The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on September 1, 1897 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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tPPEK DES MOlNKHy ALGOKA IOWA, , SEPTEMBER 1, 1997. CHAPTER XX.-reoN-Tixr.Ki>.) Before tbe week was out, I had convinced myself that, so far as depended upon ourselves, there was no hope. Our boat was gone, and our tools consisted of but two or three small knives, such as sailors use for the cutting-up of tobacco, practically useless in any endeavor to build a boat. Our only Chance lay in the prospect of our sight- ling a vessel and contriving to make known our desperate condition. 1 directed a fire to be lighted on the top of the highest point of land near to the sea; there was plenty of wood about, and an immense pile of young saplings and branches was gradually made, with which the fire was continually fed. All precautions in empower were taken to prevent the heavy rains from flooding and extinguishing the fire, and we were so far successful that for years it was kept blazing. Faint as the hope of rescue grew, as season after season passed over our heads, it was never entirely deadened. By my use of the words "for years," you will understand that a good slice of our lives was passed in this prison. . ' It is not my purpose to give a de- p tailed record of our experience during this sad time. Space will not permit of it; and if it did, and I were pressed to set them down, I should be fearful of commencing the task, knowing I have not the ability to write another . "Robinson Crusoe." Only what I conceive to belong to the proper course of my own selfish story will be here narrated. : The island was rich In forest-land, and for eight months of the year the climate was good; during the other four months it rained as it only can rain in those latitudes; and this was our most miserable .time. In the summer the foliage was beautiful and luxuriant, and many exquisite flowers grew of whose names we were ignorant. The woods abounded in birds, not difficult to snare, and the sea provided us with fish. Seals we caught in as large a quantity as we desired, and many a desperate fight we had with them. At certain periods they wandered in the forests, and we heard •4 them roaring there in the nights, They never attacked us; but were oftentimes too zealous in their defense to be pleasant. We found fresh water in the creeks. ! We had, therefore, good reason to be grateful; and but that we were shut in a prison, with a strong and natural yearning upon us to mix with our fellow-men, we might have led a fairly pleasant life. Some had wives and children in dear old England, and the thought that they would never see them again was maddening. As for myself, I was utterly alone in the world. Wife and child dead; my old mother also, doubtless, dead, and reproaching me in her last days for my cruelty and Injustice 1 —it was a bitter thought, that—life was valueless to me, except in so far that life is sweet to all men. If it were sweet to me, it was a sweet misery. We were tho only human creatures on the island. Our numbers grew gradually less as time progressed, and the sense of loneliness which oppressed us was terrible to bear. I come now to the regular course of ray story. When I returned from any exploration of the island, little Pearl had entirely regained her health, and had firmly established her position as queen of the small colony. Every man In the crew worshiped her, and would have laid down his life for her. As for Tom Wren, he was not happy out of her sight, and he followed her about as a faithful dog does his master. "I want to speak to you," Pearl said to me on the day of my return; and she placed the list of names in my hand. "Read them over." I read through the names. ; "Well," she continued, "when I call them over, as I do every day, and the men all say, 'Ay, ay, Queen Pearl!' or 'Ay, ay, Fairy Pearl!'—I like Fairy best. I think—when I call the names over, there is one that never answers. He is missing, and I want to find him." Something in her voice struck upon my soul like the vibration of a dear and familiar tone in the time gone by. I gazed upon the little maid almost in fear; her clear blue eyes gazed frankly into mine, and she nestled closer to me. "We'll talk presently of him," she said, taking hold of my rough fingers, and playing with them. "There's something else flrst. You saved my life, Daddy Beecroft." "I was the first who saw you in the water, my little maid," I responded, 'and I did what any of the others would have done." "But you saved my life—you!" she persisted. "Only you, and I am glad. I have heard all about it. You tied a rope round your waist and swam out to