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the CURSE OF CARNES HOLD.
A TALE OF ADVENTURE,
By G-. -A_. HENTY.
Author of “Under Drake’s Flag,” “With Clive In India,” Etc., Etc.
UII RIGHTS RESERVED. 1
CHAFTER. XVIIL
GEORGE FORRESTER’S DEATH.
Ronald Mervyn led so active a life fa*r
tome months after the departure of Mr.
Armstrong and his daughter, that he had
[ lt tla time to spend in thought, and it was
only by seizing odd minutes between the
ntorvais of work that he could manage to
ien il home a budget at all proportionate in
4ze to that which he regularly received.
When the courier came up with the English
there had been stern fighting, for
although the British force was raised by
the arrival of reinforcements from India
and England to over 5,000 men, with several
batteries of artillery, it was with the great
est difficulty that it gradually won its way
into the Kaffir stronghold. Several times
the troops were so hardly pressed by the
enemy that they could scarcely claim a
victory, and a large number of officers and
men fell. The Cape Mounted Rifles formed
part of every expedition into the Amatolas,
and bad their full share of fighting. Ronald
had several times distinguished himself
especially in the fight in the Water Kioof
Valiev, when CoL Fordyce, of the Seventy
fourth,’ and Carey and Gordon, two
officers of the same regiment, were
killed, together with several of their
men while attacking the enemy in the bush.
He was aware now that his secret was
known to the men. He had fancied that
searching and inquisitive glances were di
rected towards bioi, and that there was a
change in the demeanor of certain men of
his troop, these being without exception the
idlest and worst soldiers. It was Sergt.
Menzies who first spoke to him on the sub
ject. It was after a hard days march, when,
having picketed their horses and eaten
their hastily cooked rations, the two non
commissioned officers lit their pipes and sat
down together at a short distance from the
fire.
“I have been wanting to speak to you,
lad, for the last day or two. There is a
story gainiug ground through the troop
that, whether it is true or whether it is
false, you ought to know.”
“I guessed as much, Menzies,” Ronald
said. “I think I know what the story is,
and who is the man that has spread it. It
is that I bore another name in England.”
‘‘Yes, that’s partly it, lad.”
‘‘What name!”
‘‘l hear that you are rightly Capt. Mer
vyn.”
“Yes, that’s it, Menzies, and that I was
tried and acquitted for murder in England.”
“That’s tho story, my lad. Of course, it
makes no difference to us who you are, or
what they say you have done. We, who
know you, would not believe you have
committed a murder, much less the murder
of a woman, if a 1 the juries in England
said you had. Still I thought I would let
you know that the story is going about, so
that you might not be taken aback if you
heard it suddenly. Of course, it’s no dis
grace to be tried for murder if you are
found innocent; it only shows that some
fools have made a mistake, and been proven
to be wrong. Still, as it has been talked
about, you ought to know it. There is a lot
of feeling in the regiment about it now,
and the fellow that told the story has had
a rough time of it, and there’s many a one
would put a bullet into him if they had the
chance. What they say is, whether you
are Capt. Mervyn or not is nothing to any
body but yourself. If you were tried and
acquitted for this affair it ought to have
dropped and nothing more been said about
it, and they hold that anyhow a man be
longing to tho corps ought to have held his
tongue about anytbiug he koew against
another who is such a credit to us.”
“The man might have held his tongue,
perhaps,” Ronald said quietly; “but I never
expected that he would do so. The fellow'
comes from my neighborhood, and bore a
bad character. A fellow who shoot a game
keeper would be sure to tell anything he
knew to the disadvantage of anyone of supe
rior rank lo himself. Well,sergeant, you can
only tell anyone who asks you about it that
you have questioned me, and that I ad
mitted at once that the story was true—that
I was Capt. Mervyn, and that I was tried
for muider and acquitted. Some day I
hope that my innocence may be more
thoroughly proved than it was on the day
1 was acquitted. I daresay he has told you
the whole of tho facts, and I admit them
freely.”
“VVell, lad, lam glad you have spoken.
Of course it will make no difference, ex
cept, perhaps, to a few men who would be
batter out of the corps than in it; and they
know too well what the temper of the men
is to venture to show it. I can understand
now why you didn’t take a commission. I
have often wondered over it, for it seamed
to me that it was just the thing you would
have liked. But I see that till this thing
was cleared up you naturally wouldn’t like
it. Well, lam heartily sorry for the busi
ness, if you don’t mind my saying so. I
have always been sure that you had been
an officer before you joined us, and won
dered how it was that you left the army.
You must have had a sore time of it. lam
sorry for you from my heart. ”
Ronald sat quiet for some time thinking
after Sergt. Menzies left him, and then
rose and walked toward the fire where the
officers were sitting.
“Can I speak with you a few minutes,
Capt. Twentyman?” "he said. The officer
at once rose.
“Anything wrong in the troop, Ser
geant?”
“No, sir ; there is nothing the matter with
ths troop, it is some business of my owd.
Nay I ask if you have heard anything
about me, Capt. Twentymau?”
“Heard anything; in wnat way do you
mea.n, Sergeant?”
“Well, sir, as to my private history.”
“No,” tho officer said, somewhat puzzled.
"Well, sir, the thing has got about
among the men. There is one of them
knew me at home, and he has told the
others. Now, that it is known to the men,
sooner or later it will be known to the of
ficers, and therefore I thought it better to
come nod toll you myself, as captain of my
troop.”
