The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on October 11, 1899 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, October 11, 1899
Page 3
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THE OTMJB Dm MOINESi AJLGONA, |OWA, WM3NESBAY OOTOBEK 11, 1899* Q CHAPTER IX. She was seated In the breakfast oom, and alone, when I entered It le next morning. She was pale and ibdued, but the languor had gone „. >m her manner, and an Unmlstaka- ile crimson dyed the pure Ivory of " * cheek as she greeted me. Now, len, the explanation was coming. "^-1 want to speak to you, Mr. irt," she said hurriedly, with her 'es on the ground. "I—I—wish to fonsult you professionally." " I bowed and waited patiently. What •as coming? Miss Branscombe turned the window and back again. , "It is—about tho will," she went on. "I want you to tell me what I can do " -legally—to alter It? I know that my [ear uncle"—falteringly—"has made his heiress." 'You will believe, Miss Brans- imbe," I could not help saying, "that had no power, even had I the wish, •to alter this." "Yes," she said, with another blush, |1'I believe It. I ought not to have |Asked it of you. But now what can I !do? I want to give Forest Lea to my •cousin." "That is impossible," I replied. "Impossible—how? It Is mine, Is it ("hot?" "Yes, but It cannot be alienated— |that Is, It belongs to you and your Ihelrs." "I can make my cousin my heir. I :an execute a—a deed of gift." Mr. [.Charlie had instructed her well! "I believe not. I must look over tho '•111 again to bo quite sure, but I ithlnk—I fancy—by its terms, you have jptto power to make a deed of gift Will let me have the will?" I?" The surprise was well feigned, ;if not real. "The will?" "Yes; it is in the black bag which ;you exchanged by mistake for your own yesterday," I explained boldly. It |was possible that she had not yet dis- "My cloak!" she exclaimed, and, examining the volume, "This Is mine, too; but I have not seen either of them for some days. And this bag I never saw la my life." I bowed. What, else,.was left me? It was evidently ..Miss Brahscombe's pleasure to ignore the occurrence of yesterday, and how could I press it on her? She was exceedingly displeased; she. rang the bell for her maid. "Will you take these away?" she said to the woman, pointing to the cloak nnd the book. "And the bag," I suggested with a persistency which was as stupid as it was useless. Tho woman looked at the Gladstone, then at her mistress, and then at me. "Shall I give It to Austin, or take It to your room, sir?" she asked civilly. My eyes were fixed upon Miss Branscombe. She stood, her slight figure still drawn up In dignified silence, and her face turned away, as if she had no more to do with the subject. The maid waited. She was a small, dark woman, Just past her first youth, •with, as I noticed now, a certain keenness of expression beneath the well- trained civility of her manner—a person of experience, I could Judge. A quick. conviction came to me as my eyes met hers—this woman was In the secret, whatever It might be. She was Nona's confidante and assistant. Nona was indeed helpless in the hands of her unscrupulous cousin and this artful Abigail. "Shall I give it to Austin, sir?" repeated Woodward; and at that moment Miss Elmslle entered the room. "What is it?" she exclaimed. "Your bag? Oh, I am so glad you havo found it, Mr. Fort! How did it get back?" "Unfortunately, this is not my lost property, Miss Blmslie," I explained. "It is—the lady's." "MY CLOAK!" SHE EXCLAIMED. Covered tho substitution—just possible •and In her presence my faith was ca- iable of any stretch. jjt Her eyes—fixed full upon me—ex- tpressed nothing but the most unqualified amazement. ?ij "That—I—exchanged — yesterday?" tishe repeated slowly. ''What do you jfmean, Mr. Fort?" jt I had made the plunge; I was bound to go on. When you left tho carriage at Mol- Junction yesterday," I replied, |you took with you my Gladstone bag ||jl place of your own. You have not jlscfivered the mistake, evidently. I restore you your own property; it up stairs." Stay," she said, as I was about to ,ve her. "I have not the least idea ;hat you mean. I was not at Molton junction yesterday; I have no black g. Mr. Fort, why do you speak so langely? I do not understand you." |Her nervousness had disappeared; 'e was simply astonished, not as yet fmJIgnant—that was to come pres- titty-" hardly know, Miss Branscombe," lled, "what you wish me to say, f'.'it were not for the bag, which, as u must see, .it is imperative I should icover, I should * not allude to our eeting of yesterday." meeting!"