The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on August 23, 1893 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, August 23, 1893
Page 3
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THE UPPER DEIS MOlNES, ALOONA, IOWA, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 23 1893. BY HUGH COKWAT, Author of "Walled Sack-" Etc. EtO, CHAPTER XXXIII. "I AM MAD." If by any chance Beatrice, who certainly had trouble enough to make her wakeful, had risen with the dawn of the morning which followed the tragedy, and looked out of her casement she would have seen a sight which would have caused her much surprise. She would have seen Sarah Miller, whom she believed to bo in England, standing on the opposite side of the street; utter despair and anguish written in every lineament; gazing at her mistress's window like one bidding the object, the dearest on earth, an eternal fare-\tell—eternal because even the consoling hope of a meeting in some future state is ab, sent. But Beatrice, who, in the earlier watches of tho night, had been awrtke for hours with her sorrow, slept on until the sun was high. Perhaps it was well for her she did so. The poor soli-appointed instrument for working tlie Divine Will, had, after she left the scene of hur dark work, wandered about the outskirts of Munich, aimlessly and hopelessly. Had it been broad daylight, and had there.been persons to see her, an occasional stifled moan and a wringing of tlie hands Would have been all that showed the agony of rr.ind sho cmluroil. 13ut it was not as might bo supposed tlie agony of remorse. It was agony at the tliouglitof the further sacrifice which such Sons;: as still was hers told her she must make, in order that the desired and predestined results might follow the act of tho night, She was mad and she was not mad. On what may bo called tho religious side of tho question, her mind, as may be guessed from her deeds, was gone past redemption. It may bo that this had been her true state for years; over since sho had accepted as true tho inexorable logic of creed which she had partly been taught, partly framed for herself. The fire may have been burning for years, giving now and again transient flashes, and only waiting for certain circumstances to fan it to a consuming llaine. Tlie fierce burst was now over, but tho lire would burn aud not again bo hidden until it had devoured life as well as reason. Sho had killed, murdered this man in all but cold blood. Apart from the horror attendant on the actual execution of tlio crime, a horror which began to haunt her and be ever with her, sho felt no poignant misery, no maddening regret. In her wild disjointed way she lamented, not the man's death, but the fact that, she had been chosen to bring it about. She lamented it oven as Judas might have lamented the hard fate which, in order that prophecy should bo fulfilled, singled him out, and decreed that he should betray his master. And, if it bo true that a providence saves and slays, who shall say that the woman's mad reasoning was unsound? Are not faith and logic mortal foes, who shall only be reconciled when tho lion lies down with the lainbV On the other side, tlio material side, Sarah Miller was, as yet, sano, or nearly so. She could look forward, plan, and even cany out And tlie anguish which racked her mind was the home-coming of the truth, that her act must part her and her mistress for ever. Here was the crowning sacrifice. Here was, perhaps, the earthly punishment. Never again to gaze into that dear face; never again to hear that loved voice; never again to bo near her to minister to her wants, to aid her, scheme for her, and, if needs be, sin for her. Never to see her in the happiness which had been so dearly bought. Here was tlio sacrifice! It must bo made, and she must find strength .to make it, and skill to insure its being of use. To see her mistress, to" meet her even once more would bo to ruin all. She must never know whose hand it was bore her freedom. Sho would never suspect that her servant had been tho means of cutting tlio knot which it seemed no earthly power could have undone. So -when at last tlio morning broke grey, and trees and other objects loomed phantomlike, and unreal through the mist, Sarah Miller planned and schemed, seeking the way to insure what sho had so dearly bought. AH her thoughts readied one end. She must fly far, far from the spot. Beatrice must never hear of her again; never know that sho left London. If her proximity to the dead man became known the truth might be guessed and all be lost. Yet before she went she must see the house in which her darling lived. She must stoop and kiss the doorstop on which those loved feet had trodden. She must waft her one passionate and unheeded farewell, then leave tho place and be as one dead. She struggled against tho desire but it overcame her. With tho Jirst streaks of daylight sho entered tlio sleeping city, and utterly worn put stood before her mistress's window, and fora while watched it as