me. You might have been drowned yourself. And Tom Wren says you were crying when you thought I was dead." "They all did the same, the good fellows! We didnt want to lose you, little one. My mates have been trying to make me out better than I am." "They are fond of you," said the child, "and so am I, Will you let me fclss you?" "Surely, roy child." She kissed me, and tbe converga- tioa was continued with her ams round my neck. I had done so already, you may be sure, and I kissed her again. "I was afraid," she said, casting down her eyes, "that you mightn't like to." "How did such a thought get into your head, little one?" I asked, tenderly. "On that dark night on the ship, when you spoke to poor little Bob and me- " A sob broke from me. "I don't want to hurt you," she said, in the sweetest tone of child-like compassion; "I want you to love me, and I'll do all I can—all I can! You remember that dreadful dark night when you spoke to dear little Bob and me?" "Too well!" I groaned: "too well!" "You cared only >lo kiss dear Bob then, and I thought you mightn't like to kiss me now." "Bob was my little boy. Pearl—my child, that I had been hunting- for all over the world. You are not old enough to understand the story, my dear; and if you were, I haven't the heart to tell you." "I understand I a great deal," she said, gravely. "There, now, you are crying! So have 1 cried, for pool- mother. Oh, she was so good—so good! I knew that poor little Bob was your little boy—the men told me so. Come with me." So unloosed her arms from my neck, and rose and took my hand. I had not yet had time to visit my child's grave, and Pearl led me now toward it. Had I visited it alone, I should have thought, that an angel had come down from heaven in the nieht, and had worked wonders to rejoice and console me. An angel, indeed, had smiled upon it. It was a bed of flowers; a rude fence formed of sweet-smelling wood, with (lowers entwined about it. I knelt by the grave and shed tears of grateful joy. "Can you guess who did it?" asked Pearl. "Yes, my child; it was you. God bless you!" "No, not me alone. Tom Wren found the wood—doesn't it smell sweet?—and built the fence, and I put the flowers there. He cut the cross, too." I saw Tom Wren in the distance, and I went toward him and wrung his hand. "Thank you, Tom," I said, "from my heart." He nodded, and replied, "I did it for her. She's not human, like us. She's an angel." Tom Wren's eyes were wonderfully bright, and he spoke almost in a whisper. I thought his manner was somewhat strange, but I saw that Pearl was waiting for rne to rejoin her, and I left him. "We will keep it always like this," said Pearl. "Bob, likes it, I am sure, and is glad, though we can't see him. When we die, we don't die quite— mother told me so, often. We come together by-and-by, don't we?" "So we are taught to believe, dear child." "And you do believe it? I do." "I do believe it, dear child." "And so does Tom Wren now. He never did so before, he says. Then I shall see my own dear mother again, and I shall tell her how good you have been to me—though she knows; and dear little Bob, too; and we shall all talk of that dreadful dark night when I was thrown into the sea—but it won't be dark up there, among the stars. When mother was alive I used to dream I heard the angels singing, and if I woke up I was sure to see mother leaning over the bed and singing softly. That is what used to bring the angels into my head. Don't cry. I want to beg something very, very particular of you." "Say on, my dear. There's nothing I can refuse you." "That is good of you," she said, with little pauses between each sentence. "You won't be angry, I hope. Bob is dead." "Ay, my child." "And it may be a long, long time before you see him again. Though he sees you know. And Bob's mother is dead.'' "Alas! yes, my child." "My mother, too. Then, don't you see," she whispered, with her lips close to my neck, "that we belong to each other? I have no mother now and Bob is gone. Will you let me be your child? I do so want to—for Bob's sake!" What could I say but that I would look upon the little maid as my child? And the contract was sealed with kisses. "I shall call you Daddy Beecroft," said Pearl, "and you must sometimes call rne your little daughter. Bob hears us, and mother too, so you mustn't break your promise. I have a father now! I never had one before. No, put your mouth to mine—no, no; your lips! That's right. I like being kissed. I am your little daughter, and you are my father. Mother must be glad. Shall we be here all our lives? Mr. Bowden says that no ships ever pass this way, and that we shall live and die here. Then I shall grow up to be a woman, and you will all he old men—how strange it