—and now her tone tinged with hauteur, and she drew •self up with a dignity which set I on her. "We met here, last even- for the first time since my uncle's !th. No, not for the first time," corrected herself hastily, as the re- brance of that rencontre , at the door evidently recurred, to her, a deep flush mounted to her white ejiead, "it was our flrst meeting Uirday, and I know nothing of a :k bag, or of my uncle's will." ;f Allow me," I said quietly, as I left room, In a couple of minutes I urned with the easus belli—the ,dstone—in one band and her dust ,k and book In the pther. pu left these," I said, presenting last-mentioned articles, "behind in the, carriage," "How odd!" she ejaculated, turning It around and examining it curiously. "Have you opened it?" "No; my key dpes not fit, and I have hesitated to break it open. I hoped to restore it to the owner." "You will have to open it, will you not, unless you get some news of your bag soon v ? There may be an address- information inside." "Exactly!" I hailed the idea. Hitn- erto I had been so fully occupied with the.certainty that the Gladstone belonged to Misa Branscombe that I had not thought of this simple proceeding. "If you have a bunch of keys in the house I might try them after breakfast, and, failing that, I could find a locksmith somewhere, I suppose?" J. glanced at Miss Branscombe as I spoke; she showed no consciousness. "Oh, yes, at Ilminton! . You can leave tho bag there and go, Woodward," directed Miss Elmslle. "Nona, my child, how pale you are! Let me give you a cup of coffee; you should not have come down to breakfast. I was surprised, when I passed your room, not to find you. Here, dearest, drink this, and let me see a little more color in your cheeks." Miss Bransoombe obeyed so far as putting the proffered cup to her lips went, but I observed that throughout the meal she only played with her food, and she did not address a single word to me, She resented the want of tact I had shown In regard to what, I was now convinced, had been an accidental and—to Miss Branscombe—an awkward meeting. She was evidently determined to ignore the whole matter, and, but for the paramount consideration of the missing will, I must of course have followed her lead. But with that in the question, and Colonel- Branscombe's funeral fixed for the morrow, what was to be my next step? CHAPTER X. The good old Colonel was laid to rest In the family vault, and the neighboring gentry who assembled to the &£t token pf respect to the man who had filled so honorable place among them Were duly received at the Lea, and left It again with little gratification of their curiosity as to the next owner. 1 had made searching Investigations at Molton. I had exhausted every means at my command In the unsuccessful attempt to trace the missing will. I lingered at Forest Lea for an opportunity of making one more effort toward Inducing Miss Branscombe to solve tho niystory of which she undoubtedly held the key. It came—the opportunity—upon me suddenly, and, strange to say, by Miss Branscombe's own action. It was the day after the funeral, and I was gloomily pondering the awkwardness of the situation, when a shadow across the French window, which stood open disturbed my meditations. I looked up to find Misa Branscombe, alone, looking In upon me. I rose Instantly. "You have something to say to me. Will you not come In?" I said impulsively, answering a certain appeal In the wistful eyes—they looked larger than ever out of the pale, sad face. She came in at once and stood on the mat just within- the door. "Mr. Fort," she said, "you are going away tomorrow, Cousin Emma tells me. Have you found the—the will?" "No," I answered; "it is still missing." "It was in tho bag which you lost?" she asked. "Yes," I returned, briefly. "But there is generally more than one copy of a will, is there not?" "Generally; but in this case there had not been tlmo to, make another copy." "If it should not be found, whr, 1 , will be done?" "I can hardly tell; there are two or three courses open. But it must bo found, Miss Branscombo"—I tried to speak severely. "It is incredible that such an important document should be accidentally missing for any length of. time, and in tho face of tho efforts I am making .to recover it." "But if it should be really lost, then I cannot inherit my uncle's estates? Is it not so, Mr. Fort?" "In that case," I admitted, "there would bo—ahem—difficulties." Never was a man in a more painful position. Here was I, under the eyes of the woman I loved, forced either to play her hand—which was showed, In her simplicity, all too plainly—or to perjure myself in order to save her. My lawyer-like tact and presence of mind utterly deserted me. "The