one might watch tho last fading ray of a sun which lias sunk never again to rise, and lighten the darkness which shall bo eternal. At that early hour of the morning tho street was silent and deserted. There was no one to notice the strange-looking creature who stood and, with wild despair in her eyes, for ever gazed on one spot. Her look for the time was such that no one, not oven tho one most preoccupied with his own concerns, could have passed her without fooling his curiosity raised as to why sho was lingering there, and what gavo her that appearance of dire distress. After some minutes spent m tins manner, the woman crossed tho road. Her limbs dragged after her and made her exhausted state apparent. She leant her head against the door of tlio house which held her mistress, and sobbed convulsively. A dizzy f ecl- . ing came over her, and sho felt that she was upon the point of fainting, and falling senseless on the doorstep. By a supreme effort she roused herself and shook off tho incipient stupor. If once she sank down her weary limbs might rebel and refuse to do her bidding. She might lie there until her presence was discovered, and that discovery ruined all, No, if she were to sink and perhaps die, let it be as far away from Beatrice as her waning strength could carry her. Sweet as it would be to breathe her last within reach of her mistress, even such poor comfort could not bo vouchsafed to her, It speaks volumes for the iron strength of her will, insomuch that it struggled with and overcame, not only the woman's physical fatigue, but also the craving for one glimpse of Beatrice which chained her to the spot She tore herself away and without once looking back, forced her tired limbs to bear hoi to a considerable distance. Here she found a quiet doorstop on v> iiich she sat uuuiolest' ed, sat and fought against her exhaustion, until such time as sho would be able to procure food. It was not long before, slowly, little by little, unit by unit, tho city began to awake. Here and there tho shutters went down from a shop, and at last the weary woman saw all but facing her a baker's window. She entered the shop, bought some bread, aud begged a glass of water, Not for her own sake, but for the sake of another, she was called upon to eat and drlak. < ane ate her bread, and then somewhat strengthened again began her pilgrimage. She crept through the streets until she reached the railway station. Here she ascertained at what time the next train for the west would start. She had a long time to wait. She hid herself In one corner of tlie waiting-room, and sat like a statue. But her brain was burning, and her pulse throbbing. A strange sound, a fierce rushing sound, was over in her ears; great wheels seemed turning and turning in her head; and if for a moment she dared to close hor hot and weary eyes, she saw through the darkness a light, a fierce light, red like blood, and drawing nearer and nearer. But in spite of all this she was able to take her scat in the train, able to exult that she had found the strength to bear her so far; able to pray that her strength might last until she once more stood in London. Then, all would bo safe. No matter what became of her then. The work was finished, what did the future of the tool matter? Tlie train left Munich, and as it steamed out of the magnificent station, the woman veiled her face with her black shawl. In spite of her conviction that sho had but executed a pre-ordained task, sho dared not look upon tho spot where she had knelt on the previous night. Miles and miles passed before she removed tho sombre covering from her white, worn face. As the train hurried on the wheels within her brain whirled faster and faster, the rushing sound grow stronger, and the liorce red light shone redder, fiercer and nearer. Save for such inquiries as the exigency of the journey forced her to make, and such speech as was necessary to procure tlie food and drink which nature absolutely demanded, the woman spoke no word during that long jonnvy back. Except that now and again sho. pressed them to her brow, in a vain endeavor to stop tin; wheels which whirled in her brain, her thin hands were for ever clasped beneath her dark shawl. Sho sat and stared into vacancy. How could she close her eyes, when doing so at once brought the red light before them? For all she knew that Journey might have lasted months or years. Periods of time meant nothing to her now. Eternity, not Time, lay before her. Tlio long journey by land, tho shorter journey by sea, pa.sHcd like a protracted yet incoherent dream. All sho knew or cared to know was that she was speeding on to London. At last the sound of English voices, the sight of English faces, told hor that she had renoh»d tlio last stage of her journey. Tfaen sin; roused herself and made her linal preparations. Sho searched her pocket, and tore into small bits every piece of paper it contained, so that no written word could bo left to give clue to her identity. Last of ail sho drew from an envelope