will be! Never mind, I will take cave of you, But I mustn't forget something else. You put all the men ia my charge"—she spoke now with a very business-like air—"ao4 there's tbe o«e I've Rot seen, and who never answers. He is Missing, the others say." "Who is that one, my little daughter?" "Ah, how nice it is to hear yon speak like that! And I like your voice, too. But you can read, and the others can't. Have you read 'Cinderella?' " "Yes, little one." "Would you like to read it again?" "I should—old as I am." I noticed then that she had round her neck the little oil-skin bag which I had removed from her when I unlashed her from the spar, and I remembered that Tom Wren luul called out that it contained books. "I've sot it here," she snid. touching the bag lightly. "And another book, too. Mother tied them round my neck that dark night—my spelling- book, you know. Isn't 'Cinderella' beautiful? It's all true, every bit of It. Perhaps we shall find a priuco here one daj'. Oh, dear! If we could get a pumpkin and turn it into i\ ship! I shall look about the forest for a good fairy. There are some, I know; and I must go all by myself—all by myself—or she'll not comn. Then everything will be right. No, not everything"—her eyes overflowed—"the fairy couldn't bring mother find Bob to life. Only God could do that." .CHAPTER XXI. LET her prattle on without interruption. There was a strange fascination in her voice, and but that the circumstances were different, I might have fancied it was Mabel, my wife, speaking to me, as she used to do as a child in the old cottage at Urlxton. After a little while, however, I recalled Pearl's wandering thoughts to the matter in hand. "About this man who Is missing my child. Who is he?" "Mr. Falrlcy," she answered. Then I remembered that that was the man who had danced so wildly round the fire when it was first lighted, and who hnd so strangely disappeared when I was calling over the names. Now, in my calmer mood, I remembered, also, that that was the name of the man to whom I had intrusted my gold on the gold-fields, and who had run away with It. His appearance answered exactly to the description I had received of him. It was because he had stolen my gold that he was afraid to meet me face to face. But I could afford to forgive him for the theft. Of what value now was gold to men in our situation. If he had the stolen money about him he was welcome to it. All animosity toward him with reference to his knavery had died away. But I resolved to search for him, and I did, believing myself to be in some way accountable for him, as commander of the crew. I found him after a time, living by himself in the forest; but he so persistently avoided me, flying at my approach and hiding his face from me, that I ceased to follow him. I directed my mates to keep a watch upon him, and to see that he did not want food; and I kept his secret, and did not let them know he waa a thief. (TO HB COXTIXL-KK.) INFLUENCE OF MUSIC. KITiwts of Different Harmonies on tlic Human Henri and Kcspiration. MM. Binet and J. Courtier give in the Revue Scicntifique an account, translated for the London Lancet, of experiments made by themselves and others on human beings and animals of the effects of music on the heart and respiration. M. Patrizl, an Italian physiologist, had a patient with a wound In the skull which laid bare the brain. He was thus enabled to observe the actual effect of music on the cerebral circulation. Music occasioned an increase in the size of the brain itself. The effect on the cerebral circulation was variable, the vessels being sometimes constricted and sometimes diluted. At other times no effect was produced. MM. Binet and Courtier experimented on a musician. Isolated notes, chords in unison and discords were flrst tried. Both major chords struck in a lively manner and discords quickened the respiration, tho latter more especially. Minor chords tended to retard respiration. When melodies were tried it was found that all, whether grave or gay, produced quickened respiration and increased action of the heart. The lively tunea produced the greatest acceleration. The subject also sometimes unconsciously endeavored to synchronize his respirations with those of the singer. In ral- lentando and diminuendo pasages the respiration was retarded. Where the sound was wholly uncomplicated by emotional ideas, as in single notes or chords, the heart's action was accelerated, but not in so marked a degree as when a melody either grave or gay was played. During operatic pieces or those well known to the subject the acceleration attained its maximum. The subject had a strongly marked capillary pulse. The influence of music on j the capillary circulation was tested