Newspaper Page Text
4
THE SUNNY SOUTH.
“Hello! old man. Are you so buried in
literature that you have no welcome for a fel
low-sinner ?”
Starting up, the reporter said :
“Pardon me, Shelton, I did not see you,
but you are welcome.” Then noticing the
young girl, he asked bluntly:
“Who have we here?”
“It is Colonel Mansfield’s daughter that I
am taking through to him. And I’ve had
squirmy work of it, too, not another man in
the army could have dodged the Rebs, and
have escorted such a piece of furniture safely
through but me—that comes of being well
acquainted with the country, you see.”
“I didn’t now the colonel had a daughter,”
said the scribe.
“Well, the truth is, she’s only adopted,
but any sort’s better than none,” with a
wicked leer at Vi.
“Now, if you’ll let us rest here by your
fire, till morning, we’ll then go our way.
I’m dead tired.”
“Yes, rest and welcome. The young lady
can have my bunk, for I’m too busy to need
it to-night.”
Too much horrified to avail herself of this
kind offer, Vi sat down on a knapsack, which
was stuffed with manuscripts and lying near
the small stove.
“Well, it shan’t go begging,” said
Richard, throwing himself full length on the
bed. He was soon snoring, while tne scribe
kept up an incessant scratch, scratch on the
paper.
Vi sat mutely watching him, and wonder
ing what she should^do. Should she tell this
man how cruelly she had been forced away
from her father ? No, she feared the sound
of her unsteady voice would awaken the
sleeper, who would instantly silence her with
his bold, false assertion'of insanity. Besides,
she felt afraid of this little, sallow, wizen old
man. His appearance did not impress her
favorably. He might be in collusion with
that dreadful colonel, who, it seemed, was
the author of all her misfortunes, and if not
so, he was evidently a Yankee. And Vi had
read and heard so many shocking things of
Yankee cruelty, that her sole idea of them
may be summed up in the single word, hor
ror.
Sitting with her feverish, aching eyes fixed
on the reporter, she reflected that the whole
camp would soon be astir, for it could not
be long till morning. Then, escape would
be impossible. She might slip out now, the
reporter was so absoibed in his work that he
might not notice her. And, if he did, he
might not suspect her design, for there had
been no mention of her as an unwilling cap
tive. She feared the wild beating of her heart
would betray her, but, with bated breath, she
started. Now she has reached the door, and
glancing back sees the old man, who still
bent over his work, is totally unconscious of
anything save the ideas impressed by the
scratch, scratch—then, dropping the door-
flap, she darted forward with swift, noiseless
steps.
Now there were pickets to fear, but remem
bering the pass-word, “Emancipation,” she
kept repeating it to herself as she sped along
in the utter darkness. Ah, what a weight of
significance this one word now held for her!
CHAPTER XI.
UNREWARDED EFFORT.
Mr. Washington and Doctor Maroney, as
sisted by a number of the kindly citizens of
Sylvan Green, searched the country for miles
around, but could hear nothing of the miss
ing girl. And after two months spent in the
fruitless search, it was abandoned, and each
returned to his respective home.
On reaching their diverging roads, Mr.
Washington said as he clasped the hand of
Doctor Maroney in good-bye :
“Come to see us as often as you can, doc
tor, for I am now a doubly bereaved and deso
late man, since my darling, my all, is lost
and gone from me, I can never again be
cheerful in this life. But if you can evolve
any satisfaction from the society of a crushed
and broken man, give us as much of your
company as possible.”
“Faith ! ond it’s Tony Maroney that was
just on the varge of that same proposition.
Yis, he’ll draw something out of ye, for he’s
going to take up his quarters with ye, and
erict the sanitarium, that the paple of the
bottoms may not shake the loife out of thim,
all uncared for, as they’ve been doing hereto
fore. Thrust me for drawing the worark and
counsel out of ye that ye promised me—no
going back on Tony Maroney.”