“It can be nothing discreditable, I am
quite sure, sergeant,” the officer said,
kindly,
“Well, sir, it is discreditable; that is to
f ay, I lie under a heavy charge, from which
lam unable to clear myself. I have been
tried for it and found not guilty, but I am
sure that if I bad been before a Scotch
Jury it would have been not proven, and I
left the court acquitted indeed, but a dis
graced and ruined man.”
“What was the charge?”
“The charge was murder,” Ronald said,
quietly.
Capt. Twentyman started, but replied:
“Ridiculous. No one who knew you
would have thought you guiltv for a mo
ment.
“1 think that none who knew me inti
niately believed in my guilt, but I think
that most people who did not so know me
believed me guilty. I dare say you saw the
c?se in the papers. My real name, Capt.
twe tyman, is Ronald Mervyn, and 1 was
captain in the Borderers. 1 was tried for
the murder of my cousin, Margaret Carne.”
“Good heavens! Is it possible P Capt.
1 wentyman exclaimed. “Of course I re
rnember the cane perfectly. We saw it in
the English papers somewhere about a year
a eo, and it was a general matter of conver
sation, owing, of course, to ycur being in
the army. I didn’t know what to think of
*• theD, but now I kno sr yon, tho idea of
your murdering a woman seems perfectly
ridiculous. Well, is there anything that
you would wish me to do?”
“No, sir; I on'y thought you ought to be
told. I leave it with you to ineutioa it to
others or not. Perhaps you will think it
best t > say nothing until the story gets
about. Then you can say you are aware
of It.”
“Yes, I think that would be the bos ,”
Capt. Twentyman said, after thinking it
over. “Iremember that I thought before
when I read the account of that trial that
you were either one of the most lucky or
one of the most unfortunate men in the
world. I see now that it was the latter.”
A few days later, aa hour or two before
the ix>lumn was about to march, a flag
hoisted at the postoffice tent toll the camp
that the mail had arrived, and orderlies
from each corps at once hurried there. As
they brought the bags out they were
emptied on the ground. Some of the
sergeants set to work to sort the letters,
while the officers stood round and picked
out their own as they lay on the grass.
"Here, Blunt, here’s one for you,”
Sergt. Menzies said, when Ronald came
up.
Ronald took the letter, and sauntering
away a short distance, threw himself on the
ground and opened It. After reading the
first line or two he leaped to his feet again,
took a few steps up and down, with his
breath coming fast and his hands twitch
ing. Then he stood suddenly still, took off
his cap, bent his head, put his baud over
his eyes, and stood for a few minutes with
out moving. When he put his cap on again
his face was wet with tears, his bauds
were trembliug so that when he took
the letter again he could scarce
read it. A sudden exclamation broke from
him as he came upon the name of Forrester.
The letter was so long that the trumpets
were sounding by tho time he had flnishe 1.
He folded it and put it in his tunic, and
then strode back with head erect to the
spot where the men of his troop were sad
dling their horses. As he passed on among
them a sudden impulse seized him, and he
stopped before one of tho men and touched
him on the shoulder.
“You villain,” he said, “You have been
accusing me of murder. You are a mur
derer yourself.”
The man’s face paled suddenly.
"I know you, George Forrester,” Rouald
went on, “and I know that you are
guilty. You have to thank the woman
who once loved you that I do net at once
hand you over to the provost marshal to be
sent to England for trial, but for her sake
I will let you escape. Make a confession
and sign it, and then go your way where
you will, and no search shall be made for
you; if you do not, to-morrow you shall be
in the hands of the police.”
“There is no evidence against me more
than another,” the man said sullenly.
“No evidence, you villain,” Ronald said.
“Your knife—the knife with your initials
on it—covered with blood, was found bv
the body.”
The man staggered as if struck.
“I knew I had lost it,” he said, as if to
himself, “but 1 didn’t know I dropped it
there.”
At this moment the bugle sounded.
“1 will give you until to-morrow morn
ing to think about it,” and Ronald ran off
to mount his horse, which he had saddled
before going for his letter.
Sergt. .Menzies caught sight of his com
rade’s face as he sprang into tho saddle.
“Eh, man,” he said, "what’seome to you?
You have good nows, haven’t you, of some
kind? Your face is transfigured, man.”
“The best,” Ronald said, holding out his
hand to his comrade. “I am proved to be
innocent.”
Menzies gave him a firm grip of the hand,
and then each took his place in the ranks.’
There was desperate fighting that day with
the Kaffirs. The Cape Mounted Rifles,
while scouting ahead of the infantry in the
bush, were suddenly attacked by an im
mense body of Kaffirs. Muskets cracked,
and assegais flew in showers. Several of
the men dropped, and discharging their
rifles, the troopers fell back toward the in
fantry. As they retreated, Ronald looked
back; one of the men of his troop whose
horse had been shot under him, had been
overtaken by the enemy, and was sur
rounded by a score of Kaffirs. His cap
was off, and Ronald caught sight of his faoe.
He gave a shout, and in an instant had
turned his horse and dashed toward the
group.
“Come back, man, come back,” Capt.
Twentyman shouted, “it’s madness.”
But kon-ild did nor, hear him; the man
whose confession could alone absolutely
clear him was iu the hands of the Kaffirs
and must be saved at any cost. A moment
later he was in the midst of the natives
emptying his revolvers among them. For
rester bad sunk on on 9 knee as Ronald,
having emptied one of his revolvers, hurled
it in the face of a Kaffir, and then leaping
over, caught Forroster by the collar and
with a mighty effort lifted, and thre w him
across the saddle in front of him, then
bending over him be spurred his horse
through the natives. Just at this moment
Capt. Twentyman and a score of the men
rode up at full speed, drove the Kaffirs back
for an instant, and enabled Ronald to rejoin
his lines. Three assegais had struck him,
and he reeled in the saddle a3 amidst the
cheers of his companions he rode up.
