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FLOWERS COUECTKW
I!
VOLUME XL! 11—NUMBER NINETEEN
Atlanta, Ga., Week Ending July 8, 1905,
50c PER YEAR—SINGLE COPY 5c.
j Tragedy and Dramatic Intervention of Fate j
Figure in These Stories From Real Life ^ ^ j
•••■
By PAUL LINCOLN.
VrUt- ;o’ To he- vToritj*
XITED Skates government
buildings are t lie scenes of
many events, the most
tragirf known to the
weakness and mistakes
of man. Each one, it
might he said, could its
tales unfold, of erring or
unfortunate, or in some
wise remarkable experi
ence. Two incidents, re
markable, the one for pa
thos and llie other for the
extraordinary intervention
of the elements in causing
a miscarriage of justice, wore enacted
at the United States mint in New Or
leans. notable above others.
The one written history—no state chron.
iclc would be complete without the story
ol V\ iiiiam Mumford—the other something
more than tradition, for it, too, is true,
though the names of the principal actors
were not necessary to the relation of the
incident.
April 25. 1862, saw seventeen United
States gunboats and a llotilla of smaller
vessels riding at anchor in the river be
fore New Orleans; the levee smoking
with burning cotton; sugar, spirits and
every article common to the trade of a
southern port; and in the city men fsucli
as there were), women, children and ne
groes, in a state of the wildest alarm
and confusion.
Early the following morning officers
from the llagsiiip presented to the mayor
a summons to surrender. He refused.
The conference took place in the mayor’s
office, in the city hall, the crowd surg
ing and hooting In the streets. As the
blue-mated officers sat within, suddenly
■through a windor was hurled into their
midst a ragged looking bundle, thrown
by some reckless boys in tile street. It
proved to be the United States flag, which
a barge crew had hut just hoisted over
the mint—one of the young fellows in a
mad moment had.climbed the staff, torn
down the Hag and dragging it through
the street now threw it, in a moment of
inspiration, at the officers* feet. This was
Mumford. a youth about eighteen years of
agu
MAYOR STOOD FIRM.
The mayor had Sought in receiving {Tie
summons to yield over the city, to place
the responsibility on the military author
s'*. • ■*••■'
tty in command; hut the confederate
general with his force evacuating the
town. It devolved back on the mayor,
who refused either to surrender or to
lower the state flag over the city hall.
The conseuuenee was inevitable. Sail
ors and marines, in United Slates uni
forms. with bayonets fixed and preceded
by two howitzers, were marched to Ht.
Charles street, opposite- the city hall,
and an officer informed the mayor that
ho would haul down the flag. The tato-r,
having made all the resistance possible,
placed himself in front of the crowd,
close- to the caanoafu mouth, and with
folded arms stood immovable, while the
state flag was pulled down and that of
the United States hoisted in Its place.
General Benjamin F. Butler, whose
reign hi‘ New Orleans has made him
such a notorious figure in history, now
received the city from the naval authori
ties. and with liis 15,000 men took peg-
session.
It is told in New Orleans that when
Farragut reported to Butler the pulling
down of the United Slates flag from
the mint, tho general's reply was: “i
will make an example of that fellow by
hanging him.”
He was but a mere boy; carried away
by the wild exrttempnr of the time, tne
act was tin: bright of all that was fool
hardy, m its madness it could tmlv hs
ascribed to the irresponsibility and igno
rance of youth. Yet he was arrested,
tried by courtmartial and duly sentenced
to be hanged. Hie had insulted the
flag, and must be made an example of.
The people were horrified, and every In
tervention possible was attempted. The
fact that the city had not surrendered
at tlie time the flag was hoisted by the
federals, or when torn down by Mum-
ford. should have had its weight, but no
plea would be hoard in extenuation—the
boy must be put to death.
lie was hanged, some say on a gallows
just in front of the mint. Though, if
you go there, to the mint itself, you will
he pointed to the space high up and
between the two -enter pillars which sup.
port the front. Perhaps the gallows was
constructed there. It would seem there
can be no doubt. “There,” they will tell
you. “between those two pillars, is where
Mumford was hung!” It is the more
commonly accepted belief, and when once
you have kno^ji it, the very mint itself
seems to bear the shadow of the gallows
—like the mark of Cain on its frontal.