Ever busy and energetic with hands as well
as tongue, Doctor Maroney at once com
menced and prosecuted the projected build
ing. And it was soon completed, and proved
to be one of the greatest blessings hitherto
offered to the poor, fever-stricken inhabitants
of the river bottoms. As soon as it was ready
for occupation it was filled with patients,^for
the warm, moist winter and spring had
caused a great deal of remittent and intermit
tent fevers.
There was no question about the means for
.enjoying the benefits of the sanitarium.
All were admitted, if poor they were cared for
gratis, while those who could afford to, paid
reasonable fees.
Mr. Washington entered heartily into the
work, attending to the ward patients, while
Doctor Maroney rode his daily rounds on the
prairie.
Among the many who heard of the skill of
the Irish doctor and his co-workers, was Mrs.
Mansfield, who, constitutionally weak, was
almost maddened by the conduct of her hus
band and the loss of her cherished son. ^She
had only a feeble hold on life prior to that
terrific engagement on the cliffs, where her
son had been lost, and from that time she
gradually grew weaker and thinner till she
could not rise from her bed. About this
time a floating rumor reached her that Ver
non was a prisoner at A. It was only a
rumor, but it inspired her with the w£sh to
live and see him again, so she was conveyed
to the sanitarium, but alas, it was too late
for her to profit by the advantages there
offered.
She received every needful attention, but
died a week later, with the beloved name
“Vernon” on her lips.
Her last resting place was near the Wash
ington homestead, and engraved on the plain
white slab were these words :
“Sacred to the memory of Mary, the mother
of Vernon.”
Avoiding with instinctive horror the
gloomy outlines of the fort, Vi groped her
way in the darkness to the adjoining cliffs.
Here she clambered up and down rocks and
steeps in a vain effort to find a safe pathway
to the river. She was about to give up in
despair when the gray light of morning
lighted her way, she succeeded in descend
ing to the moist margin of the river. After
a short walk up the stream, she was delighted
to find a canoe chained to a tree. Loosing
it, she took the oars and pushed off up
stream. She had no idea what river it was,
nor yet, in which direction was her home.
It did not look like Red river, for the banks
were for the most part precipitous as far as
she could see, but it might be Red river, and
might lead her home. And if not, she would
be sure to pass by some farm houses where she
could make inquiry. So, speeding along
over the calm waters, she frightened the
birds form their beds and caused the fishes to
dart hither and thither as if they apprehended
torpedoes or some other destructive agency.
After some nours she grew faint and weary
from the unwonted exertion and her hands
and arms ached so that she could hardly
grasp the oars. She began to fear that the
country along this river was as yet unin
habited. If only she had something to break
fast on, she could row all day, but the terrors
she had undergone had robbed her of appetite
heretofore, and now, when she needed
strength so much she was weak, and this un
accustomed exercise had been enervating in
the extreme, and she felt that she could not
row another rod if her life depended on it.
So, shooting into a sheltered cove, she bathed
her face and hands in the clear, cold water.
While thus engaged, she heard a slight sound
and looking up, saw a bird breakfasting on
winter grapes. Why might not she ? She
would if she could reach them, for the rich,
dark clusters hung high amid the upper
branches of the tree. Stepping out on the
ground she took hold of the knotty old vine
and tried to pull it loose from its twinings
around the tree, but her efforts only resulted
in scaring the bird from his repast. After
several fruitless efforts interpersed with long
ing glances at the tempting fruit, her mental
conclusion was :
“Well, if you will not come down to me,
I must go up to you.’ And nimbly as a
squirrel, if not so graceful, she seized the
looping vine, and was soon seated on a
branch of the tree,with the interlacing vines
laden with fruit a around her.
After concluding her meal she dropped a
few of the largest bunches to put into her
boat for the next meal. This done, she was
about to descend from her airy perch, when
the sound of voices and a plash of oars
stopped her.
It might be that dreaded man Shelton, in
search of her. She would keep still and not
show herself where he or any of the soldiers.
But if the comers proved to be civilians, or
even Rebel soldiers, she would ask them to
direct her on her way home.