will must be found, Miss Branscombe," I repeated weakly, "its suppression amounts to—to felony!" My voice faltered as I uttered the veiled threat; I felt like, a brute—with that pathetic glance full on me, too, and the droop of the young figure in its clinging black garments, telling so eloquently of past and present suffering, straight to my heart. My darling—how could I torture her? She bore my last stroke without a change of countenance; she could not well be paler, It is true, but the eyes still looked unflinchingly into mine. My brutal insinuation—as I now felt it to be—had passed her by. (TO be continued.) AN ECCENTRIC MAN. The progressive corporation of Bath has just placed a commemorative tablet upon the house in Lansdown crescent once occupied by William Becklord, one of' the strangest characters who ever spent his declining years in the renowned English city of the hot springs. His tomb and monument are such conspicuous objects on tho heights of Lansdown and the most casual visitor can hardly avoid becoming familiar with some of the eccentricities of this great dilettante. Bekford, who is best the author of the Arabian tale "Vathek" (written in one sitting- of three days and two nights), claimed descent from the Suxon kings. He inherited vast wealth and expended it in the most lavish fashion, building a wonderful house at Fonthill, in Wiltshire, which cost over a million. Presently the evil days came—vast sums lost in Jamaica through depreciation in the value of his estates and lawsuits resulting therefrom led Beckford to sell Fonthill at a ridiculous price and to retire to Bath broken in health and fortune. Here he spent the rest of his days a recluse, shut up with his books and fancies. One commodious house would not suffice to hold his treasures, so on either side were purchased, one being connected with a covered way on the second floor, which can still be seen. His passion for building unas- suaged, Beekford erected a great tower on the hill a mile above his house wherein tp study, and when he died his remains were laid above the ground at the foot in a granite sarcophagus which was prepared during his lifetime. The property was then sold for a tea garden, but his daughter, the duchess of Hamilton, repurchased it and to save it from desecration gave It to the rector of Walcot as a cemetery. The tower has just been repaired and it is once more possible to enjoy the wonderful view from the summit, which is 950 feet above sea level. Boys of the Olden Time. Boys have always been boys. There is no doubt that Shew and Ham pitched coppers or played jackstraws on the shady Bide of the ark, while Noah, who couldn't find them, had to feed the stock himself, or that J>avld held up two fingers to Jonathan when saw him >aeross the block and that ;hey therewith wevt to swimming in ;he Jordan against the express prohlbl- ;ion of their Journal, TALMAGE'S SEMOU DEWEY THE SUBJECT FOR LAST SUNDAY* ftom Text, Jtttnes, Chapter 8 ( Verde 4, At Follows: "Hehoirt, AKn thft Ships"—A RoTl»tr of On* Naval Heroes and Tho*« of Other Nations. If this exclamation was appropriate about eighteen hundred' and seventy- two years ago, when it was written concerning the crude fishing Smacks that sailed Lake Galilee, how much more appropriate in-an age which has launched from the dry docks for purposes of peace the Oceanic of the White Star line, tho Lucania of the Cunard line, the Kaiser Wllhelm der Grosse of the North German Lloyd line, the Augusta Victoria, of the Hamburg-American line; and In an ago which for purposes of war haa launched the screw-sloops like the Idaho, the Shenandoah, the Ossipee, and our ironclads hko the Kalamazoo, tho Roanoke and the Dundcrberg, and those which have already been burled In the deep, like tho Monitor, the Housatonic and tho Weehawken, the tempests ever since sounding a volley over their watery sepulchres; and the Oregon, and the Brooklyn, and the Texas, and the Olympla, the Iowa, the'Massachu- setts, the Indiana, tho New York, the Marietta of tho last war, and tho scarred veterans of war shipping, like the Constitution, or tho Alliance, or the Constellation that have swung into the naval yards to spend their last days, their decks now all silent of the feet that trod them, their rigging all silent of the hands that clung to them, their portholes silent of tho brazen throats that once thundered out of them. If in the first century, when war vessels wero 'dependent on the oars that paddled at the side of them for propulsion, my text was suggestive, with how much moro emphasis and meaning and overwhelming reminiscence we can cry out, as we see the Kearsargo lay across the bows of