“One of you take the wounded man in
front of you,” Lieut. Daniels said, “and
carry him to the rear. Thompson, do you
jump up behind Sergt. Blunt, and support
him back to the rear. There is no time to
be lost; quick, man. These fellows are com
ingon us like furies.”
The exchange was madein half a minute;
one of the men took George Forrester before
him, another sprang up behind R maid and
held him in his saddle witn ono hand, while
he took the reins in the other. Tnen he
rode fast to the rear, just as the leading
battalion of infantry came at a run and
opened fire on tee Kaffirs, w ho, with wild
yells, were * pressing on the rear of the
cavairy.
When Roland recovered his senses he was
lying in the ambulance wagon, and the sur
geon eras dressing his wounds.
“That’s right, .-ergeant,” he said cheer
jngly, “I think you will do. You have
three nasty wounds, but by good luck I
don’t think any of them are vital.”
“How is Forrester*” Ronald asked.
“Forrester?” the surgeon said in surprise.
“Who do you mean, Blunt?”
“I mean Jim Smith, sir; his real name
was Forrester.”
“There is nothing to be done for him,”
the surgeon said. Nothing can save him;
he is riddled with assegais.”
“Is he conscious?” Ronald asked.
"No, not at present.”
“Will he become conscious before he dies,
lir?”
“I don’t know.” the surgeon replied,
somewhat puzzled at Ronald’s question.
“He may be, but I cannot say.”
“It is everythin? to me, sir,” Ronald said.
“I have been accused of a great crime of
whioh he is the author. He can clear me
if he will. All my life depends upon his
speaking.”
"Then I hope he may be able to speak,
Blunt, but at present I can’t say whether
he will recover consciousne sor not. He is
in the wag u here, and I will let you know
directlv if there is any change.”
Ronald lay quiet, listening to the firing
that gradually u-cune more distant, show
ing that the' infantry were driving the
Kaffirs back into the bush. Wounded men
were brought in fast, and the su-geon and
his assistant were fully occupied. The
wagon was halted now, and at Ronald s
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1889-TWELVE PAGES.
request the stretchers upon which he and ,
Forrester were lying were taken out and j
laid on the grass urder the s .ade of a tree.
Toward evening, the surgeon having
finished his pressing work, came to them.
He felt George Forrester's pulse.
“He is staking fast,” he said, in reply to
Ronald’s anxious look. “I will see what I
can do.”
He pourod some brandy between George
Forrester’s lip 6 and held a bottle of ammo
nia to his nose. Presently there was ad -ep
sigh, and then Forrester opened his eyes.
For a minute be looked ruuad vaguely, and
his eve fell upon Ronald.
you got me out of the hands of the
Kaffirs, (.'apt. Mervyn,” he said in a faint
voice. “I caught sight of you among tuem
as I went down, I ku >w they have done for
me, but I would rather be buried whole
than hacked into pieces."
“I did my best for you, Forrester,” Mer
vyn said. "I am sorry I was not up a min
ute sooner. Now, Forrester, you see I have
been bit pretty hard, too; will you do ono
thing for me? I want you to confess about
what I was speaking to you; it will make all
tne difference to other people.”
“I may ns well tell the truth as not.”
Forrester said; “though I don’t see how it
makes much difference.”
“Doctor,” Rouald said, “could you kindly
send and ask Capt. Twentyman and Lieut.
Daniels to come here at once? I want them
to hear.”
George Forrester’s eves were closed, ar.d
he was breathing faintly when the two offi
cers, who had ridden up a few minutes
before with their corps, came up to tho
spot.
The surgeon again gave the wounded man
some strong cordial.
“Will you write down what he says,”
Ronald said to Capt. Twentyman.
Tho latter took out a note book and pen
cil.
“I make this confession," Forrester said
faintly, “at the request of Capt Mervyn,
who risked his life in getting me out from
among the Kaffirs. My real name is George
Forrester, aud at home I live near Carnes
ford, in Devonshire. I was one night
poaching in Mr. Carne’s woods, with some
men from Dareport, when wo cadie upon
the keepers. There was a fight. One of
the keepers knocked my guu out of my
hand, aud as he raised his gun to knock me
on the head, I whipped out my kuife,
opened it, aud stuck it into him. I didn’t
mean to kill him, it was just done iu a mo
ment; but be died from it. \\ e ran away.
Afterward I found that I had lost iny
knife, I supposed I dropped it. That’s all
I have to sav.”
“Not all, Forrester, not all, said Ronald,
who had listened with impatience to the
slowely-uttered words of the wounded man,
“not all It isn’t taat, but about the mur
der of Miss Carne I want you to tell.”
“The murder of Miss Carne,” George
Forrester repeated, slowely. “I know
nothing about that. She made Ruth
break it off with me, and I nearly killed
Ruth, and I would have killed her if I had
bad the chance, but I never had. I as
glad when I h ard she was killed, but I
don’t know who did it.”
“But your knife was found by her body,”
Ronald said. "You must have done it,
Forrester.”
Murdered Miss Carne! the man said,
half raising himself on his elbow in sur
prise. “Never. I swear I had nothing to
do with it.”
A rush of blood poured from his mouth,
for pne of the assegais had pierced his lung,
and a moment lator George Forrester fell
back dead. The disappointment and revul
sion of fooling were too great for Ronald
Mervyn, aud ha fainted. When he recov
ered, the surgeon was leaning over him.