by a. plethysmograph attached to the right hand. The capillary tracing usually, showed a diminution of pulsation. This diminution was occasioned by the sound of single notes, chords or disi cords. In sad melodies, especially minor ones, there was almost no diminution, while in lively airs the diminution was marked. BASE BALL GOSSIP. NOTES OF INTEREST ABOUT THE NATIONAL GAME. \ Novel Point Is nelng RaUfed O»cr the Coming Series foe the Temple Cnp — Strouthers' Komanco— A Very Lack Find. The Temple Cup Series. T Is held that the players of the flrst and second clubs In the league race will this year have to play the Temple Cup series under the management of the National league as the players' contracts do not run out this season until October 15. If the teams hold off until their contracts run out It will be toj cold to draw out the crowds who would like to sec the games In the east, and then, too, the Interest In the game would have died out with so long a wait. Every team with a fair chance for the Temple Cup should make the management show Its hand. Captain Duffy can say to the Boston directors: "If Boston comes in flrst or second in the League race will you allow us to arrange for the Temple Cup series right away and pay the players in full?" A definite answer will settle the whole matter. A club coming in flrst or second is always a money maker, and there is very little doubt but what the Boston directors would be very glad to make the concession to the boys. One thing is sure—the magnates never can figure in the money made out of the Temple Cup series, as they are already pledged to give the ball grounds free of charge, and one of the conditions of the donor was that the gate money should bo divided CO and 40 among the players. Injurious Umpires. From Wilkesbarre Record: It is conceded on all sides that Umpire Lynch is not a home umpire. Of course not! But Lynch is so mighty 'fraid that some one will accuse him of being a home umpire that he goes to extremes in his endeavors to demonstrate that he is not; and therein he usually works an injustice to the home club. It is questionable judgment to thus deprive the home club of the close decisions—decisions that may be rendered either way without particular injustice to either club. The audiences deserve this consideration and likewise the player; it fosters the game where the crowd is paying its money to witness the exhibition, and were this the practice among all umpires throughout the circuit there would soon be no kicking over the innovation. Lynch is deserving of censure for his altogether too rabid adherence r.o this whim that seems to completely possess him, and when such writers as Horace Fogel.glve him a calling down for the custom it is unmistakable evidence that he carries his pet idea too f;ir. The Eastern League umpires can profitably ponder over this matter of home umpiring; in the long run it will even up all round. fit rout.ln:r»' Komiuico. J. C. Slrouthcrs, ex-manager of the Interstate bull team, and Miss Lena Tait, daughter of J. J. Tait, the well- known plumber of Mansfield, Ohio, have eloped. While in that, city the festive base ball man is credited with having .smitten the tender susceptibilities of a number of maidens, old and young, which, in part, gained the luckless manager the enmity of various gay Lotharios, and was partially the | cause of his downfall as a manager. Strouthers and Miss Tait had been quite friendly for some time, against the will of her father, who created a scene at the hotel where Strouthers was stopping a few evenings ago. Strouthers procured a livery rig and took Miss Tait to Ashland. There the team was abandoned and at midnight the couple started east on an Erie train. Slrouthei-s and the girl stopped off at New Castle, Her father, an excitable Englishman, met Con. and pr-'ntlng a revolver at him was about to blow his A Warning-. Author—What diq, you think of iny play? Critic—Great! olkj man, niest thing I ever saw, Funny? Why, gopd heavens, man, it's a tragedy. Critic—Lxiok here, don't or J. C. STROUTHERS. anatomy into fragments, when the ex- manager, said: "Look here, if you shoot me in the hsad there will simply be one less ball player; if you shoot me in the- arm I'll have to quit the game, but if you shoot me in the leg I will be simply laid off a few days; which are you going to do?" His nerve paralyzed the father, and Con and the girl managed to give him the slip and were soon out of town. Going Too Fur. From Boston Herald: Yelling so loud as to rob the game of all interest, noise enough to drown a Niagara, intimidation of umpires—that's the lash- ion in base ball today. Lively coaching is all uight. but lively coaching is not ol tbe bowling kind, intended