Welsh Newspapers
Search 15 million Welsh newspaper articles
5 articles on this Page
Hide Articles List
5 articles on this Page
IN BILLINGSGATE MARKET. .…
News
Cite
Share
IN BILLINGSGATE MARKET. I) — LONDON'S GREAT FISH EMPORIUM. At ElRLY MORN IN THIS FAMOUS HESORT OF SLANG AND STRONG ODOURS—NEARLY Two CENTURIES OLD--THE COSTERS AND THE IMMENSE TRADE THEY Do IN A FEW HOURS. Half-past four o'clock in the tnornfng, and ferey dawn is slowly breaking over London town. It is a sultry summer morning. The air is heavy with the odour of fish. There kreorowds in the streets near Billingsgate, a bewildering assortment of wagons, and hurri- cane of voices that would deafen the people who were on the tower of Babel one day, now famous in history. Horses appear to be entangled in shafts and shafts in wheels, whila the cries, the shouts, the objurgations make a confused and deafening uproar. t The clock strikes fire and the market opens. In a moment the place swarms with life. The vessels are there hauled up in tiers in the river, laden with silvery cargoes the porters are there running to and fro between the ships and the market; the railway vans are there packed with fish brought from the railway stations; the salesmen are there at their stands or benches, and the buyers are there ready to buy and pay. r- Little business, however, is transacted until about six o'clock, the intervening hour being occupied chiefly in the transference of the consignments of fish from the vessels to the market, and putting the different stalls ship- shape for the business that will shortly begin. U It is nearly two centuries ago since Billings- gate was established. Since then it baa achieved and maintained a world-wide noto- riety, principally through the bad language popularly supposed to be used by the fre- qaenters thereof, 11 Billingsgate, however, is now a myth, whatever it may have been in the days gone by. When paying a visit to Billingsgate Market it is advisable to don an old suit of clothing. Not only does the market itself reek of fish, but so do all the lanes and streets approaching it. At early morn these thoroughfares are crowded with fish-carts for a distance of several hundred yards from Lower Thames-street. There is a never-ending stream of porters, each with a large box of fish curiously balanced on hia head. It is always best to give them the wall, for your Billingsgate aristocrat is no respecter of persons. The market is a long, low edifice, built on pillars, with a number of offices over the ground floor. On the roof is a figure of Britannia, pluckily holding on to that ever- lasting trident. The sculptor who carved the figure had no sense of the fitness of things, otherwise he would have made the statue holding her nose with her fingers. The smell of fish is strong down below, but what must it be up there? With some difficulty we cross the road, which is ankle deep in filth. This stalwart fellow, climbing the ribbed planks that lead from the river to the market, and bearing on his head two heavy baskets of fish, is a typical market man. He wears a tarpaulin hat, fitting close to his akull, something like a sou-wester," and boasting a brim of about 9in. in width at the rear and which curls up at the edge to catch and retain the moisture which would other- wise flow down his back from his dripping burden. The outer garment is a greyish- white hybrid surtout, half jaoket, half. smock-frock, reaching almost to the knee it is open at the breast, and displays a voluminous handkerchief tied in a double knot, the ends fluttering jauntily in the breeze. His trousers are of any material you like to imagine, as imagination alone can penetrate the coating of mud, which is all that is visible to the eye. While we have been describing his appearance he has vanished and a dozen more of precisely the same mould and similarly burdened have followed him. On they come in a continuous stream, rising out of the darkness below with startling regu- larity. These men bear themselves with an air of high official dignity, and not without reason, for they are the "fellowship "porters, who have the sole privilege of landing the fish from the vessels. They are the veritable Cary- tides of the commerce of Billingsgate. It is now nearly six o'clock and the trade is at its height. A continous tide of popu- lation flows in and out of the market, where the sharp shot of a thousand chattering tongues drums upon the ear in an uninter- rupted volley. There is, however, no dis- orderly riot or quarrelling. The sales are so istonishingly rapid as to be scarcely compre- hensive to a stranger. Many lots are sold upon the head of the porter, who yet hardly waits a minute in the throng before he dasbee down his burden and is off. Under the flaring gaslights and ranged the salesmen's desks. Behind each of these stands