“You mustn't talk, lad; you must keep
yourself quite quiet, or we shall have fever
setting in and all sorts of trouble.”
Ronald closed his eyes, and lay back
quietly. How could this be? He thought
of Mary Armstrong’s letter, of the chain
of proofs that had accumulated against
George Forrester; they seemed absolutely
convincing, aud yet there was no doubting
the ring of truth in the last words of the
dying man, His surprise at the accusation
was genuine; his assertion of his innocence
absolutely convincing; he had no motive
tor lying, he was dying nd he knew it.
Besides, the thing had come so suddenly
upon hmi thac there would be no time for
him to frame a lie even if he had been in a
mental condition to do so. Whoever killed
Margaret Carne, Ronald Mervyn was at
once convinced that it was not George
Forrester. There ho lay, thinking for hours
over the disappointment that the news
would be to Mary Armstrong, and how it
seemed more unlikely than ever that the
mystery would ever be cleared up now.
Gradually, his thoughts became more
more vague, until at last he fell asleep.
Upon the following 2day the wounded
were sent down under an escort to King
Williatnstown, and there for a month
Ronald Mervyn lay in a hospital. He had
written a few lines to Mary Armstrong,
saying that he had been wounded
but not dangerously, aud that she need not
be anxious about him auy more, for the
Kaffirs were now almost driven from their
last stronghold and that the fighting would
almost certainlv be over before he was fit
to mount his horse again. “George For
rester is dead,” he said. “He was mortally
wounded when fighting bravely against the
Kaffirs. I fear, dear, that your ideas about
him were mistaken, and that ho, like my
self, has beau tbe victim of circumstantial
evidence: but I will tell you more about
this when I write to you next.”
While lying there, Ronald thought over
and over again about the evide ice that had
been collected against George Forrester,
and whether it should be published, as
Mary had proposed. It would, doubtless,
be accepted by the world as p oof of For
rester’s guilt aud of his own innocence; and
even the fact that the man; when dying,
had denied it, would weigh for very little
with the public, for men proved
indisputably to be guilty often
go to the scaffold asserting their
innocence to the last. But would it bo
right to throw this crime upon the dead
man when he was sure that he was inno
cent? For Ronald did not doubt for a mo
ment the truth of the denial. Had he a
right, even for the sake of Mary’s happi
ness and his own, to charge the memory of
tbe dead man with the burden of this foul
crime? Ronald felt that it could not be.
The temptation was strong, but he fought
long against it. And at last his mind wm
made up.
“No,” he said at last, “I will not do it.
George Forrester was no doubt a bad man,
but he was not so bad as this. Ic would be
worse to charge his memory with it than to
accuse him if he were alive. Ia the one
case he might clear himself; iu the other he
cannot. I cannot clear my name by fouling
that of the dead man.”
And so Ronald at last sat down to write
a long letterto Mary Armstrong, telling her
the whole circumstances; the joy with
which he received her news, his conversa
tion with George Forrester, which seemed
wholly to confirm her views; the pang of
agony 1 e had felt when he saw the man
whom he believed could alone clear him in
the hands of the Kaffirs, and his desperate
charge to rescue him; and then he gave the
words of the confession, and expressed his
absolute belief t oat the dying man had
spoken the truth, and that he was really in
nocent of Margaret Carne’s murder.
He then discussed the question of still
publishing Ruth Powlett’s statement, giving
first the cause of George Forrester’s emnity
aeainst Margaret Carne. and the threat he
had uttered, and than the discovery of the
knife.
“1 fear that you will be ashamed of me,
Marc, when I tell you that, for a time, I al
most yielded to the temptation of clearing
myself at his expense. But you must make
allowance for the strength of the tempta
tion: on tue one side was the thought of my
honor restored, and of you won; on the
other, the thought that, now George For
rester was dead, this could not harm him.
But, of course, I finally to it the temptation
aside; honor purchased at toe expense of a
dead man’s reputation would be dishonor
indeed. Now I can face disgrace, because I
Ln >w 1 am innocent. I could not face
honor who i I knew that I had done a dis
honorable action;and I know taat I should
utterly forfeit your love aud esteem did I I
do so. I can look you straight in the face
now; I could never look you straight in the
face then. Do not grieve too much over the
disappointment Wo are now only as we
were when I said good-by to you. Ihal no
hope then that you would ever succeed in
clearing me, and I have no hope now. I
have not got up my strength again yet, and
am. therefore, perhaps just at present a
little more disposed to repine over the dis
appointment than I thought I shiuld be;
but this will wear oil when I get in toe
saddle again. There will, I think, be tio
more fighting -at any rate with the Saudi fii
Kaffirs—for we hear this morning that they
have sent in to bag for peace, an 1 I am cer
tain we shall be glad enough to grant it,
for he have not much to boast alnut in the
campaign. Of course they will have to pay
a very heavy fine iu cattle, and will have to
move across to the other side of the Kei.
Equally of course there will bo trouble
again with them after a time, when the
memory of their losses has somewhat
aba od. 1 fancy a portion of tho force will
march against the Basutos, whose attitude
lias lately been very hostile; but now that
the Oaikas havegiyenin, and we are free to
use our whole force against them, it is
scarcely probable that they will venture to
try conclusions with us. If they settle
down peaceably I shall probably apply for
my discharge, and perhaps go in for farm
ing or carry out my first idea of joining a
party of traders going up the country, and
getting some shooting among the big
game.