the Alabama and sink it, teaching foreign nations they had better keep their hands off our American fight, or as we see tho ram Albomarle of the Confederates running out and In the Roanoke, and up and down the coast, throwing everything into confusion as no other craft over did, pursued by tho Miami, tho Cores, tho Southfield, the Sassacus, the Mattabesett, tho Whitehead, the Commodore Hull, tho Louisiana, the Minnesota and 4 other armed vessels, all trying in vain to catch her, until Capt. Cushing, 21 years of age, and his men blew her up, himself and only 0110 other escaping; and as I see the flagship Hartford, and the Richmond, and the Monongaliela, with other gunboats, sweep past the batter ies of' Port Hudson, and the Mississippi flows forever free to all northern and southern craft, and under tho fire of Dewey and his men the Spanish ships at Manila burn or sink, and the fleet rushing out of Santiago harbor are demolished by our guns, and the brave Corvera surrenders, I cry out with a patriotic emotion that I cannot suppress if I would, and would not if I could, "Behold also tho ships." Full justice has been dono to the men who at different times fought on the land, but not enough has been said of those who on ship's deck dared and suffered all things. Lord God of tho rivers and the sen, help mo In (his sermon! So, ye admirals, commanders, captains, pilots, gunners, boatswains, sailmakers. surgeons, stokers, messmates and seamen of all names, to use your own parlance, we might as well get under way and stand out to sea. Let all land lubbers go ashoro. Full speed now! Four bells! Never since the sea fight of Lepanto, where 300 royal galleys, manned by BO.OOO warriors, at sunrise, Sept. 6, 1571, met 250 royal galleys, manned by 120,000 men, and in the four hours of battle 8,000 fell on one side, and 25,000 on tho other; yea, never since the day when at Actium, thirty-one years before Christ, Augustus with 260 ships scattered tho 220 ships of Marc Antony, and gained universal dominion, us tho prize; yea, since tho day when at Salamis the 1,200 galleys of tho Persians, manned by 500,000 men, were crushed by Greeks with less than a third of that force; yea, never since the time of Noah, tho first ship captain, has the world seen such a miraculous creation as that of the American navy in 1861, There were about 200 available seamen in all the naval stations and receiving ships, and here and there an old vessel. Yet orders wero given to blockade 3.SOO miles of seacoast— greater than tho whole coast of Europe—and besides that the Ohio, Tennessee, Cumberland, Mississippi, and other great rivers, covering an extent of 2,000 miles, were to be patrolled. No wonder the whole civilized world burst Into guffaws of laughter at the seeming Impossibility. But the work was done, done almost immediately, done thoroughly, and done with a speed and consummate skill that eclipsed all the history of naval architecture. What brilliant achievements are suggested by the mero mention of the names of the rear-admirals! If all they did should be written, every one, I suppose that even tho world Itself could not contain the hooka that should' be written. But thesu names have received the honors due. ^he most of them went to their graves under the cannonade of all the forts, navy yards find mew-of-Avar, tie flag's of all the shipping and capitals at half- mast. I recite to-day the deedtj of our nav^l heroes, many of whom have &p»t ye$ appropriate rewgftUlPn^ hold also the ships." As we will never know what our national prosperity is worth until we realize what It cost, I recall the unreclted fact that the men of the navy In all our wars ran especial risks. They had not only the human weaponry to contend with, but the tides, the fog, the storm. Not like other ships could they run Into harbor at the approach of aa equinox, of a cyclone or a hurricane, because the harbors were hostile. A miscalculation of a tide might leave them on a bar, and a fog might overthrow all the plans of the wisest commodore and admiral, and accident might leave them not on the land ready for an ambulance, but at the bottom of the sea, as when In our civil war the torpedo blew up the Tecumseh In Mobile bay, and nearly all on board perished. They were at the mercy of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, which have no mercy. Such tempests as Wrecked the Spanish Armada might any day swoop upon the squadron, No hiding behind the earthworks. No digging In of cavalry spurs at the sound of retreat. Mightier than all tho fortresses on all the coasts Is the ocean when It bombards a flotilla. In tho cemeteries for Federal and Confederate dead