the partner or head assistant and the auctioneer proper, who stands where the boxes of fish are deposited by the porters. The auctioneers are waited upon by a form man-a very useful fellow if he knows his business well. This functionary takes oharge of each box as it arrives, and sees to its delivery when sold. The market-place is covered with the stalls of the salesmen, the tenants of the market, which are divided by narrow alleys that serve to condense the flood of porters more than ever, and makes it impossible to avoid an occasional collision. In one corner a man is conducting an auction in a hoarae greasy voice, aDd a hoarse greasy thunder rises up from the reeking crowd of purchasers, each time a tempting lot is put up. The crowd around his stand, which is composed of a couple of ricketty boxes, consists of about two hundred retail dealers, all elbowing and fighting and hustling to get near him, and all bawling as if to lift the roof off. Many of them abso- lutely drip with dishy water. They are literally as oily and are packed a good deal more closely than sardines in a tin. About seven :o'clock a new class of buyers come crowding in, and the whole place is so filled with them that one has to fight his way at every step. You find yourself all of a sudden surrounded by a very undisciplined regiment of London it oosters"-an extensive and peculiar class indigenous to the soil. They have already heard that this morning the market is well supplied with fish, and they have flooked by hundred with their barrows baskets, hand-oarta, and donkey carts in the hope of making a good day's work over half a lot of soles. The lot is generally a couple of baskets. 5„ What for this lot. sayg -6oe salesman. Eight shillings for one," bawls a coster lad. > » ol Eight and six, eight and nine, nine shil- lings; nine and two, nine and six, nine and ten, ten bob," from half a dosen tones in in. stant succession. "Say a sov the two," say the salesman. "I'll take the other," roars a coster, waiting for a chance. ,r „ Sold," explodes the auctioneer. Money and he holds ont his hand. The money is paid instantert and off goes the purchaser to clean the fish preparatory to cry, them >bout the town for the rest of the day. Thus the hoars go by, At ten o'clook the market is quiet. No one would imagine that 500 tons of fish had been sold there aud carted away in less than five hours. But such is the case, and to-day is only a fair sample of every day in the week. As we stroll out of the market, between pyramids of lobsters sold by the dozen or score, and of mighty crabs yet unslain in their baskets, comfortably packed with seaweed; past huge moudds of shrimps, sacks of oysters, and unknown quantities of mussels and whelks, I marvel at the myriad mouthed city that can daily stow any such colossal quantities of the products of the briny deep. I am getting meditative again, and I ask myself how and where this fishy infinity will be cooked and eaten. Cooked ? What is this delicious fragrance that steals up the nostrils and makes one forget in a moment the pungent and semi-putrid odours around one and the clamour of a thousand thirsty throats P It is indeed the smell of cooked fish-and excel- lently cooked too. For here, at the extremity of the market, are we not at the very doors of the Three Tuns, famous for its fish dinners and its good cheer ? Let us go in
The Pressed Rose. .
News
Cite
Share
The Pressed Rose. Grace Hetherton was happy that is, young Grace was. There was an old Grace Hether- ton, too. Aunt and niece they were one nearly sixty, the other just turned twenty. And the young Grace was happy that summer evening for the same reason that Aunt Grace had been happy forty years before. She was going to marry Archie Armitage. For years before Archie Armitage and Grace Hetherton had been betrothed. He was a young Englishman, and a short time before the day fixed for the wedding he had been called home by the sudden death of his father, leaving Grace to wait on this side the water for his speedy, safe return. But that never came. The ship on which he took passage for England never arrived in port. Grace waited and hoped. He said he would come: he will come," she said. Her father and mother and her brother John hoped and waited with her, but no tidings came. Until all chance for his return was past they did not tell her that he was dead; that he had been drowned at sea. Then, at last, they put away the bridal finery. But still Grace hoped and waited. Her clouded brain held fixedly to the one idea; her lover would return. The months grew into years, but still every night she looked long and anxiously down the drive and said, If not to-night, he will come to-morrow." The father died; John brought a wife into the big, rambling house. Grace's hair turned from brown to gray, from gray to snowy