a photograph of Beatrice. She gazed at it long and passionately, and then with a deep sigh tore it across and across, and threw the pieces to the winds. She dared not oven keep this poor relic of. her darling. London at last! Sarah Miller stopped from tha train, and once more stood on the platform which she had quitted rather more than throe days before. It was now past three o'clock in the morning. Whither should she turn. She stood hesitating and bewildered. There was one thing more which she had settled to do. What was it. Oil those wheels, those wheels, will they never stop! She pressed luir lingers to her temples, and strove to recall what resolution had slipped from her mind. Ah, now she remembered what it was. Her money, she must get rid of that. She had no further need of money now that she had reached the final goal. In her pocket wore both German and English coins. She collected them and creeping stealthily to tlie box which stands awaiting contributions for some, doubtless, very deserving charity, she dropped in every coin that was upon her person. This done, she believed there was nothing left whidi could in any way show who sho was or whence she, en mo. She passed out under tlie archway, a solitary, dark-robed liguro with a head bent as in grief. Sho passed from the ghastly white glare of electric lumps into the till but deserted Strand. She walked somu way up the Strand, then, without any definite a'im, turned to tlie. right and by and by found herself on the embankment. Still shu wandered on until she reached. Waterloo Bridge. She went half-way across it, then stopped short and gazed over the parapet into tho river, But no thought of self-dost ruction had entered into her head, although tlio red light was still before her eyes, the wild rush still sounding in her ears, and those fearful iron wheels in her brain circling morn rapidly than ever. No, the riveiMmd but for her tlie attraction which a smooth, ciihn. peaceful stream has for all who are in cluL-p iliH.iv.s.s, So shu looked and looked; even rivn.;i! over the parapet to peer into its sombre, plncid depths. At time, moment ti blinding light flashed upon her eyes and a hand grasped her shoulder. "Now none of that nonsense," said a sharp voice—tlio voice of a policeman who had seen hor dark form against tho stonework of the bridge. Tlie woman turned hor face to his, and tho anguish written upon it persuaded the constable that ho had arrived just in tho neck of time. "River air 's bad at night for such as you," he said in a kinder voice. "Now you go straight homo like a good woman. I'll see you safe off the bridge, You can go from which end yon like, but if you stay here any longer, well, I must run you in." Sho clasped her hands. "1 am mad I" she cried in piteous, imploring tones. "Can't you see I am mad. Take me and put mo where mad people are sent to." Strange as a confession of insanity seemed, tho puzzled policeman was bound to take hor at her word, the more so because she would not or could not give any account of herself, or name any place of residence. So sho was led away a docile captive, and spent the rest or the night, or rather morning, under detention. Mad or not sho believed her work was now done; believed that she would bo bestowed where her mistress would never find hor, never hear of her. Mad or not her one concentrated aim was to keep tho secret of the way in which Maurice Hervey died. If mad, tlio poor wretch's cunning had all but supplied the place of reason. All but, for as usual it had forgotten one important thing. Unless Beatrice was informed of her husband's death, unless that death wore proved beyond a doubt, Sarah Miller's crime would bo useless and hor sacrifice futile. ; CHAPTER XXXIV, • IT WAS NO DKEAM. Carrntliers, as was his custom, called for Beatrice early one morning, Now that he had firmly resolved that ho must, would, could, should school himself to accept the position which it seemed likely was to be his for tho future, ho could see no reason why he should bo debarred from enjoying every moment of Beatrice's society. To say that lie was resigned to his fate would be absurd. No ono is resigned to fate. Oho is compelled to submit to its tyranny, that is all. Of course Frank was unhappy, and of course Beatrice was unhappy. At heart they were as wretched as any sentimental school girl could wish them to be amid such circumstances. But all the same they were not so truly miserable as they imagined. Given two young lovers kept apart by fate—with a lookout of eternal darltness—without even the hope of seeing hope glimmer in tlio distance, so Tong as they know that each loves the other, even as lie or she loves her or him; so long as they can see each other, talk to each other, even if that talk must be on indifferent subjects, they can not be Altogether unhappy, At least they have trie consolation of mutual unhappiness as well as mutual love. Frank and Beatrice would have denied tlio accuracy of this reasoning, but it is nevertheless true. This morning Beatrice left her boy in charge of the smiling Bavarian servant nnd went for a walk with Frank. It was a fair May morning, fairer perhaps elsewhere than hi Munich, which is a dry, dusty, barren land. For some time they walked in silence, and apparently without any settled destination. By and by Cnrruthers spoke. "When do you think you will be ready to return to England?" he asked. Her eyes were cast down. She did not answer his question. "Beatrice, you will take my advice in this?" He spoke gravely and tenderly. "1 es, I will take your advice. I will do all you wish—be guided entirely by you. Heaven knows I have guided myself long enough. Sen where it has led me." Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, Frank clenched his hands behind his back. He felt so powerless to help her. After ali he could aid her so little. "What do you propose? What do you think I should do?" she asked. "I think we should go straight back to England ; straight to Oakbury. I will como with you, and if you wish it, tell Horace and Herbert everything." "What will flicy say? What will they do? I should think thov would at once turn me out of their house." Frank smiled a sad little smile. "Dear Beatrice," lie said, "can yon fancy either Horace or Herbert turning out a dog who camo to them for protection? That is," he added, "if tin. 1 dog Inid not been In the mud." "All, Frank, but 1 have been in tlie mud," said Bealrico sadly. "I have years of mud upon me. It will never come off, Frank." Frank, as a man should, tried to console her, tried to persuade her that tho mud was after all neither so very black nor so very thick. She shook her head and refused to believe him, Thou came another pause. "Ah I" said Beatrice, "it all comes back to the old cry—'If what has been done could only be undone!' " "Yes," said Prank, "the cry of tho lirst man who developed speech; his thought perhaps before speech came to him; and soil will be tho cry of the last man who stands on tho. wreck of the world." There was silence once more until Frank broke it by repenting his original question. Beatrice told him she could not leave Munich until Sarah returned. "But sho is in London. Why not telegraph to hor? Tell her to wait there." "1 would, but 1 do not know -whore to find her. Sho was going to her friend's. Tlio friend who posted my letters. Sarah used to send them, but 1 never thought of asking tlio address." "And she is making terms with this man," said Frank rather bitterly, "is empowered to let this rullian rob you." "Money is nothing, lie can have all he wants if he will trouble me no more." CaiTiithcrs bit his lips. Ho cared litllo for money as money, but it enraged him to think of this villain living in luxury at the expense of the woman lie had so wronged. However, lie believed that when it came to tlio Talbcrts having a voice in the matter, Hervey would find himself not so well off as he anticipated. "Frank," said Beatrice, "I will leave with you as soon as sho returns, I promise. Now let us talk of something else. Wo may have but a day or two longer here. Lot me have those days to look back upon—days of calm before the storm, broke." Garruthers understood her. He forced himself to talk to hor in something like his old st.yle. Tho mirth, if it could even be called mirth, was hollow. Tlie imitation ran falsely. But Beatrice was grateful; if only to have her thoughts turncu from tlie one current. "No one can fully realize what a noble thing it is to be English," said Frank, "until he lias returned to London after a tour in Germany. It is a gratifying thing when you enter your hotel and for the first time comprehend the true mission of the great Teutonic race." "What mission?" "To find," continued Frank, "that this great nation was created apparently for the purpose of supplying waiters to the English- speaking races. It is a groat patriotic truth wliich has consoled me for many inconven- kiir"« I have suffered from its application." TJwen he told her about the strange people at his hotel in Munich. About tlio smart American girls who would call Paris "Parrus." About all the other familiar table da hole characters. "It amuses me most," he said, "to talk to the porteurs and waiters about the king. Every ono has .some fresh tale about his eccentricities. You know he turns night into day. Starts oil' driving at oue in tlie morning!" Yes, Beatrice had of course heard that. "Floats about on a lake, on top of the palace, and fancies himself Lohengrin. Hides away from every ono—dp you know why?" "An unhappy lovo affair years ago," said Beatrice. "That may have been tlie origin of the tomfoolery," said Frank. "But tlie reason ho keeps himself hidden now is not romantic. Ho is growing so fat, he is ashamed to show himself. Fancy a fat Lohengrin!" "J. don't believe it," said Beatrice indignantly. "Most ladies look upon King Luil- wig tis possessed of tlie beauty of a Greek god." "It's quite true. The other night ho sent for one of the singers from tho opera. She had to sit in a punt