He was so young, so ignorant, so piti
fully the victim of the monster who
»•*• • o ••• • •..
sacrificed him under the moriclcss wheels
of war. Yet sadder, even, was the fate
of the boy's mother. Her poor brain tot
tered and yielded before the cruel shock,
and for twenty years—longer titan the
span of her son's life- phe wandered
aimlessly, harmlessly through the streets,
her gray hair and bent form, her inno
cent. simple look exciting only pity—the
pity that goes out to those who in a
dark past have suffered great and cruel
wrong.
As if in her dimmed mind lingered th~
thought of her own lost child, she seemed
to haunt the thoroughfares most fre
quented by the school children, who would
whisper among themselves: "That is
Mumford’s mother.” And If one would
maybe say: “She only thinks site is,"
some one older would say pityingly:
“Yes, children, she is Mumford's mother.”
They tell It so—and some of them remem
ber. It is one of the stories every visitor
to the mint is told.
The other is a striking evidence of
how curiously men's minds will be
wroueght upon by superstition, and how
slight a thing can (urn the carriage of
justice even in the face of uncontroverti
ble facts.
A CURIOUS INCIDENT
When a vault in one of the government
offices was opened one morning it was
discovered that a box which had held S26,-
000 in bills now contained only ashes—
the money had been burned to a crisp.
The bulb of an incandescent electric lamp
just 2 feet above was broker, and the
cashier claimed that he must have un
wittingly left this light burning the night
before, that it exploded and a spark
dropping upon the paper money, it ig
nited and was burned up.
The government sent down from
Washington a lady expert, who exam
ined the ashes under a microscope and
testified that tberp were only $1,200
burned to make those ashes. The fed
eral grand jury then indicted the cashier
for embezzlement, and he was put on- v
trial In the United States circuit com t. -
The government made out a powerful
case against him, beside the expert from
Washington, they laid several electrical
experts, all of whose testimony was of
incalculable weight, wtiile the only testi
mony the dffense could offer was the oath
of the accused that he had left the
$26,000 in the vault when he looked up
the night before it was burned. The
electrical experts testified in effect that
It wta«s abisoluiely impossible, for tlfe
United States Mint at Now Orleans. Mumford Was Hanged Between Two Cent er Pillars
money to Tiave been burned in fTie way
claimed, for the reason that a spark
from an e'xploded electric bulb would go
cut before it could fall tlie distance of
2 feet Lic-v.ee.il I'.o lamp and the box “f
money.
As the last expert for the government
was concluding his testimony, and had
just sworn finally that such thing could
not under any circumstances occur, the
electric bulb 3 feet above the judge's
desk exploded with a loud report, and
a tiny spark floated slowly down. The
eyes of all present were riveted upon it,
and it is safe to say not a breath was
drawn, as it settled upon the gret*|
baize covering of the desk. Slowly it
caught and a tiny bit of smoke arose,
but tlie judge nor any of the court
officials made anv move to extinguish it.
and as the j-.‘"ft tvhost- testimon - had
been interrupted remained ailent; and
saw the baize cover begin to smolder
and smoke, he quietly picked up his hat,
although the examination was not con
cluded, and, without a word, left the
witness stand. No one attempted to call
him back—the government had no more
witnesses and was compelled to close the
ease with this extraordinary occurrence.
TESTIMONY OF GOD.
The “lawyers for the defense called
Uhe Long" Nig'ht
By Stanley J Weyman
8j
Author: “Under the J^ed Robe,’’
‘A Gentleman of France,”
The House of the Wolf. ”
CHAPTER II.
The House on the Ramparts.
I-IE affair at tlie Inn which
had threatened to turn out
so unpleasantly for our
hero should have gone some
way toward destroying the
illusions wfth which he
had entered Geneva. But
faith is strong in the
young, and hope stronger.
The traditions of his boy
hood and his fireside, and
the stories, animate with
affection for the cradle of
the faith, to which he had
listened at his father's knee, were not
to be overridden by the shadow of an
injustice, which, in the end, had not
fallen. When the young man went
abroad next morning and viewed the ta'.i
towers of St. Peter, of which his father
had spoken—when, front those walls
which had defied through so many
months the daily and nightly threats of
an ever-present enemy, he looked on the
sites of conflicts still famous and on farrn-
stfads but half risen from theU - ruins—
when, above all. he remembered for what
those walls stool, and that here, on the
borders of tlie blue lake, and within sight
1 : lie glittering peaks which charmed
bis eyes—if in any one place in Europe —
the battle of knowledge and freedom
had been fought, and the rule of the
monk and the inquisitor cast down, his
i !d enthusiasm revived. He thirsted for
fresh con flic 1 , s, for new occasions; and it
is to be feared dreamt more of the sword
than of the Sacred Book, which he ha 1
come to study, and which, in Geneva,
went hand in hand with it.