white, wrinkles cams into her sweet, wistful face, nephews and nieces grew up about her, but still she looked out from her rooms at the end of the wing and said, He may come to- morrow." About the country she came to be spoken of as "poor old Miss Hetherton." Visitors to the house saw her sometimes, and she ex- plained to them that she was merely staying with John till Archie came back." Now, after forty years another Grace Hetherton wa& to marry another Archie Armitage. John's daughter, Graoie, had met the second Archie while travelling abroad. He was the son of the drowned man's brother, and in his face and figure, in voice and bear- ing, was remarkably like his uncle. Graoie walked up and down in the sweet smelling June twilight, from the piazza to the gate and back again. fcbe was waiting for Archie. He had but recently come from England, and was soon to take her back with him, his bride. As she paced to and fro, she caught the gleam of light from ber aunt's windows in the old wing. It occurred to her to go and sit there with the old lady until Archie came. She had told Aunt Grace some time before of her engagement, but when she gave her lover's name the gentle voice bad checked her. Do not talk nonsense, child, dear) I Archie Armitage is coming over the sea, true enough. I have been waiting for him. You must not claim him for your sweetheart, my dear Gracie." That had ended the matter. Aunt Grace dismissed the subject as nonsense, and was not to be reasoned out of it. So when the yoong Archie had come for bis first visit to the little town he had not been presented to the mistress of the pretty ground-floor rooms in the old wing of the Hetherton mansion. Gracie crossed the lawn and mounted the short flight of steps to her aunt's door, almost hidden by climbing roses full of bloom. She paused there and looked in silently. In the centre of the cozy room her aunt sat reading by a shaded lamp, her lavender dress silk falling about her in full folds. All her surroundings told of a love for the beautiful. Choice engravings and etchings hung on the walls. A great jar of old- fashioned single white roses stood upon the open piano. The shaded lamp oast a mellow, softened light over everything. The corners were but half defined. Gracie was about to go in, when she heard the click of the gate and quiok footsteps coming up the path. Then she saw Archie walking towards her. He had seen her white dress crossing the lawn and bad followed. I'll hide from him behind the roses and let him hunt," she thought, and quickly drew back at the side of the steps. The young man came up the steps. Grace he called Grace The figure in the room reading by the shaded lamp turned at the voice. She rose, and for one trembling, uncertain moment stood still. Then, with the lovelight in her eyes, with arms outstretched, with the smile of her happy girlhood upon her face, she moved eagerly toward the door. There stood the young man, pausing on the threshold, look- ing in. *'Archie!" the gentle voice faltered. "Archie! You have come-you have come The young man understood. To the old lady before him he was the absent lover re- turned. lie came into the room, put his arm about her and kissed her. The young girl understood. She remained silent behind the rosea and watched the pair sit down together on the prim, old-fashioned sofa, the face of the woman illumined with joy, her eyes looking tenderly into those of the man, her hands placed caressingly on his shoulders. In her mind the passing years had brought no thought of change in him she loved she had watched for the same stalwart young figure, the same sunny face she had parted from. Archie quiokly took in the situation, and felt the cruelty of undeceiving her. Better to let her shattered mind rest firm in the belief that her own Archie had returned as he had promised than to attempt explanations, even if she would heve understood them. He determined to act the part as well as he was able. She plied him with questions as to his health, the voyage, &o., and he answered with whatever apt fiction came to him, taking her nanus iq big au(j smiling back into her dimmed eyes. You seem to have been gone a long time, Archie. How long ?" She paused and put her hand to her head. A year; was it a whole year? Yes, perhaps as much as a year. It confuses me to try to remember- but there I no matter, you are here. How long it seems since you gave me the rose that night and said good-by t She arose aud took down from a shelf behind her an old volume in red and gold, opened it carefully and held it out to him. You remember how you broke it from the bush at the gate and fastened it in my hair ?" Her voice trembled with excitement. There it is, pressed in my annual, the one you gave me. I have kept it to show you." Archie took the book and bent over it. On the open yellow