“1 know that, disappointed as you will be
with the news contained in this letter, it
will be a pleasure to you to tell the girl you
have made your friend that after all the
man she once loved is innocent of this terri
ble crime. She must have suffered horribly
while she was hiding what she thought was
the most important part of tho evidence:
now she will see that she has re illy done no
harm; and as you seem to be really fond of
her, it will, I am sure, be a great pleasure to
you to t>e able to rostore her peace of mind
in both these respects.
“I should think now that you and your
father will not remain any longer at Carnes
ford, where neither of you have any fitting
society of any sort, bat will go and settle
somewhere in your proper position. I would
much rather that you did, for now that it
seems absolutely certain that nothing
further is to be learned, it would trouble me
to think of you wasting your lives at
Carnesford.
“You said in your last letter that the
discovery you had made had brought you
four years uearer to happiness, but I have
never said a word to admit that I should
change my mind at the end of tho five years
that your father spoke of. Still, 1 don’t
know, Mary. I think my position is
stronger by a great deal thuu it was six
months ago. I told my captain who I w as,
and all the other officers now know. Most
of them came up and spoke very kindly to
me before I started on my way down here,
and lam sure that when *1 leave the corps
they will give me a testimonial, saying that
they are convinced from my behavior
while in the corps that I could not be
guilty of this crime. I own that I myself
am less sensitive on the subject than I was.
One has no time to bo morbid while loadiug
such a life as I have b. en for tiie last nine
months. Perhaps—but I will not say any
more now. But I think somehow that at
the end of the five years I shall leave tho
decision in your hands. It has taken mo
two or three days to write this letter, for I
am not strong enough to stick to it for
more than half an hour at a time, but as
the post goes out this afternoon I mast close
it now. \Ve have beau expecting a mail
from England for some days. It is consid
erably overdue, and I need not say how I
am longing for another lettor from you. I
hear the regiment will be back, from the
front to-night; even the horses want a few
days rest before starting on this long march
to Basutoland. I shall be very glad to *so
them back again. Of course, the invalids
here, like myself, are somewhnt pulled down
by their wounds, and disgusted at being
kept here. The weather is frightfullv hot,
and even in our shirt sleeves we shall be
hardly able to enjoy Christmas day.”
The Cape Rifles arrived at King Vvilliams
town an hour after the post had loft, aad in
the evening the colonel and several of the
officers paid a visit to the hospital to see
how their wounded were getting on. Ron
ald, who was sitting reading by his bedside,
and the other invalids who were strong
enough to be on their feet, at once got up
and stood at attention. Stopping and
speaking a few words to each of the men
of his own corps, the colonel came on.
“Mervyn,” he said, os he and the officers
came up to Ronald, “I want to shake your
your hand. I have heard your story from
Capt. Twentyman, and I wish to tell you,
in my own name and in the name of tho
officers of tho regiment, that we are sure
you have been the victim of some horrible
mistake, aad all of us are absolutely con
vinced that a man who has shown such
extrerno gallantry as you have, and whoso
conduct has been so excellent from the day
he joined, is wholly incapable of such a
crime as that with woioli you were charged.
You were, of course, acquitted, but at the
same time I think that it cinnot but be a
satisfaction for you to know that you have
won the esteem of your officers and your
comrados, aad that in their eyes you are
free from the slightest taint of that black
business. (Jive me your hand. ”
Ronald was unable to speak; the colonel
and all the officers shook him by the hand,
and the former said:
“I must have another long talk with you
wheu we get back from the Basuto business.
I have mentioned you very strongly in
regimental orders upon two occasions for
extreme gallantry, and 1 cannot but think
that a letter signed by me in the English
papers, saying that tho Bergt. Blunt of my
regiment, who so signally distinguished
himself, is reaiiy Capt. Mervyn, who in my
opinion and that of my officers was so un
justly accused, would do you some good in
the eyes of the public; but weean talk over
that when I see you again.”
After the officer left the room, Ronald
Mervyn sat for some time with his face
buried in his hands. Tho colonel’s words
had greatly moved him. Surely such a
letter as that which Col. Somerset had pro
posed to write would do much to clear him.
He snould never think of taking his own
name again or re-entering any society iu
which he would be likely to be recognized,
but surely with such a testimonial as that
iu his favor he might hope in some quiet
place to live down the pa-t,, and should he
again be recognized, c iuid face evil roporti
with such an honorable record as this to
produce in his favor. Then his thoughts
went back to England. What would Mary
and her father say when they read such a
letter in the paper! It would be no proof of
his innocence, and yet he felt sure that
Mary would insist upon regarding it as
such, and would hold that he had no right
to keep her waiting lor another four years,
and that if she did so he would be unable to
refuse any longer to permit her to be mis
tress of her own fate.
fTO BE CONTINUED.!
A Stern Old Puritan.
From the Dexter {Me. ) Qazetie.
Col. John Goddard was a king among Penob
scot lumbermen in his day. An incident that
occurred at his home indicates his unyielding
nature and obstinate pride.
One day a little son of his while paying in the
yard climbed into a wagon. Tiring of this
amusement, the child endeavored to again reacn
the ground, but did not dare to clamber down.
The mother, hearing cries for help, rushed
out to the rescue at the same timo that God
dard came around the corner of the stable.
* ‘Hold on there!” he cried to his wife.
Then turning to tbe sobbing child he shouted:
“What's the matter, youngster t"
“Can't get down.”
“Crawl down!”
“Can't."
“Climb down, I tell you!"
"Darsn't climb down."
Goddard reached for the horsewhip vouch
safing only these words to the appeal of nis
wife.
“If that young one has any of John Goddard's
blood in him he’ll get down out of that him
self."