to disconcert tbe opposing clyb. T-h,ere fc no call |or what Is cg,Hed when the pitcher is j^y. Cheering Js a,!] too after something has been done, after a man has been struck out or a good play or a hit has been made, but this yelling to disconcert a pitcher is all wrong. Men like Brigga in Chicago, Clarke in Baltimore, Beckley and Ewing in Cincinnati and Johnson In Philadelphia are notorious for the way they set the crowd on to the visitors, very much in the way one would set a watch dog on a tramp. It Is the meanest kind of conduct In base ball, and reflects not only on the men who stoop to such work, but to the management which knows It and allows it. One would think that a manager like Ed Hanlon would put a stop to that sort of thing in a hurry, but no, he lets it go. It Is a wonder that In cities where such scenes occur other schemes to make noise are not attempted. Surely, something better calculated to rattle than the human voice can be secured. This sort of thing did not occur In the good old days of the game. A visiting club got a fair show. There was lots of fun in the game without the howling and, If anything, more enjoyment. These people who hoot, howl and shout at a visiting aggregation must, In the nature of things, feel ashamed at the exhibition they make of themselves, acting for all the world like a. lot of lunatics, with no regard to propriety and decency. Rebuke them and they tell you they intend to indulge themselves to their hearts' content. This sort of thing leads to abuse of the home players. A Lucky Pitching Fliiil. The Cleveland club now .has the best pitching corps In the League since Powell turned out such a find, viz.: Young, Cuppy, Wilson, McDermott, Powell and Clarke. Next to Cleveland comes New York. Boston Is well stocked and Cincinnati can stand pat, but the other clubs are confessing their need of bettor "box" talent. Even the ' JOHN POWELL. champion Baltimores announce that they have unlimited supplies of money to buy what is not in the market, first- class pitchers. Tebeau needed help In that department and last winter he picked up two young men on the recommendation of friends. One was Pappalau, the collegian; the other was John Powell, a young man who had done good work in the semi-professional clubs, of Chicago, almost under the eye of Uncle Anson, who is one of those that are "shy" in twirling talent. Powell didn't get a trial till after the ClovclandH returned from their disastrous eastern trip. Then sheer necessity induced Manager Tebeau to use him against the Loiiisvilles one day, and ho held his opponents down to three hits. Tebeau took him along to Chicago, and ho went, in against the Colts, who made only six lilts. The indications are that the Clevelands have found in Powell a jewel. 1.clique Attendance. Just 402,084 people have seen the Baltimore c!ub play ball this season, and, as 1,709,7U<1 luive attended all the games played so far, it will be seen that the champions have drawn nearly one-fourth the number. The east has turned out more people than the west, notwithstanding the Sunday games of the latter, considering that more western games have been played up to date than in the east. According to figures sent out, 851,344 people have passed the eastern turnstiles, while 868,420 have given up the price of admission In the west. The honor of drawing the greatest number belongs to Chicago, with Cincinnati and Philadelphia second and third respectively. The figures in order are 243,200, 226,900 and 205,405. The lowest showing is that of Cleveland, with 74,900. The champions have distanced all competitors in drawing powers, as they have played before 296,534 people on foreign grounds.— Baltimore News. Something l/npreuudeiitecj. The McPhee testimonial at Cincinnati netted fully §3,500. After a street parade, in which McPhee and Mayor Tafel appeared in a carriage, a game was played at League Park, between the newspaper boys and merchants, which McPhee umpired. Fully 3,500 people were present. There were two bands of music, police drills, singing by the Meckey Open) Company and acrobatic performances. Twenty boxes were auctioned, the premiums alone aggregating ?