on tho lake and sing to him. Fancy a 'prlma donna in a punt singing to an invisible king. Well, the punt was small and tho lady stout. Just in the middle of a grand cadenza overwent tlie boat. What do vou think the king did?" "Naturally, pulled her out." "Not a bit of it. Ho rang a boll and walked away, leaving tho poor thing to splash. Makes one feel a republican to hear such tilings." So Frank talked, but all his fooling was forced. They been walking about aimlessly, anil scarcely noticing where. "Shall wo go anywhere—to ono of the galleries?" asked Beatrice, •'No," said Frank. "It's too-fine for pictures. Lotus go and look at the statue of Bavaria." The statue boing a long way off, they took oue of those delightful iitUu Jlucres, hired, including a coachman with a broad silver baud round his hat, for something like sixpence tlie half-hour. One, almost the only, ono relic of bygone cheap Jiving in Munich. They inspected the colossal statue, but did not yield to the temptation of going np into its head u£a tho leg. They walked through tlie Hall of Fame at the back of tlio tilaiuu. But sight-seeing did then; no more good than Frank's forced g«yety. They were both sad at heart. "Where shall we go now?" asked Frank as they camo back to tho Jiaci'e. "is there any thing else to see about hero?" He couched this question in curious German, and addressed the driver. The driver said tlio grunt south cemetery was not far off. "I don't liko cemeteries," said Frank doubtfully. "I do," said Beatrice. So they drove according to her wish. 'I hey passed under the great arched entrance to tlio place of tombs. Beatrice, who was now deep in sad thoughts, looked noiihw 10 the right nor left—and Frank was looking only at Beatrice. They walked straight into the great open space, and for awhile, with tlie bright May sun shining down on them, wandered about tho forest of tombs, wliic'h, atter tho manner of all continental memorial stones, looked untidy from tlio withered or tawdry weatlis which had been placed on them last All Souls' Day, and loft to decay at oaso. Oarruthers was somewhat disappointed in tlio cemetery. Although this was his first visit to Munich, he fancied he had read or heard that this cemetery was one of tho finest in Europe. He told Beatrice ho was disappointed. "Perhaps the finest monuments are under tho piazza," sho said. 1 hey walked across to tlio broad piazzawhich runs round tho center space. As Beatrice had suspected, tlie finest and most costly and artistic monuments wore against the wall. Some of these were magnificent works of art, butUarrutherspaidthemscantattontion. He glanced gloomily over the broad, whito-stud- ued expanse, where slept thousands who had once been men even as he now was a man, who had breathed, eaten, drank, hoped, foar- ed, loved, aud-died. "This!'' he muttered. "To this it all comes. The end of love, the end of ambition, of wealth, of poverty, of pain, of joy. All come to it, ana other men and women walk over our graves and wonder who wo were. Beatrice I Beatrice I" he cried, in a voice of '-x- quisito agonv, "we can live but onco and "in life is wasted I" Bravely as he had I jme himself Cnrruthers had at last broken down. Beatrice started. These words were the first which had been wrung from him which implied the slightest reproach. Itonly wanted this to complete her misery. She bent hor head and the tears ran from her eyes. Then she looked at Frank with a pitiful, appealing gaze which went straight to his heart. "I was a fool—a weak tool," he said. "For give mo." "No. you are wise. Oh, why was 1 ever born I" "Let us go," said Frank. "I hate this abode of dead mortality." So with heavy hearts they walked along tho broad piazza towards the entrance to the cemetery. Somehow their hands met, and they went hand in hand. There were a few workmen and loiterers about, who, seeing them, no doubt thought it was an English custom for a grown-up man and woman to walk so, or that these two wore mourning some common loss. They were indeed I As they drew near to the entrance thev passed what was to all appearance a shop with a plate glass front opening on tho piazza. In front of it were two or three men and women aud several children; the last-named on lip-toe, and flattening their flat Teutonic noses against tlie glass. Frank also glanced that way and saw such a curious sight, that, in spite of his pro-occupation, he stopped. A little way inside tho glass was arranged on banks of evergreens and (lowers what seemed to bo a dozen dolls, of various sizes, but all large for dolls. Each was dressed In smart long robes with tinsel and other decorations, and eacli doll bore a largo number. A curious sight I Carruthcrs drew near and then tho truth flashed upcm him. They wore dead babies I There, each in its little nest of leaves and flowers, they lay awaiting tho day of burial. "They arc dead 1" said Frank, turning to Beatrice. "Yes. I remember hearing It was tho custom here to let them wait like this; but I forgot all about it. A