The child, nerved to desperation by several
cuts from the whip, frantically attempted to
scramble down from his perch, and catching
his foot in tne wheel, fell to the earth with a
b-okeo leg.
But Goddard did not flinch.
LEMON ELIXIR
Its Wonderful Effect on the Liver,
Stomach, Bowels. Kidneys and Blood.
Dr. Mozley’s Lemon Elixir is a pi asmt
lemon drink that positivelv cures all Bilious
ness, Constipation. Indigestion, Headache,
Malaria, Kidney Disease. Dizziness, Colds,
Loss of Appetite, Fevers, Chills, Blotches,
Fimnles. Pain in back, Palpitation of Heart,
and all other diseases caused by disordered
liver, stemaeh ami kidneys, the first great
cause of alt fatal disease*. 50 els. and $1
per bottle. Sold by druggists. Prepared
usly by H. Mozley, M. D.. Atlanta, Ga.
Lemon Hot Drops
For coughs aud oolds, take I/mion Hot
Drops.
For sore throat and Bronchitis, take
Lemon Hot Drops.
For Pneumonia and laryngitis, take
Lemon Hot Drops.
For consumption and catarrh, take Lemon
Hot Drops.
For all throat and lung diseases, take
Lemon Hot Drops.
An elegant and reliable nreparation.
Bold by druggists. i' cents nor bottle.
Prepared by H. Mozley, M. D., Atlanta,
Ga.
President National Bank,
McMinville, Tenn., writes: From experi
ence in my family, Dr. H. Mozlev’s Lemon
Elixir has few, if any, equals, and no supe
riors in medicine for tho regulation of the
liver, stomach and bowels. Dr. H. Mozley’s
Lemon Hot Drops are superior to any reme
dies we have ever been able to get for throat
and lung diseases. W. H. MAGNESS.
He Felt Badly.
Hoffman House—“Hallo,Windsor! what’s
up? You look down in tho mouth, old
man.”
Windsor—“ You’d feel like a ‘boiled owl,’
too, if you had this infernal dyspepsia.”
Hoffman House—“ Why dou’t you do
something for it?"
Windsor—“Do something? I have taken
every discoverable thing except my life, but
they’re no good.”
Hoffman House—“Go to any druggist’s
and get a bottle of P. P. P. (Prickly Ash.
Poke Root and Potassium) and if that dou’t
knock your dyspepsia higher than a kite
I’m a sailor.”
medical
tigs
A mat Ural iwiiiJeral Watcr h
y lIJUSC TOR *1 EARLY Ar CDItURY
ROSITIN/C CURE FOR
ft” -DYSPEPSIA ° °
n 0 SiCK-HEADACHE • 4
l|o .CONSTIPATION O %S
’AfERTAIN REMEDY
> -res . otsLasts -of -the •
LIVER, STOMACH
•Fron sate by
PF?UGGISTS CV/erYwHCRE
suo roe earHi.tT
Crab Orchard y/ater To
'LOUIEVILLE.KY.
(I H
PULMONIC
•SYRUP-
Fifty years of success is sufficient evidence
of the value of Schencks Pulmonic Syrup as a
eure for Consumption, Coughs, Colds, Hoarse
ness Sore-Throat Ac. It contains no opium; la
pleasant to tho taste.
For Sale by all Druggists. Price SI.OO per
bottle. Dr. Schcnck's Hook on Consumption
and its Cure, mailed free. Address
Dr. J. H. Schonck & Son, Philadelphia.
\ t ,: ri sU n•• ? or,
an Y g f.locd.Purifier, Flesh
J .MekeraadNei veTocle.
U n B rth. Onset Malaria. niMosanem.
ft| .. Scrofula. Dyspepsia, iwi
gyra* g£s nisfisrsi-sa
M r fr Krmoving Hrnpl** aid
m Beautifying C ? r^*
S (Slit.’
jrgSfcfot# sMSLWirr-
Wloney Returned by follow
ing druggists if Alexander’s
Cholera Infantum Cure,
Cholera Morbus Cure, or
Pile Ointment fails to cure:
Bulktr’s P;iarxnac/ t W. M. Mills,
LC. Strong, Kfcid Go.,
EdwaH J. Kieffer, W F. Held,
W. a. Pijpnao, W. M. Cleveland,
J. R. Haiti wander. Wm. F. Heady,
J. T. Thornton. W. A. Bifihop,
ormons & MeiL A. N. O’Keeffa A Go,
JL Johnson, David Port r.
WHOLESALE BY UPPMAN BKOA
I urawl^roH
ISa raSn®
At Whoteialo by LIPPMAN BROS.. Savan
nah. On.
RE
> i t J Pc •itireljrc’U rad mffOd&yf
KjL'OtV* /
n*tl£e!t Traw •'ombined.
(;ia ran teed th* only one la
Pk>a‘v-.thf world rewratlnff nontin*
Ri pmXTnoM Electric and Magnetic nil mint
Pownrfal, Parable, Comfort
>ol* ai.rt Effective. Avoid r reads. Over
ft'vyi r-uixl fu*nd v tarn:, for parr.rli let
TtfjoECKvrino blclts k<k wseases.
tw.Hom.HEMDVEC o I SO Wabash Ave..Chi6.
p% B np If A preventive And sure cure
II || II 1 |1 for Malaria, Fever and
SiMliril Ague. Contains no quinine
USIUSm I or arsenic, absolutely vpjro ta
ble compound, at Druggists SOo. LIPi’MAX
BROS., Agent a
✓"V W-- CENTS A WEEK pays for tM
• B r-y DAILY MORNING NEWS, deliv.