aro the bodies of most of those who fell on the land. But where those are who went down in the war vessels will not be known until the sea gives up its dead. The Jack tars know that while loving arms might carry the men who fell on tho land and bury them with solemn liturgy and the honors of war, for the bodies of those who dropped from the ratlines Into the sea, or went down with all on board under tho stroke oE a gunboat, there remained, the shark and tho whale and the endless tossing of the sea which cannot rest. Once a year, In the decoration of the graves, those who fell on tho land are remembered; but how about the graves of those who went down at sea? Nothing but the archangel's trumpet shall reach their lowly bed. A few of them were gathered into naval cemeteries of the land, and we every year garland tho sod that covers them; but who will put flowers on the fallen crew of tho exploded Westfield and Shawsheen, and the sunken Southfield and tho Winfleld Scott? Bullets threatening In front, bombs threatening from above, torpedoes threatening from beneath, tho ocean, with its reputation of 6,000 years for shipwreck, lying all around, am I not right in saying it required a special courage for the navy in 1863, as it required especial courage in 1898? It looks picturesque and beautiful to see a war vessel going out through tho Narrows, sailors in new rig singing— "A life on the ocean wave, A home on the rolling deep!" —the colors gracefully dipping to pass- Ing ships, the decks immaculately clean, and the guns at quarantine firing a parting salute. But the poetry is all gone out of that ship as it comes out of that engagement, its decks red with human blood, wheelhouse gone, tho cabins a pile of shattered mirrors and destroyed furniture, steering- wheel broken, smokestack crushed, a hundred-pound Whltworth rifle shot having left its mark from port to starboard, the shrouds rent away, ladders splintered and decks plowed up, and smoke-blackened and scalded corpses lying among those who are gasping their last gasp far away from home and kindred, whom they love as much as we love wife and parents and children. O, men of the American navy returned from Manila and Santiago and Havana, as well, as those who are survivors of the naval conflicts of 1863 and 1864; men of tho western gulf squadron, of the eastern gulf squadron, of the south Atlantic -squadron, of the north Atlantic squadron, of the Mississippi squadron, of the Pacific squadron, of tho West. India squadron, and of tho Potomac flotilla, hear our thanks! Take tho benediction of our churches. Accept the hospitalities of tho nation. If we had our way we would get you not only a pension, but a home and a princely wardrobe and an equipage and a banquet while you live, and after your departure a catafalque and a mausoleum of sculptured marble, with a model of the ship in which you won the day. It is considered a gallant thing when, in a naval fight, the flagship with its blue ensign goes ahead up a river or into a bay its admiral standing in the shrouds watching and giving orders. But I have to tell you, 0 veterans of the American navy! if you are as loyal to Christ as you were to the government, there Is a flagship sailing ahead of you, of which Christ is the admiral, and ho watches from the shrouds, and the heavens are the blue ensign, .and he leads you toward the ; , harbor,, and : all the broadsides of earth and hell cannot damage you, and ye whose garments were once red with your own blood shall have a robe washed and made white in the blood of the Lamb. Then strike eight bells! High noon In heaven! While we are heartily greeting and banqueting the sailor-patriots Just now returned, we must not forget the veterans of the navy now In marine hospitals, or spending their old days in their own or their children's, apme- ateads. oh, ye veterans! I charge you ftr up vndep the pcheg and weaknesses that you still carry from, the r times, YQ\» a,re npt 'as stalwart as y$u wpwia have, twn, hjjt nervous strain and posu're. fire. The sea was not tmigh. But Admiral Dahlgfen, from the deck of the flag steamer Philadelphia, saw her gradually sinking, and finally she stnick the ground, but the flag still floated above the wave la sight of th« shipping. -It was afterward fottnd that she sank from weakness through Ifl* Juries la previous service, ifef plates had been knocked loose ta previoiUl Mines. So yott have lii ii^*^ aM ttitfs- cle, and bone, and dlmm«d eyesight,' and difficult hearing, aiiil sheHiiess ol breath, many intimations that you are gradually going down. It Is the Service of many years ago that Is telling On you. Be of good cheer. We owe you