horrible custom, is it not?" But if the sight is horrible to a stranger-it is fascinating. Notice all who visit the Jlun- ich cemeteries for the lirst time. If they peep in at ono window of tlio ivartsital thoy \yill poop in at all. Beatrice and Frank formed no exceptions to this rule. There are several of those windows. In tlio one iKixt tho babies they saw tlio body of an old priest. He lay on his slanting bier of evergreens, dressed in Ids best clothes, his cold minds holding the crucifix to his cold heart. He slept with peace written on his swuet waxen face. Was tins horrible? In the next nn old woman with .silver hair. Sho slumbered sweetly and calmly as hor neighbor. Host, perfect rest, not horror bore. In tho next a young girl with a face worn to all but a skeleton's. She had died of consumption, and looked as ono who had willingly given up her last breath. Here was sadness for tho death of one so young, but not horror. Frank and Beatrice turned away. It scorned to Frank, at least, that the spectacle they had seen was a fitting ending to their excursion. They walked away slowly and in silence. But they had not seen all. In a room at tho very entrance, so that comers and goers might tho more readily notice it, lay tho body of a man. Not on' fragrant boughs, but on a plain slato bier, for there was no one to authorize the expenditure necessary to give it a bed of evergreens. A black cloth was thrown across tho body and the white face was turned toward tho window. And Frank saw that white face and knew it—and Beatrice saw that white face and knew. She grasped Frank's arm, strove to speak, gave a sharp cry, nnd fell senseless on Uio stones. (Jarruthers lifted her and bore her to the fln ere. Ho bade the man drive homo at once. Beatrice revived. She looked at Frank in a dazed way. "I dreamed—it was a dream!" sho said in a whisper. "It was no dream," answered Camithers in a hoarse, choked voice. Not another word was exchanged until they reached Beatrice'! homo. Here Frank wanted to accompany her to hor rooms. She shook her head. "Go back; go back," she whispered. "You will see to all, learn every thing, will you 110 tr Ho nodded, re-entered tho carriage and drove back to tho cemetery. Tho blood rut: fiercely through his veins. This man, tlie man who stood between him and happiness, dead! It could not be! Such things as this never happen in real life. Some clianco resemblance must have misled him and Boa- trice. Will Carruthcrs, who had never yet wished a fellow creature dead, be blamed because he trembled at the thought? • There was no mistake. Hu gained access to the room. Ho saw the body uncovered, saw tlio sling wliich had been removed from the broken arm. And as he stood and gazed at tho dead man ho seemed to hoar the voice of the strange servant begging him in wild accents to wait for Beatrice. Her prophecy had eomo true; hor curious faith had noi deceived her, (To be continued.) THE MA1UGOLD. HUNTING BIG SPIDERS A TICKLISH nrsixKs.s r ANV ft'oMMToxs. Tho violet sweet I dearly love, Tint pink, tlu> psiiisy bold, Tlu> blush rose, but mil flowers jiboyo I love (ho Marigold. Kair flowor, that in dime of o'.d Did.sti fjivo thy heart away ^ To lihn, who from his sphere of gold DOU.S jdvo to mortals day! Aliis! for lovo ho tlieo not, Full vainly thou didst sue— Unhappy shall I unnie thy lot, Or call thy lovo too true? . The god who •chtmgod tliee to n fiiowor ll'Uth loft thy heart Wie same: vStiil'l dost lihou show his 'beauty's power In hue of ortingo flame. .SWll dost thou lift thy drooping head To catch 'his eye's bright ray, And when his light 110 more is shed Thy bounty fades away, Poor Marigold! il lovo tihee well, And most bmiuso like me Thou hast a woeful tallo to tell Of grief and constancy. The violot sweet I dearly Jove, The pink, 'the pansy bold, The blush roso, but Nil flowers above I love t'lvo Marigold. v •'Dsa J. Postgato, A TEND1QH POINT. "You don't mean to say that waiter refused a tip?" "Yci, I do." "How did it happen?" "AVhen I offered him the money I said,. "There's the price of a first-class sliavt,"— Judge, HIS DOUBLE DUTIES. HOW TAUAXTTLAS AUK CAr HY \YEST IX'DIA HOYS. Tliey Make a Si-auly Living, t'sing Lizards to Lure (lie Arachnids from Their Dens-Kile uf the Horrid insect as Dangerous as Thai of a Hattier. Trivvot—-"The medicine-man, are also the educators of the Indians." Dicer—''How do you mako that out?" Trlvvct—"Bcccauso after a modiolue- mau lias cured an Indian the patient becomes a well red man."—Exchange. Miss Sears—"I used to regard marriage as a lottery but I dont any more." Ethel Knox—"It ceases to be when all one's chances have passed."