Peering through the vines and branches she
saw a small fisher boat propelled by a young
man in rebel grey uniform. And oh, joy, his
sole companion was a woman—an elderly
woman of the country, attired in coarse
home-made linsey.
At first glance, Vi thought she might trust
them. She could tell that plain woman all
her troubles with the hope of gaining assist
ance. But she checked her impulse to de
scend from the tree, on seeing them turn into
the little cove. She would wait and see what
they were about before showing herself.
Rowing up beside the canoe the young
man sprang into it, and picking up an oar ex
amined it curiously. He was tall and slender,
with a rich olive complexion, keen, dark
eyes, and a thin mustache. He was dressed
in officers’ uniform, and the bright tinsel
epaulets on his broad, graceful shoulders
showed his rank to be that of captain. Watch
ing them intently, Vi heard the young officer
exclaim, in tones of surprise and pleasure :
“Jerusalem oak ! Here is my canoe. See,
Guardia, I cut my initials on the oars and the
stern. ”
And he pointed to the letters “J. C. G. ”
which Vi had noticed as soon as it was light
enough to see them. She had wondered to
whom they belonged, and now she knew this
handsome young officer was “J. C. G.” if
she never learned more of him. But she
would keep still and learn all she could of
these people, before committing herself for
petty larceny.
Afer satisfying himself and his companion
regarding the ownership of the canoe, he sat
down beside her, and they engaged in conver
sation. Their tones were so low that Vi
could not understand, but she heard and jotted
down every word.
“Well,” said the young man, “now that
my own barge is regained, I need not trouble
you to go farther with me. And I advise,
yea, even entreat you to return home and
make yourself comfortable, and leave the
devil to take care of his own.”
“He’s too slow,” replied the woman.
“I must attend to this important job for him,
for I can take no comfort anywhere or in any
thing while Orville Mansfield lives. I fol
lowed him to Baltimore intending to expose
him in the height of his dash and swell. I
thought to find a sufficient witness^ in
Acord, who was there a prisoner at the time,
but he was unwilling to testify, and before I
had time to force him, he was sent back
South on parole. Then I knocked the gallant
colonel on the head, and thought I had termi
nated his villainous career, till some weeks
ago I read in the ‘Times’ that he would soon
recover. ”
“How did you manage to knock him on
the head ?”
“I attended a mimic battle, and hid a stone
in a snow-ball and threw it with as much
force as David put in his sling while doing
battle,with Goliah. I had a right; mine was
a stronger cause than David’s.”
Smiling at her vehemence, the young man
said :
“I wonder you were not arrested.”
“I do, too,” rejoined the Blizzard, “but I
escaped and shall have another chance at him,
I’m rather glad on the whole, that he re-
covered, for instant death is far too good for
him. I’d like to see him suffer humiliation
and remorse, and let him understand that it
was through my agency. By the way, the
same paper that reported his recovery stated
that his son was at The Blakie Hospital,
slowly recovering from amputation of a leg.”
“Heaven be praised !” ejaculated the young
man. ‘‘Oh, if she could have known this, it
would have soothed her la'st moments, but
now it is too late!”
“What do you mean?” asked his compan
ion.
“Mrs. Mansfield died recently, not know
ing whether Vernon was living or dead.”
“Well,” said the Blizzard, “she makes
number three of that fiend’s victims that I
know of. And I’ll force his own son to
testify against him. It will make his con
viction the more blighting, and my revenge
proportionately sweet.”
Taking hold of her arm the young man
said fiercely :
“You must not, shall not! Vernon Mans
field is my brother in affection, if not in law,
and I will not submit to his humiliation for
all your fiendish schemes of vengeance.”
“Take care, young man. Don’t let your
zeal for the detested name of Mansfield, blind
you to your duty to me. I, who have done
and endured so much for you, surely I de
serve some consideration at your hands.”
“Yes, yes, I know you have done much
and suffered more, but now that you have re
covered the homestead and banished the usur
per, I think the work of vengeance should
cease, for, if it were possible for you to bury
the last of the Mansfield generation, it could
not restore to life our murdered Lewis, nor
remove dishonor from our name. So go
home and keep the nest warm, and if I should
survive these perilous times, I will return,
and do all I can to alleviate your burden, and
repay the debt of gratitude I owe you.”