In the fervor of such thoughts and in
the multitude of new interests which
opened before him, he had well-nigh for
gotten tlie Syndic’s tyranny before he
bad walked a mile; nor might he have
given a second thought to it but for
tiie need which lay upon him of fin 1-
:n;r a new lodging before nigiif. In pur
suit of this, lie presently took his way
to 'the Corraterie, a row of gabled
houses, at the western end of the Hign
Town, built within the ramparts, and en
joying over them a view of the open
country, and tin* Jura. The houses ran
for some distance parallel with the ram
part, I: lien retired inward and again
came down lo it; in this way inclosing
a triangular open space or terrace. They
formed of themselves an inner line of
defense, pierced at the point farthest
from the rampart by the Porte Tertasse;
a ga'te it is true, which was often open
even at night, for the wall in front of
the Corraterie, though low on the town
s ! 6e, looked down from a great height
on the ditch and tlie low meadows tha
fnnged the Rhone. Trees planted along
the rampart shaded this triangular
space, and made it a favorite lounge from
which tlie inhabitants of that quarter
ri the town could view the mountains
and the sunset while tasting the fresh
ness of the evening air.
A score of times had Claude Mercier
listened to a description of this row of
lofty houses dominating tlie rampart^.
Now lie saw it, and, charmed by the po
sition and the aspect, he trembled lese
tt should fail to secure a lodging in
the house which had sheltered his fath
er's youth. Heedless of the suspicious
glances shot at him by the watch at
the. Porte Tertasse, he consulted the
tough plan which his father had made
for him—consulted it rather to assure
himself against error than because he
felt doubt. The precaution taken, lie
made for a house a little to the right of
the Tertasse gate as one looks to the
country. He mounted by four steps to
the door and knocked on it.
So quickly as to disconcert him it was
opened. A lanky youth abou: his owa
ago bounced out. The lad wore a cap
and carried two or throe books under
bis arm, much as if he had been start
ing forth when the summons came. The
two gazed at one another a moment,
then “Does lime. Royaume live here?”
Claude asked.
The other, who had light hair and light
eyes, said curtly that she did.
“Do you know if she has a vacant
room?” Mercier asked timidly.
“She will have one tonight!” the youth
answered with temper in his tone; and
he dashed down the steps and went off
along the street, without ceremony or
explanation. Viewed from behind he had
a thin neck which agreed well with a
small retreating chin.
Tlie door remained open, and after
hesitating a moment Claude tapped once
and again with his foot; receiving no
answer he ventured over the threshold,
and found himself in the living room of
the house. It was cool, spacious, and
well ordered, although in a corner the
b; nrded-up stairs leading to the higher
floors bulked largely. On the left of
tlie entrance a wooden settle flanked a
wide fireplace, in front of which a small
■heavy table was placed. Another table
a little bigger stood in the middle of
the room. Two or three dark prints—
one a portrait of Calvin—with a framed
copy of the Geneva catechism, and a
small shelf of books, took something
fiom the plainness and added something
to the comfort of the aparttpent, which
boasted besides a couple of old oaken
difssers highly polished and gleaming
with long rows of pewter ware. Two
doors stood opposite the entrance and
appeared to lead—for one of them stood
epen—to a couple of closets; bed rooms
Itliey could hardly be called, yet in one
of them Claude knew that his father
had slept. And his heart warmed to It.
The house was still; the room was
somewhat dark, the windows being low
and long, strongly barred, and shaded 1>.V
the trees, through the cool greener^ of
which It he light filtered in. The young
man stood a moment, and hearing no
fectstep or movement wondered what he
should do. At length lie ventured to the
door of the straiease. and. opening it.
coughed. Still no one answered or
came, and unwilling to intrude farther
he turned about and waited on tiie
hearth. In a corner behind the settle
he noticed two pikes and a long-handied
sword; on the seat of the settle iUse'f
lay a thin folio bound in stained sheep
skin. A log smoldered on the hearth,
and below the great black pot which
hung over it two or three pans and pip
kins sat deep among the white ashes.