—Life. "1^ Coming dead with tlie gale I lift schooner Norman ran ashore and broke to pieces near the Delaware breakwater. She iwas just from Jamaica, with a cargo of logwood, and (lie sea was soon ml of tin- dye with which she was loaded. The trip up had been a. fright fill (Hie, and for live days UK; crew had stood at the pumps day and night, until none of them carried a shred of clothing with them when the men of the life-saving station rescued I and took them into quarters. Wild waves and furious winds had waterlogged the Norman, and she simply drifted at the mercy of the ocean, while her crew were begging for life. No one was lost, and the humane savers iif lives on the shore did the best they could to put on to the almost ex- Haurfled/ sailors something to cover their nakedness, and then food. How gratefully II. was all rwivod. A colored boy of 10 years of age or so, I should say, was the center of the dilapidated group, writes a reporter of the Philadelphia. Times. He had about enough clothes on to wad. a shotgun, as I saw 1dm, but seemed to be the cheeriest of all tile crew, lie spoke English fluently, and talked Kroncli to one of the sufferers and Spanish to another with as much ease as lie conversed in English with me. Mis manner was self-possessed, far beyond one of his age. and it so attracted attention that; I asked him about his life. It is a romantic, story, and one end of It- turns upon a. subject that is of exceeding Interest to the people of tlds country, who now and then see one of the insects to be talked about, and which are a part of the medical history of the world. The colored boy shall tell the story of the tarantula, that venomous off-spring of the sun which sometimes tinds its way to this country in bunches of fruit brought up from tnose lands which lie close under the equator, where "all seasons are summer." The lad talked well in telling the story of his career in the West indies, Here is a. piece of Ills chut: "Catching the ground spider is fun," said liv. "it, is a jumper, and when you arc tryiig to take it two eyes and a quick leap are necessary to get: away from it. If it is a. spider it is not only a big one, but very quick and quite cute. It will a.tlack at any lime, and in going about the country you must keep an eye on I lie tarantula holes in the ground, or one may sting yon any moment, and then, as a rule, good-bye. I've hunted them many a day, for they bring 50 cents apiece at. the stores in St. Thomas, and that is a good bit to a. boy who lias to cast about mighty sharp to make a dime in a warm conn- try where the negroes, who are poor, are many and the white people few. "You see, mister, our chances in the tropics are not like they are in tills country, where there is so much to do, and so many ways to pick up pennies now and then at almost anything. Fifty cents for a tarantula, dead or alive, seemed a heap of money to us young darkies down there, and getting bit was not thought of enough to frighten us form the hunt. "We have no dangerous insects or reptiles on (hat. island, except: tlu tarantula, but there- are lots of them. You must, be mighty careful in going about not to get siting, for very few people live if they are bit. The best and only thing to do if you are caught is to use the poison of the spider and sing or play muslo just as soon as possible. The poison puts you to sleep almost at once, and it is mighty hard to got a person awake afterward. "There are about 10,000 of my race on St. Thomas of the 18,000 who are on the island, and at least half the families keep a bottle of rum with tarantulas in it in their houses. As soon as they are struck, if they can get where it is quickly, they may live. The sore part is rubbed with it and sometimes they take it inwardly. But you see, mister, the bite is apt to put them to sleep before; they can get at the poison in the rum bottle like what is in their body, and then they are almost sure to die." "Why do they bring 50 cents apiece?" I asked. "They are sent to England to be used for medicine. That is what a merchant in St, Thomas told me. He said that it was hard for him to got enough, for lots of them were wanted in England. I don't know how they fix them up; but that is what the man that I used to hunt them for told me. "How do you catch them?" "Well, mister, you see we have a tall grass growing all over the island and when we go hunting wo pick some of it and take it along. When we get to where the tarantula holes are we Just strip the head off a piece of this grass, in/iko a loop in the end and slip it over the head of one of these little harmless house lizards, of whlcli there are thousands. You find them everywhere, even iu the houses. The-y wo^'t hurt anybody, ftnd we, pay no, attention to fr €»ufW, Jluft tafce him to the hole, drop him in a little way and (lie big spider comes up quickly after htm. Just pull him slowly away from the hole anil the tarantula comes along. "You have the house lizard in one hand, a shingle in the other, and kind o-f turn around, you put your foot, over the hole and throw the shingle over tlie tarantula, if you can. Eaeli one is worth "rf) cents, dead or alive, if you don't break his body. Yon have to strike him Just right every time to get (lie HO cents. Then you put him in a bottle with a big neck and go looking for another imle and there do just as yon did before." "Supposing thai lie strikes you?" "Wei!. .