Just as much as though your life blood had gurgled through the scuppers of the ship In the Red river expedition, Or as though you had gone down with the Melvlllo off HatteraS. Only keep your flag flying, as did the Illustrious Weehawken. Good cheer, my boys! The memory of man IB poor, and all that talk about the country never forgetting those who fought for It is an untruth. It does forget. Witness how the veterans sometimes had to turn the hand organs on the street to get their families a living. Witness how ruthlessly some of them were turned out of ofllce that some bloat of a politician might take their place. Witness the fact that there Is not a man or woman now under forty-five years of age who has any full appro* elation of the four years' martyrdom of 1861 to 1865, Inclusive. But while men may forget, God never forgets. He remembers the swinging hammock. Ho remembers tho forecastle. Ho remembers the frozen ropes of that January tempest. Ho remembers the amputation without sufficient other. He remembers tho horrors of that deafening night when forts from both sides belched on you their fury, and the heavens glowed with ascending and descending missiles of death, and your ship quaked under the recoil of tho one hundred pounder, while all the gunners, according to command, stood oa tiptoe, with mouth wide open, lest the concussion shatter hearing or brain. He remembers it all better than you remember it, nud in some shape reward will be given. God is the best of all paymasters, and for those who do their whole duly to him and the world, the pension awarded Is an ever* lasting heaven. Frequent interruptions by peddlers and agents of all sorts are naturally looked upon by busy men with anything but equanimity. Over the door of a lawyer's office in Boston hangs a skull arid cross-bones, and underneath is the simple inscription: "This was a book agent." It Is said that the hint has been of value to many subsequent visitors. When a man has acquired a national reputation, the unwished-for demands upon his time assume alarming proportions. The persistence of unwelcome guests seems to recognize no obstacle. Mark Twain once told Rudyard Kipling an amusing story of one of tho worst of his persecutors, and Mr. Kipling has given it to American readers in his recent volume, "From Sea to Sea." "I spend," said Mark Twain, "nine months of every year at Hartford, and people come in and call at all hours. The fifth man, one day, was the only one in the crowd who had a card of his own. He sent up the card, 'Bon Kooutz, Hannibal, Missouri.' I was raised In Hannibal. Ben was an old schoolmate of mine. Consequently I threw the house wide open and rushed, with both hands out, at a big, fat, heavy man, who was not the Ben I had known, nor anything like him. 'But it is you, Ben,' I said; 'you've altered in tho last thousand years.' The fat man said: 'Well, I'm not Koontz exactly, but I met him down in Missouri and he told me to be sure and call on you, and he gave me his'card, and'—here he acted a little scene for my benefit. 'If you can wait a minute till I get out my circulars, I am not Koontz, exactly, but I am traveling with the fullest line of lighting- rods you ever saw.' I shut the door. Ho was not Ben Koonte, exactly, not my own schoolfellow, but I had shaken him by both hands, iu love, and I had been bearded by a lightning-rod man In my own house." Up to tho Mushroom's Mouth. One of the stories of the late Victor Cherbuliez, the French-Swiss man of letters, illustrates finely the true spirit of the publisher. Buloz, the editor of the Revue des Deux Mondes, once had at his country house In Savoy a numerous company of literary people, oue of whom was Cherbuliez. Cherbuliez contributed regularly, every other year, a novel to the columns of the Revue, and a story of his was at that time running In the periodical. The guests had been out for a walk, and had amused themselves with gathering mushrooms, which were cooked for dinner. As the company were sitting down, It occurred to one of the party that undoubtedly some of the people who had taken part in gather^ Ing the mushrooms knew nothing about them, and that, there might be poisonous fungi in the collection. This reflection so affected the company tbftt all the people present, with the exception of Cherbuliez, declined to partake of the dish. He alone attacked it, with gusto. Thereupon Buloz showed sudden and Intense alarm. "Cherbullez! Cherbuliez! What are you about?" he exclaimed. "Remember that you haven't finished your story in the Revue!" Greatly to his relief, the mushroom turned qut tp he Innocuous,

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