(>50. President Brush and Treasurer Lloyd each paid $100 for a box. Ewing gave $25, and cash subscriptions exceeding $000 have been received. The sale of tickets was enormous. The entire receipts were presented to McPhee. Three thousand 'dollars are now guaranteed and the purse may reach $5,000. Fit for Quo Thlnf, Anyhow. "Texas" McAllister is one of the easy mopey H»ea on the Cleveland club H« has tfee m»Hlpg ol a fair pitcher catcher and general player. He Ja ufti SIGHT. THREE MEN ON RAdCEd EDGE OF NOTHING. Several Hours fftntetl on a Cllffr "With A Terrible Death In ProHpect Second—Rolling Bowlder* S an illustration of the discomfort of a position "on the ragged edge of nothing," the following story, from "Climbs In tho New Zealand Alps," is excellent. The author of the work, E. A. Fltz Gerald, F. R. O. S., his guide, Zurbrlggen, and Mr. Harper, were surprised by darkness In a position where It was impossible for them to advance. As it was equally Impossible for them to spend the night where they were, hanging to narrow ledges of rock covered with thin ice, they were obliged to retrace their steps a slow and painful process. At last they reached a spot that might answer their purpose—a ledge some fourteen feet long and eighteen iriches broad, on which the three men could just manage to sit. It seemed to us as sheltered a place as any upon the slope, but should there be any great fall of stones In the night, 1 feared that wo should have but a small chance of escape. No sooner had we seated ourselves than wo heard the omnlous whiz of fall- Ing stones. This was but the commencement of a cannonade that was kept up at Intervals throughout the night. The rocks flew past us so close that at times we could almost feel the wind on our faces. We never dared BO much as to close an eye all night for fear of slipping into the abyss below. The cold became intense,'the thermometer dropping twenty-five degrees, and us most of our garments had been soaked in wading through the melting snow, they fro.se hard. Harper took off his boots and placed his feet In his knapsack, HO that, had ho fallen, ho could not possibly have recovered himself. Zurbrlggon also took off his boots and sat upon them to keep them warm for the morning, lest they should be froy.cn, and he should find himself unable to get into them again. We did our best to keep up our spirits by singing songs, the most appropriate of which seemed to be, "Wo Won't Go Home Till Morning." There was no moon, and the night was intensely dark, though the weather was clear, while the slight breezes from the southwest seemed to chill us to the bone. After midnight we gradually fell silent, and did not even talk, while Harper dozed for a moment or two and nearly tumbled off. I had to catch hold of him and retain my grip till he could regain his balance. It then occurred to us that if we spread one of the pieces of mackintosh sheeting over our heads and lighted some candies beneath it, we should be warmer. We found the plan successful, and kept on lighting candles, so that we could warm our fingers at them and still remain seated in our cramped position. Luckily we bad an ample supply, and could continue to burn them till the dawn began to appear. It seemed to us as If we had been seated for weeks on this ridge; and when at last it became light enough for us to move, we were so stiff that it was with difficulty that wo gained our feet. Wo now began making preparations for departure. The rope was like an iron bar, and our frozen clothes would not give to our motion. Harper's boots were frozen so stiff that ho was obliged to cut them open and burn innumerable candle-ends inside of them before he succeeded in getting them on. I had kept mine on all night, as I knew how much trouble I should have in putting them on again in the morning If I took them oif. Zurbriggen, however, was the very best of us all, for his scheme of sitting on his boots and warming them had worked most admirably, though during the night he complained several times that the nails in them were rather hard. We were extremely stiff, all of us,, and for some distance literally limped 1 along. However, when the sun rose it gradually thawed us, and we were able to make better time. A I.ui-liy Klnndyke Womau. Luck, like lightning, strikes in curious places. It is so in the Klondyke. Mrs. J. T. Willis was less than three months ago a poor washwoman, living in Dawson City. She set out alone for the gold fields of the frozen north from Tacoma, Wash., about two years ago. She was not successful in her prospecting, but she managed to make a fair living as a laundry woman in Dawson City. When the news of the Klondyke discoveries of gold reached that place she joined a party of cattlemen and went at once to the new diggings. She staked out a claim as soon as she got there, and it turned out to be a good one. She is now worth at least $250,000. Mrs. Willis has a husband living in Tacoma, He is a blacksmith and a great sufferer from rheumatism. Jt was his inability to work that caused hw. to start put for the gold-mining caun<- try, resolved to return rich or not at all, Incidentally she has the fame of first "boiled shirt" miners, Sh,e paid of stereb with, which ^fei

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