\ou must be mighty quick when you hit him. and look sharp all tlie lime after he follows the lizard out of (lie hole, for lie has his eye on the lizard. If he gels on to you then there is trouble, and nothing can save you except that poisoned rum I told you about and constant playing on some kind of musical Instrument, or singing Home well-known isoug. But everything has to be done with great quickness. There is no lime to wait. I've seen them die almost as soon as they wore bitten. I have plenty of stories about the spider that come to me now and then when 1 am away from them. "Aleck Heeeh was a good boy and he used to go hunting with me," said the boy. "He had lots of courage and did not mind the danger at all. One day lie was caught and 1 was seared. He had a spider following his lizard and ho sort of lost his head. We were mighty poor then and that tarantula was interesting to us. The big fellow followed the lizard out of his hole and everything seemed all right, but Aleck did not. look sharp. He was too anxious. The lie hit. wrong and the tarantula caught, him. Black ns lie was he seemed to get. white in the face when he. was hit, and T ran as hard as I could to a. ihouse near by for a bottle of poisoned rum. Then I ran back and found him asleep. The poison had set in. T rubbed Hie bile with the medicine, but. it. did no good. T shook him and he was like a rag. Having lived all my life in the West Indies T knew what all this meant, but T did not know what, to do. "A woman from tlie house whore I had found the poisoned rum know what was going on, and she ran and sat down by Aleck and began to play Hie guitar whlcli she had brought with her. We first dragged him Into the shade, to make everything comfortable, but we did not expect to save his life. Yet we did. Tlie black woman played Hie musical instrument, and tho strains from her lingers were even more potent than Hie poison of the tarantula. , which I applied to him. What seemed most encouraging was the song which the woman sang In Spanish: "Si despues de csta vlda haj otra vida Algo en quo quedes el eora/.on nmar; Eb el alma mujer te lluverlu Mas alia de la tunilja mas alia, "These airs are w> nown on the Island. And then she kept ,'ii playing while I bathed Iho leg. Somi Ids eyes began to twitch. Finally he blinked. Then his eyes opened and he looked around just; as though he had been asleep naturally. Then she played more and he seemed to get olive. After a while he sat up, but she kept on playing. Then lie looked as though he knew exactly what was going on. But she gave out and could play no more, and just as soon as she put down Hie guitar ho acted just like one getting sleepy. J couldn't use tlio instrument, but just about the time he was falling 1 back on the ground a negro came along who could pick, and ho took up the guitar and began to thump away. Then my chum got awake again and tliis man and woman played by turns until they had him wide awake and on his feet. Then tin- man took Hie guitar and played just as li'ird as ho could, nnd finally Aleck wont to dancing. Soon hi; was so lie could walk well, and we all started along up the road toward lids woman's houses who had followed mo with her guitar. She and the man played and sang all the time as we walked along. The scene would liiive been funty if we hid not been expecting Abclc to die. So we did not think anything about the music and the rum, but just about saving this boy's life. "When wo readied the house he kept on singing and dancing. The tenderness of music had caught him. He did not know what he was doing, but liually he grew tired and sat down exhausted; but they kept: on playing ,1ust tlie san:e, and I kept on rubbing the leg all the time with tlie medicine. Lots of folks came in during 1 the night, and the house was halt full of natives, for a tarantula bite is soon known of ail around. Every one who could play or sing helped keep the (boy awake, and he would come to, but was not in it. "All night long that guitar and those songs never stopped, and the play was kept up until tlie next day, when Aleck and me started for home. Every house wo came to along the road I would stop at and got some one to play for him, if any-one could. We found home after a time and the^olks around would come in and play for Aleck until lie recovered and there was no danger of his going to sleep again. I have heard of other cases being cured just as this onje was, but this was the only one I ever saw." "Muslo and the poison of the ground spider are tho only things that Avill cure the bite of the tarantula. They are hardly ever seen away from thejr holes In the ground, but sointlmes they crawl in tho banana bunches and become dangeiws when the fruit Is out. (My chum never hunted them again after he was stung, but I did until J, went to sea as a cabin boy. I want any more of the water, rather go back to the West; Jn^lee an4 work at ofld jobs and ' than, to a&lj before th.e

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