During this speech the Blizzard’s eyes
softened, and John felt sure that his cause
was won. He was conscious of possessing a
power over this strange woman, but how or
why, he could not understand.
After a moment’s reflection, she said :
“You were always a kind-hearted boy,
John, and it would go mightily against the
grain for me to cross- you in any matter of
importance. So I’ll consider what you’ve
said, and see what can be done without bring
ing the son into my affairs. But, in one
thing you can not restrain me, for I will
never go home till Orville Mansfield is either
dead,or arraigned at the bar of civil justice.”
“Well, you will go your way, and I must
pursue mine, and as it is high time for me to
return to camp, we must say good-bye.”
“I had better go with you, for you might
meeL more blue coats than you care to handle
alone.
“Then I’ll run,” said John, laughing.
Vi thought it a pleasant laugh, and that
his handsome face lighted up in a way that
was cneering to look at. Then, shaking
hands, they separated, he leaving in his
cance, while the Blizzard, throwing a hook
into the water, sat fishing as complacently as
if this innocent recreation was the sole pur
pose of her existence.
TO BE CONTINUED.
In England I found a cultivated person fitly
surrounded by a happy home, with honor,
love, obedience, and troops of friends. . . .
In Wordsworth’s household, comfort and cul
ture were secured without any display.—
Emerson.
A SALVATIONIST AFLOAT.
Captain Crapo Floats the Flag of the Ameri
can Volunteers.
T HE American Volunteers, Bal-
lington Booth’s organization,
has a representative on the
high seas, and the flag of the
reorganized Salvationists is
proudly floated on the Atlantic.
The naval commander of this first floating
post is Captain Crapo, a tarry old New Bed
ford whaling master who has had many
strange adventures andjcan spin many startling
yarns about himself and his travels.
Captain Crapo has not always been a relig
ious enthusiast. Far from it. He has been, as
he himself admits, a bad, bad man in his day,
even for a sailor. But a few weeks ago his
ship was wrecked off Cape Hatteras, and
while struggling for life, as he clung to the
keel of a capsized yawlboat, he “got reli
gion.” About an hour after experiencing his
change of heart he was rescued and got a
change of clothes. When he was landed at
Norfolk, he went straight to New York and
there presented himself to Commander Booth.
To the commander the captain confessed
that he had been bad, but proposed, now that
he meant to be so good, he should be allowed
to represent the Volunteers on the briny
deep. The ex-SalvaTi'OUist was delighted with
the plan, and so, when a few 'dayiip-iai^r Cap
tain Crapo was given command of anotKer""
CAPTAIN CRAPO.
whaler, the Manson, he raised to the mast
head a big flag of the Volunteers, with its
motto, “The Lord Is My Bannef,” worked
out in big letters. He had some difficulty in
shipping a crew owing to the strange-looking
flag, but when the men were assured that re
ligion would not be mixed up with business
they signed articles, and the Manson sailed
away,bound for the whaling-gounds, amid the
derisive shouts of the unrighteous spectators.
Capain Crapo was born in New Bedford
about fifty-six years ago, and has been a
whaler ever since he was fourteen years old.
Once he was cast away on one of the South
Sea islands and was captured by the natives.
He was adopted by the king of the tribe and
lived with them for several years until he
managed to escape. He served in the navy
during the war, and in 1877 won interna
tional reputation by crossing the Atlantic in
a whale-boat nineteen feet long. His wife ac
companied him on this perilous trip. They
started from New Bedford and arrived safely
at Penzance, England, after being many weeks
on the water. On a previous occasion he
found himself stranded in Buenos Ayres and
walked three hundred miles across the coun
try to Montevideo. Captain Crapo will prob
ably make some converts among his crew. If
he doesn’t, there may be some sore heads on
the Manson, for he has not forgotten how to
use a belaying pin even if he has embraced
religion.