page lay a long-stemmed rose, withered and brown with age, the last gift of the A rchie of long ago. It has turned brown while you have been across the sea and back again." The young girl listening outside caught the quivering strain in the voice, and fearing the effect of the unusual excitement upon her aunt now appeared at the door. 11 Come in, Gracie, come in I have a visitor to introduce to you." She took the girl by the hand and led her into the room. This is brother John's daughter, Mr. Armitage. Gracie, this is my old friend, Archie Armi- tage, who has just come from England. We have been talking over old times." In her excited joy all sense of incongruity seemed lost to her. The young people exchanged a swift glance of intelligence as they bowed to each other, and Grace said to her aunt, Don't you think you are a trifle tired now, auntie ? Perhaps you and Mr. Armitage had better wait until to-morrow to continue your talk 3 You know you have not been very well." The white-haired woman looked thought- fully from one to the other. Yes," she said slowly, it is probably somewhat late. I will send you away shortly. Will you tell your father he has arrived, dear ?" Papa knows Mr. Armitage is here, auntie," replied Grace, 11 and I will go back with him across the lawn. To-morrow you'll have a long day together." W Y-e-s, perhaps that is best. I seem some- what dizzy. It has been so exciting to see you, Archie." f-he stroked her brow slowly with her hand and sat down in her easy chair. You'll come in the morning ?" Yes, auntie, I'll come in early and help you dress; but you must get quiet now, auntie, dear. Good night." "And, (jracie, I'll put on my blue figured gown he used to like to see me in, and the broad garden hat, and we'll have the morning on the lawn. 1 shall have to show him all the old nooks and oorners, and we'll have so much to say, so much to tell each other." She looked up at Arobie with a glance of exquisite tenderness, and he bent and kissed her reverently. Do not rise," he said, you are over-tired, and we will have so much to talk of to-mor- row. Good night." He had followed Grace to the door, and as be closed it behind him on the picture of the white head bent over the withered rose he thought how much they were alike, the woman and the flower. When Grace opened the door of the old wing the next morning she stopped abruptly. The lamp still burned on the table, and beside it in the easy chair sat her aunt as they had left her, but with closed eyes and an odd, happy look of youth upon her face, still holding in her lifeless hand the stem of the rose, its fragile petals scattered among the soft folds of her dress and on the floor about her.-Pittsbut-q Bulletin,
[No title]
News
Cite
Share
Indignant Guest: This fish smells. Poetic Waiter: So does the rose. Seedy Individual: Introduce me to your friend. Jones: Not much. I'd rather lend you the money myself. Gus De Smith You have very large pars. Gilhooly: Yes, my ears are large. All I lack now to be a perfect ass is your brain., Charlie: Don't you think that Mabel is a very cold girl? (ns: Not at all. She is always telling me that she feels warm enough for some ice-cream. Jerseyman: Connecticut is a jay Staie. Connecticut Man: On the contrary, there isn't a J in Connecticut—but you can't say as much for Jersey. Housewife (to tramp): Will you take a silk hat? Tramp (haughtily): No, madam, m unless you include also in the gift a Prince Albert or a spike-tail coat. "Papa," said William, as they sailed down |o Staten Island, do sea-horses come from The sea?" Yes, my son." "And do bay horses all come from the bay ?" + Englishman: Tradespeople are never .1- vited to the homes of the British aristocracy. American No. When they go they go un- invited, I suppose—to try to collect their bills. VictimWhat ? Two dollars for draw- ing that tooth ? Why, the dentist across the street only oharges a dollar. Dentist: Yes, but I take twice as much time about it as he does. Johnson (scientific bore) Do you believe in unconscious cerebration ? Williamson (worn out): Oh, yes. For instance, I don't believe you know what you are talking about right now. Where is Johnny Tivington ?" inquired the Sunday School teacher, looking up from the Bible that he was reading. He went out between the Acts," replied little Sammy Brown. He: Yes, I have been in the army for fifteen years, and, of dbnrse, had some terrible strains upon my courage. She (symatheti- cally): les, I suppose all the time you have been expecting to be called into service. 