
lotte, connects with 8. A. L. at Ham
let from Charlotte, Raleigh and
Noriti, and from Wilmington, con
nects with S.C. Ry. at Pregualls for
liarleston, Columbia, Angugta and
the West. Dinner at Hamlet.
C. MILLARD, Superintendent
( NAD. and C. A 8. RAILROADS.
J * In effect Dec 3, 1893.
Through Passenger Train.
Leave Wadesboro 4.30 a m
Bennett's 4.51 a a-
Morveu’s 5.04 a m
McFarland 5 17 a ni
Cheraw 6.90 a m
Cash's 6.12 a in
Society Hill 6.26 am
Dove's 6.44 a m
Floyd’s 6.49 a m
Darlington 7.00 a m
Palmetto 7.11 a m
Arrive Florence 7.25 a m
Leave Florence 7.10 p in
Palmetto 7.28 p m
Darlington 7.38 p in
Floyd's 7.50 p m
Dove's 7 55 p in
Society Hill 8 13 p m
Cash's 8.27 p m
Cheraw 8.50 p in
McFarland 9.13 p m
Morven’s 9.39 p in
Bennett’s 9.54 p m
Arrive Wadesboro 10.15 p in
Freight Train.
Leave Florence 7.30 a m
Darlington 8.40 a in
Arrive t'heiaw.... 11.20a in
Leave Cheraw 1.00 p in
Darlington 4.00 p m
Arrive Florence 5.00 p m
A. F. RAVENEL, President.
N
ORTHEASTERN RAILROAD.
In effect Jan. 11, 1894.
SOUTH BOUND.
No. 61
Leave Florence
Kingstree
Lanes
Arrive Charleston
.11.20 am
No. 35.
Leave Florence
Laues
. 4.52 a m
Arrive Charleston
6.59 a m
No. 28.
Leave Florence
Kingstree
. 8.87 p m
Lanes
. 9.00 p m
Arrive Charleston
No. 53.
Leave Lanes
. 7.05 p m
Arrive Charleston
8.45 p m
Train on C. & D. R. R. connects at
Florence with No. 61 Train.
NORTH BOUND.
No. 78.
Leave Charleston
Lanes
. 6.80 am
Kingstree
. 5 52 a m
Arrive Florence
7.10 a in
No. 60
Leave Charleston
Lanes
Kingstree
Arrive Florence
No. 14.
Leave Charleston
8.30 p m
Lanes
. 5.29 p m
Kingstree
. 5.45 p m
Arrive Florence
6.45 p w
No. 52.
Leave Charleston
. 7.00 a m
Arrive Lanes
No. 52 runs through to
Columbia
via Central K. R. of S. C.
No. 78 runs solid to
Wilming-
tou, N. C., making close connection
with W. & W. K. R. for
all points
North.
Train No. 14 rnns via Wilson
and Fayetteville—Short Line—and
makes close connection for all points
North.
J. F. DIVINE, Gen. Supt.
w
ILMINGTON, COLUMBIA *
AUGUSTA RALROAD.
In effect Dec. 3, 1893.
SOUTH BOUND.
Had It In For Him.
Poet—If I ever catch the compositor
who mined my last poem, I’ll he tempt
ed to murder him. Yon see I wrote a
beautiful little gem about my prospec
tive wife, and in it I referred to her aa “a
comi>oeite of angels."
Friend—Well?
Poet—And the thick headed printer
got it “a composite of angles.”—Boston
Courier.
The interest on the public debt of
the United States approximates $100
per minute.
EAGLE BRAND
No. 55.
Leave Wilmington 8.20 pm
Marion 6.11 p in
Arrive Florence 6.50 p in
No. 60.
Leave Florence 7.10 p m
Sumter 8.28 p m
Arrive Columbia 10.00 p m
No. 68.
Leave Florence 7.45 a m
Arrive Sumter 9 20 a m
No. 52.
Leave Sumter 9.53 a m
Arrive Colombia 11.05 a m
No. 52 runs through from Charles
ton via Central Railroad: leaving
Lanes 8-40 a m, Manning 9 18 a m.
NORTH BOUND.
THE BEST
ROOFING
Is unequalled for house, barn, fact
ory or out-buildings, and costs half
the price of shingles, tin or iron. It
is ready for use and easily applied by
any one. RUBBER PAINT costs on
ly 60 cents per gallon In ban el lots, or
$1.50 for 5 gallon tubs. Color dark
red. Will stop leaks in tin or iron
roofs that will last for years. Try it.
Send stamp for samples and particn-
lars.
Excelsior Paint and Roofing Co.,
155 DUANE ST., NEW YORK, N. Y.
Dec 38—2m.
TTART8VILLE RAILROAD.
** In effect Deo 8,1898.
DAILY MIXED TRAIN
Leave HartsviUe 6.00 a m
Jovann 6.20 a m
Floyd’s 6.85 a m
ArriveDarliugton 7.20 a in
Leave Darliugton 6.80 p m
Floyd’s 8.00 p m
Jovann 8.20 p m
Arrrive HartsviUe 8.40 p m
J. F. DIVINE, Gen. Supt,
No. 51.
Leave Columbia 4.80 am
Sumter 5.57 a m
Arrive Florence — 7.15 a m
No. 56.
Leave Florence 7.40 a m
Marion 8-23 a m
Arrive Wilmington 11.10 am
No. 58.
Leave Colombia. 4.20 pm
Arrive Sumter 5.36 p m
No. 59.
Leave Columbia ......
Sumter 5.45 p in
Arrive Florence.... 6.55 p m
No. 53 runs tlnougu to cuarleston
via central Railroad, arriving Man
ning 6.15 p m. Lanes 7.00 p m,
charleston8.45 pm.
Trains on Manchester and Augusta
B. R-, leave Sumter dally except Sun
day, 10.50 a. m., arrive Rimini 11:59 a.
m. Returning leave Rimini 1.00 p.
m.. arrive Snmter 9:10 p. in.
Trains on Wilmington, Chadbonna
and Conway Railroad leave Chad-
bourn at 10.10 a in, arrive at Conway
12.80 p in, returning leave Conway at
2:00 p. m., arrive Chad bourn 4:50 p.
m. Leave Ohadbonru 7.00 a m and
5.15 pm, arrive at Hub 7-45 a m and
6.00 p m. Returning leave Hah 8.15 a
m and 8.80 p in, arrive at Chudbonrn
9.00 a m and 7.15 p m. Daily except
| 8an joilN F. DIVINE. GenT Supt,