X ; m lered EARLY EVERY MORNING
Jcsl m any part of the city.
IRON WORKB.
KEHOE’S IRON WORKS,
Broughton Street, rrom Reynolds to Randolph Streets,
- Georgia:
CASTING! OF ALL KINDS AT LOWEST POSSIBLE PRICES.
THK RAPIDLY ■ DEMAND FOR OUR
SUGAR MILLS AND PANS
u * *° manufacture them os a more extensive seals than ever
Tjpt HTANTJ.ARD or £irr:T "vV"* ha< *° their HIGH
(tl WROUGHT 1R ? T “ IA , L AXI> WORKMANSHIP, with
mt P‘J o.Jq 'UOI.HHT 11. N shaj ,s imade long lo prevent danger to the
fifl operator), and rollers ~f t- hem chare fit pig iron, all turned up true.
. k .irur'- Wra , * r ° heavy, strong and durable, run light, and even and are Claraa
fTST .nrnW'Wß capable of grinning ibe k. av est fully matured .■iih ii ..
mSfiWw'-tiffUUiS**! 01 “” r Mills are fill!'- warrantr ! for .■no vear
Oar FANS being e*' with f. e bottoms down.
tl >■-- l mncidancns durability an:! uniformity of
M ay PKR!OK 10 TllosE MaUE iv
V B Having unsurpassed facilities,
WE GUARANTEE OUR PRICES TO BE AS LOW AS ANY OFFERED.
A Large Stock Always on Hand for Prompt Delivery
WM.KEHOE&CO.
N. B. The iiiune KDHOEYi IRON W ORKS” u* cast on nil our Mills and Fan*.
LOTTJKBT.
PALL PRECEDENT!
OVER TWO MILLION DISTRIBUTED.
L.S.L.
Louisiana State Lottery Company
Incorporated by the Legislature for edtica*
tior.al and charitable purposes, and its frauchiso
lnadr a part ot the present slate constitution,
iu 187‘J, by an overwhelming popular vote.
Its (JRAMI) EXTRAORDINARY DRAWINGS
take place Semi-Annually, (June and Decem
ber), ami its GRAND SINGLE NUMBER DR V W
iiiKNtake place in each of the other ten mouths
of the year, and are all drawn in public, at the
Academy of Mutde, New Orleans, La.
"We do hereby certify that wr supervise the
arrangements for all the Monthly ami Semi-An
nual DraieinyM of the Louisiana State lottery
Company, and in person manage and control
the Drawings themselves, ami that the same are
conducted with honesty, fairness, and in (joint
faith toward all parties, and we authorize the
Company to use this certificate, with facsimiles
of our signatures attacked, iu its advertise
ments
4 otiimlMlonrr.
We the undersigned Panics and Hankers will
pay all prizes drawn in the Louisiana State
Lotteries which may be presented at our coun
ters
li. M. W \LMRLEY,Prest.Louisiana Ynt.HU.
PIEIUIL L\\\l \, Pr.Ht State ftafl. Hk.
A. BALDWIN, Preat. lNrw Orlrann IXat’l. Hk.
4 AII L HOIIN, Prest. I niou National linnk.
MAMMOTH DRAWING
At the Academy Music, New Orleans,
Tuesday, Dec. T 7, 1889.
Capital Prize $600,000
loo.ooli Ticket, at (HO; Halve. #2U ; quar
ter. 010; Eighth. 85; Twentieth.
; Fortieth. sl
-of PKIZK!>.
1 I’RIZF, OF SIIOO,OOO is SOOO,OOO
1 I’UIZE OF 200,(WO is 800,000
1 PRIZE OF 100,000 is 100.000
1 PRIZE OF 50,030 te 50,000
2 PRIZES OF 20,000 are 10,000
5 PRIZES OF 10,000 are 50,000
10 PHIZES OF 5.000 are 50,000
25 PRIZES OF 2,000 are 50 000
100 PRIZES OF 800 are HO 000
200 PRIZES OF 800 are 120,000
500 PRIZES OF 400 arc 200,000
APPKOXIMATION PHIZES.
100 Prizes of SI,OOO are SIOO,OOO
100 Prizes of 800 are 80,000
100 Prizes of 100 are 10,000
TWO NI/MBKK TERMINALS.
1,998 Prizes of §2OO are $099,000
■T ,111 Prizes amounting to 02.159 ,ttOO
AGENTS WANTED,
rrr For Club Rates, or any further infor
mation dcHired, write logiblv to the undersigned,
clearly stating your residence, with State,
County, Street and Number. More rapid return
mad delivery will be assured by your enclosing
an Envelope tearing your full address.
IMPORTANT.
Address M. A. I) \l PI I IN,
New Orleans, La.,
or M. A. DAI PH IN,
Washington, D. 4'.
By ordinary letter containing Money Order
issued by all Express Companies, New York Ex
change, Draft or Postal Note.
Address Registered Letters Contain
ing Currency to
.\E\V ORLEANS NATIONAL 114\K,
New Orlean., La.
"REMEMBER, that the payment of Prizes
la LI AH IVI EKI) BY FOtK NATIONAL
BANttH of New Orleans, anil the ticket, are
slgued by tho President of an Inatitutlon, whose j
chartered rights are recognized in the highest ‘
courts; therefore, beware of all imitations or :
anonymous schemes.
ONE lit is the price of the smalle t
part or fractloo of a ticket IBM Eli BV I win
any drawing. Anything in our name offered
for less than a Dollar Is a swindle.
SHOES.
R.gkaup
VvA B** that •vtry pfr i Btarrmd
'lh Bcr A I'aciahk.