11 De Haas: Under the circumstances I don't know that it was exactly the right thing for me to make a speeoh but still, [ don't think my conduct was unprecedented. Balack: That precedent was established in the time of Balaam. The Doctor (a bachelor): Well, my boy, think of being married again ? The Lawyer (a widower): Not a bit of it. I know when I've had enough. I would regard a proposal as simply a motion for a new trial. Miss Fanny: That hideous old Mr. Jones bad the impudence to propose to me. Miss Jennie: You gave him the mitten? Misa Fanny: No, I did not. Just to punish him I accepted his offer. He is worth half a million. What is the name of your law firm ?" Jones, Brown, Smith, and Robinson." That's altogether too short. If you want to be in fashion you should take in eight or ten more partners, and tack on all their names." Returned Traveller: trench people always seem so pleasant. I noticed that every one I spoke to while I was in France would smile at me. Friend: Indeed In what language did you speak to them ? Heturned Traveller French. Friend Perhaps that accounts for it. A rather shabby looking man app ied to the chief of the Ntw York police for a position. il'B ave you ever had any experience as a detective ?" Oh, yes," was the reply. I onoe arrested a man who did some kill- ing." So you arrested a man who oom- mited a homioide." Yes, he was a sort of a murderer. He was not a homicide precisely. He was a suicide, Ile killed himself, you know,"
A REFUGEE'S STORY. e
News
Cite
Share
A REFUGEE'S STORY. e BY H. M. SYLVESTER. Hank Owings had in war times been a Union refugee. I was on his circuit, and had gone to his home for the night, where, after the sapper things had been put away, he told this story of the days when that part of the country was common forage ground for all the outlaws and guerrillas of East Tennessee. "East Tennessee was Union, and mostly mountains. There weren't many slaveholders hereabouts, so the folks didn't care to fight, and kept out of it as best they could. "I had just turned nineteen, and was a strapping fellow, tall like I am now I hain't shortened up much," with a soft laugh. Father and I had started for the corn- field, just around that knoll over there in the meadow, when a troop of guerrillas rode down the road to halt in the old dooryard. They wanted to know where the men folks were-when they'd be back—how many boys belonged to the place; how old they were, and all that. Then, with most of the poultry stowed in their saddle-bags, they rode away, laughing, saying as how they'd be back after the boys some day. After that it was settled I'd better get to Nashville than be conscripted by the rebs. I reck'n there were a dozen boys that were Union in the neighbourhood. We had agreed upon the night, for all there weren't one of us who had been any way from home but we got a map from one of-our old school books, and after studying it a bit 'lowed we could get there. The old church at the mouth of the Post Oak road was the rendezvous. When the night came around the boys were on the ground, and impatient to be off. Crossing the valley, single file, we crept up the side of Walden Ridge, to throw ourselves on the grass at i!s top just at the edge of Lookout Rock. AVith one long, lingering look we plnnged into the wilderness that makes the great Cumberland Plateau, and that covers a third almost of the Sta'e of Tennessee. A wild, mountainous region now, it was wilder then and whichever way one might turn might be into a guerrilla camp,or against el one of their pickets. "The third night out we struck Daddy's Creek. The trail westward, descending sharply into a deep ravine, brought us to a broad shallow stream. There was an opening in the woods so wo could see the sharp roof of a building against the sky. Along the edge of this stream was a jungle of laurel, into which the boys crept, while I went for- ward to reconnoitre. Keeping in the shadow of the laurels, I forded the creek to find my- self beside a broad, level stretch of highway. The fresh hoof-marks in it startled me, and made me more careful in my movements. The building was an old deserted sawmill. There were holes in its roof, through which the moon shone, which, by the way, was in its second quarter. 1 approached the mill over the logs that once supported its clumsy flume. Nearer and nearer I crept, feeling each pif-c,- of timber that was likely to feel a pound of my weight- I Crack-' Who goes there ?' "I had barely time 'o drop among the foundations of the flume when the figure of a man was dimly outlined in the gable of the mill. Standing there some time he afterward withdrew, reluctantly, it seemed to me, into the deeper shadow, yet I felt his eye was still on the broken flume. I peered over the log, and in the gable ag in stood the grey, ghostly vision, L had before seen. It was motionless, yet I dared not move, for I saw the glintjjf a rifle against the black background. It was a -entry a'guerrilla, no doubt. There was little chatioe of getting out of those logs without discovery, with the sentry within pistol-shot. How long I lay there I do not know. It must have been an hour. It seemed much longer. Across the creek came the cry of a night hawk. It was our signal— one for danger, two for safety. 1 heard it but once then there was a tramp of horses' feet, a grinding of heavy hoofs in the gravel, as if on a descending road, a splash in the stream, a spurt along the road, and a halt at the old mill. There must have be^n a half- dozen troopers in the party. We wero. inside their lines, foivhese horse- men came from. the same direction as our- selves. '•' Sam Sam in a low, penetrating [voice. <t;fhey were about to change the sentry. 1 The man in the gable has disapeeared. I leaped noiselessly from my hiding-place into the deeper shadows under the mill. I heard the cry of the night-hawk again. I could not answer. The night was a perfect one. I could distinguish the low tones of their conversation which was carried on in the mill above. It was concerning the noise in the old flume. There was a general dismount. The tramp of feet and the rattle of spurs towards the open gable were easily distin- guished. One got down upon the rotten timbers and crept out into the moonlight. Ther's nobuddy out hyar,' I heard him say ia a low voice. "'Mnsthev been some so't ov'r critter- couldn't hev been a man.' Mebbe,' was the equally low reply but, Pete, keep a sha'p eye out for them boys from Post Oak—they'll be like t' come out hyar.' "Pete was the new guard. u, How many be they ?' "'I'low ther's mo'n a dozen. OP Ow'n's boy's 'long 'n 'em.' How 'd yer git thet.i'' "'Ihe'rd't—they lit out two nights ago. They haint fur off.' The cry of the nighthawk came again. What's that ?' asked a low voice. "'Thet—thet's a nigbtbawk.' 'Thought mebbe't moughfc be a signal, 'r suthiu'—they're durned thick 'round hyar, seems t' me.' "A boy only, my heart came into my mouth to fill it completely. I wondered who bad played the spy. "Nothing more was said. The exchange of sentries made, the guerrillas re-crossed the stream and rode up the hill. into the thick woods. A spell of weird silence followed. I could see quite plainly the big timbers, here and see quite plainly the big timbers, here and there. A bit away, a square shaft of light dropped through the opening in the floor where the saw-frame played up and down. "I crept steadily toward the old frame, which was still in place. I heard the sentry just above. Then I saw the shadow of his broad felt hat on the timbers in the wheel- pit, as if its owner were trying to solve the secret of its darkness. If the fellow would only go to sleep, I thought; but, instead, he began a monotonous patrol up and down the floor of the old mill. I could easily locate him, for his tread was heavy. He evidently felt a deal of curiosity in the old flume, for, once at that end of :the mill he would remain there quietly for minutes, doubtless filled with that nameless sense that betrays the nearness of humanity oftentimes without revealing it. I have no doubt he felt uneasy, and rightly, for my every sense was so alert, and my mental deter- mination so complete, that this partioular individual most be disposed of in some way. So intense were my feelings, and so predomi- nant my mental action, I found myself won- dering if I had not made my thought audible. The sentry again began passing, slowly but steadily, across the plank floor above. His footsteps, with the swash and ripple of the stream against the laurel bushes, were the only sounds, unless now and then I caught the cry of the night-hawk, and always from the same direction.. I kept note of the time by the moon, and I remember I set it about two after mid- night. "In that time the untutored boy had matured into the daring man. I started for- ward upon the narrow saw-frame, and just at that moment got the greatest fright of my life. I felt the touch of an invisible hand, and just then a feather-blow would have sent me into the water. Hank I knew the voice. "4 Hank!' Yes 1' Guerrillas F' The sentry stopped just above. Looking across the opening I saw him, and, with the moonlight at his back, he seemed a huge fellow. He carried his rifle on his shoulder, and I could see the sheath of a big knife in his beit, along with the but of a navy.' He started on his patrol. Hank, we must kill that fellow ? I had not thought of that. I said,'briefl/f 'Go back. Bring the boys over here at once—' The sentry was returning. I waited for him to get to the end of his bea.t. I The slightest noise will L-tray us- they know we are in the woods the.v are watching for us—' The sentry was again in the open gable. Bring the boys across the ford in the shadows there may be a scrimmage. Signal el back across the ford. After that I waited for the signal. It came. The footfall of the sentry stopped suddenly, as if he had noted the cry. I crept out upon the old saw frame. I could see well enough, 1 had