U ft\ “Korrnot Bhnpe."
IT CONFORMS TO SHAPE OP FOOT.
If you want prrfrrrlon in fit. with freedom
from corns and all dlwcomfort you will always
wear the Hurt dt Packard hhoe. It is ac
knowledged an the most comfortable, the best
wearing and most stylish gentlemen's shoe made
in the world.
Don'tspoi! your feet by wearingcheap shoes
The Hurt V Packard Kboe costs no more thau
any other fine shoe, though none approach it in
value.
All styles in Hand-made, Hand welt, and
Burt welt; also Boys' and Youths'. If not sold by
your dealer send his name and your address to
ParUi*d FUIH (successors to Burt A Packard)
raCKiira a rieill, Brockton. Mao Sold by
P. TUBERDY, 136 Broughton street, Savan
nah. (la.
PRINTING BTC.
IF YOU WAVI
If you want a DAY BOOK MADE.
If you want a JOURNAL MADE,
If you want a CASH BOOK MADE.
If you want a LEDGER MADE,
If you want a RECORD MADE,
If you want a CHECK BOOK MADE,
If you want LETTER HEADS.
If you want NOTE HEADS,
If you want BILL HEADS,
If you want BUSINESS CARDS,
‘—SEND YOUR ORDERS TO
Alorning News Steam Printing llouae,
Morning News Building.
3 Whitaker Street
MEDICAL.
Ihbm LbiJ
gppr sppr raj
OUR M
V. HILIS
PhyvifiUMß Aiulfc** P. P. I*. %s m spUndld oomblDifclo*.
aril jffMorib* It wUh rrHßi Buti*faction for tho curoo of
.all forty gnd of palmary, from dory ood TSrSkJ
p p P.cu":
FT‘r o > u l A
ary Vpbma drphlUilQ
And flnn<R, Glandular Hwaillagm, Khaunuulam, Malaria, ■
oHCbrT'nlr Ulcwe that r—tafd all tf—WMlk
P P- p - c “*i
0 D POISON
Catarrh, skin Female Ooflt-!
piniet*, MmcorlaJ funon, Tatter. Seaidhead, etc., ate. ,
toatc aud en aeoallantaeptl^
p p P.
*vSrS:Js A T I S Frfl
mi, but Ming up
LedlMi whiMta Byatama ara polaouad end arboee blood
ja lu an lrrpnra condition dwa tQ eiatiatrwel Irraxiitert* 1
P. P. p - c , OR A
L: l a r I A
ttea era pvcnlierly
bhKMI ctaenMlui; ptaparUaa of F. P. F., Prickly Ash, Poke
ttrvyf aid Feteatuttfn
p p P. c u R ‘
r- Y'*S';P E P S' I A
LIPPMAN BROS., Proprietor®,
WHOLESALE DItCGOIOTS,
Lippman Block. SAVANNAH, GA. •
C°R\ S^ S ML.SPEemLV.AH
, BUNIONS I^l^vtyiTHOUT
m WARTS " m PAIN.
props savannah ' ct
IIANICs.
Cheque Bank.
iUMTBD.)
K3tabliah.il In London la 1873. Head Office,
4, Waterloo Place, Pall Mail
Baukere: Hank of KugUud.
REMITTANCES!
ANY one having to send money to any part
in Europe will And the cheque, of the
CHEQUE BANK to be the most simple, tbe
cheapest and the safest method of remitting.
Vie can furnish checks of any amount from 10
shillings upward at the lowest current exchange:.
These cheese are treated in F.ngland as CASH
ami are accepted for such by tho banks, hotels,
railroad companies, steamship companies, gov
ernment offices and all other public places,
shops, etc. In the continent they can be ex
changed at uiinliar places without the least in
convenience or loss of time, aud THEY Ale
WAYS COMMAND THE HIGHEST OF EX
CHANGE. No identification or indorsement
required. No commission charged tor exchang
ing.
We solicit the patronage of the public and we
feel oertam that a single trial of the Cheque
Bank system will be sufficient to promote an
entire adoption of this method for remittance,
and other money conveyances.
M. S. OOSULICH A CO.,
Sole Bub-Agenta lor Savannah and Bran*
wick. Ca.
General United States Agency: E. J. Mathkws,
&Cos., No. 2 Wall street. New York. N. Y.
CORN ICRa.
CHAS. A. COX
4t BARNARD ST.. SAVANNAH, GA*
—MANUFACTURER OF—
GALVANIZED IRON CORNICES
TIN ROOFING IN ALL ITS BRANCHES
Estimates for city or country work promptly
furnished.
Ageut for the celebrated Swedish Metallia
Faint.
Aye el for Walter's Patent Tin Shingles.
MACHINEKY.
McDonough £ Balkotyn^
IRON FOUNDERS,
Machinist?, Boiler Makorj asd Blaetanithj,
MAKiiFscrcaxiu of
STATIONARY AND PORTABLE ENGINES!
VERTICAL AND TOP RUNNING CORN
MILLS, SUGAR MILLS and PANS.
AGENTS for Al-rt and Union Injectors, the
mplest aud most effective on the market;
Guilett Light Draft Magnolia Cotton Gin, the
best In the market.
AU orders promptly attended to. Send far
Price List.
PRINTING.
VfEHCHANTS, manufacturers, mersfcAiics,
aTI corpora tiotA. and all other, in need ol
printing, lithographing, and blank books can
have their orders promptly filled, at moderate
S-ices, at the MORNING NEWS PRINTING
OUSE. 3 Whitaker KreeL
11