been so long In the obscurity. Feeling my way along the timbers I found one that was notched, as if it had been sometime used All a ladder. Climb- ing to the level of the floor above I looked out under the low eves at the sky. it was clear. There were no clouds to throw their shadows about me. The guard still paced up and down. At last, hidden behind the huge post I had ascended, I could survey at will the entire interior. The sentry kept to his patrolling. I could have touched him at he passed, half- asleep, bis shaggy chin almost touching his broad chest. I had to do everything so slowly, but I somehow felt the man was in my power. My plans were complete. No trace of the sentry must be left. His comrades might think he had deserted him, but no more. At last the fellow stopped, leaning bis rifle against the post that concealed me. He fumbled his pook for his tobacco. Pete I whispered. He turned, like a mountain cat, to mee* a swift, unerring blow. Before he could move he was gagged and disarmed. With the cry of the night hawk among the rafters, a swift rush of feet, the boys had gathered about us. What yer goin' t'do with 'im, Hank Make him show us the way out of this hornet's nest. Whare's your camp, stranger?' asked. "The guerrilla pointed direcfly opp,site the way the troopers came to relieve the guard. 1 drew the back of his bowie-knife across his bare throat as a warning if he did net te the truth. 0 We are the Post Oak boy* and you are going with us a bit. I reck'n you'll show uS the way—or the buzaards 'il find a good break- fast in the moi-iiing. Where's your ciLalPf stranger ?' a second time. "lie saw as little mercy in my face •« 10 the cold gleam of his nglv weapon. He nodded the way the guerrillas went. Nashville, is ? "Down the road I interpreted his look In that direction. Any sentries down there ?' He nodded a second time. W ell, go ahead. If you get us into trouble-' lie shrank from the toucq of the cold knife with a shiver. Then we began our tramp, the path grow- ing narrower and the shadows deeper. Suddenly the guerrilla stopped. I removed the gag. Ther' mought be a picket byarbouts* cap'n.' What's your countersign ?' l'oat Oak,' was the answer. Down the road I went with the lad who found me under the old mill, silently, to CoDlS into an opening in the woods, flooded with the clear white moonlight. At its further edge, in the deeper shadows, stood the niotionleo picket. We had agreed !here should be no noise, no shooting. Then we stepped out to meet the chat. lenge. Yer all right, I reck'n,' tha gneriU* replied familiarly as we gave the countcr- sign. "The butt of his rifle dropped to the ground. Got a chew, stranger ?' I asked. "'I reck'n,' reaching deep down into t& trousers pocket for his tobacco plug. Then came the struggle. 1 seemed to (eel all the ferocity of a wild animal. 1 had throat in both my bands. Nor was my cool- rade idle. Part of the time I was in then my feet would touch the ground, but I kept my grip on hie throat. Somehow lae had loosened Pete's revolver from my belt it was in my face-I heard the clink of I hammer-its sharp blow on the caPPe d nippie. There was no report-no smoke. Then I saw the shadow of a falling rifle" stock, and the guerilla fell away from. tne, deild. '•' Mad to do't, Hank,' my comrade 331 apologetically. 'He's jest fit for buzzer meat,' helping himself to the weapons of the prostrate sentry. 'Spose we'll hev te to 'im along ?' 'I repf-ated the signal twice, and a mornn latt-r the boys came up with us. j, Before dawn we had forded Daddy Cre^ for the last time, where tho buzzards ^oUfnr a table ready laid for them at daybrea, fa: we had no time to waste on the dead Two weeks later we reached Nashville With- out further incident, wUh Pete a prisoner Gi war, our first but not last capture."
Advertising
Advertising
Cite
Share
EPPS'S COCOA.—GBATEFITL AND COMFORT1* By a thorough knowledge of the natural la..v all(i govern the operations of digestion and nu f Well. by a careful application of th« fine properties w selected COCOA, Mr, Eppa has provided our bre" tables with a delicately-flavoured beverage save us many heavy doctors' bills. It is by t cious use 8f such articles of diet that a constltuvert be gradually built up until strong enough to rcsw* tendency to disease. Hundreds of subtle \§0 floatiug around us ready to attack wherever weak point. We may eacap* many a fatal shaft ing ourselves well fortified with pure blood »"a perly nourished frame."—Civil Service simply with boiling water or milk. goidonlyig by Grocers, labelled—"JAMKS BPPS Co., T. pathic Chemists. London" Also makers of EpP8 j^g47 noon Chocolate Essence LIVES COMPLAINTS.—Dr. King's Quinine Liver Fills, without Marcurr. -Kant* remedy; remove all Liver and 8tom»cn Biliousness, Headaebe, Sickness. Shoulder rft<n burn, IftligtittoBi OwMtipatloa.