Save for these there was no sign in the
rcorn of a woman’s hand or use. And
be wondered. Certainly the young man
who haj departed so hurriedly had said
it was Mute. Royaume’s. There could
bo no mistake.
Well, he would go and come again.
But even as he formed the resolution and
•mined toward the outer door—which he
had left open—he heard a faint sound
above, a step light bu't slow. It seemed
to start from the uppermost floor of all.
so long was it in descending; so iong
was it before, waiting on the hearth,
cap in hand, he saw a shadow darken tiie
line below the staircase door. A sec
ond later this opened and a young girl
entered and closed it behind her. She
did not see him; unconscious of his
presence she crossed tlie floor and shut
the outer door.
1 here was a something in her bearing
which went to the heart of the young
man who saw her for the first time;
a depression, a dejection, so much at olds
with her youth and her slender grace,
that it scarcely needed the sigh with
which she turned to draw him a pace
nearer. At that moment their eyes met.
She, who had not known of his presence,
started with a low cry, and stared w ; de-
eyed; he began hurriedly to speak.
“I am the son of M. Gaston Merrt"»\
of Chatillon.” he said, "who lodged here
formerly. At least," he stammered, be
ginning to doubt, “if this be the house
of Madame Royaume, he lodged here. A
young man who met me at the (loir
said that madanie lived here, and had a
room.”
“He admitted you? The young man
who went out?"
“Yes.”
She gazed steadfastly at him a moment,
as if she doubted him or suspected tome
trick; then, “We have no room,” «l'o
said.
"But you will have one tonight,” he
answered.
"I do not know."
"But—from what he said.’’ Claude per
sisted dogedly, “he meant that his own
room would be vacant, 1 think.”
"It may be," she answered ungra
ciously, the heaviness -which surprise
had lifted for a moment settling on
her afresh. “But we shall take no new
lodgers. Presently you would go." with
a cold smile, “as he goes today.”
"My father lodged here three years.”
Claude answered, raising his head proud
ly. "He did not go until he returned
to France. I ask nothing better than
to lodge where my father lodged.
Madame Royamne will know iny name.
When she hears that 1 am the son of
Mr. Gaston Mercier, who often speaks
of her—"
“He fell sick here, f think?” the girl
said. She scanned him anew with th<?
first show of interest that had escaped
her. Yet rlluctantly, it seemed; with a
kind of aloofness hard to explain.
“He had the plague in the year M.
Chausse, the pastor of St. Gervals. died
of it,” Claude answered eagerly. “When
it was so bud., And madanie nursed him
and saved his life. He often speaks jf
it and of madame with graitude. If
Madame Royaume would see me?”
“It is useless," she answered impa
tiently. "Quite useless, sir. 1 tell you
we have no room. And—I wish you
good morning.” She turned from him
with a curt gesture of dismissal, and
kneeling beside the embers began to
occupy herself With the cooking pots;
stirring one and tasting another, and
raising a third a little aslant at the
level of her eyes that she might peer
into it the better. He lingered, watch
ing her, expecting her to turn. But
when she had skimmed the last jar
and set it back, and screwed it down
among tlie embers, she remained on her
knees, staring absently at a thin flame
which had sprung up under the olack
pot. She had forgotten his pre-enre,
wholly and utterly; forgotten him, as he
judged, in thoughts as deep and gloomy
as the wide dark cavern of chimney
which yawned above her head and
dwarfed the slight figure kneeling Cin
derella-like among the ashes.
Claude Mercier looked, and wondered,
and at last longed; longed to comfort,
to cherish, to draw to himself and shelter
the budding womanhood before him. so
fragile now, so full of promise for the
future. And quick as- the flame had
sprung up under her breath, a magic
flame awoke in his heart, and burned
high and hot. If he did not lodge here,
“The sky might fall, fish fly, and sheep
pursue
The tawny monarch of the Libyan
strand!”
But he would lodge here. He coughed.
She started and turned, and seeing
him. seeing that he had not gone, she
rose with a frown. "What is it?’ she
said. “For what are you waiting?”
“I have something in charge for
Madame Royaume.” he answered.
"I will give it to her." sne returned
upon to offer the testimony for their
side were shrewd enough to respond:
"Almighty God has testified in this case,
and the defendant has nothing to offer
in addition.” And the jury nromnlly
br »giit ill 1 verdict <•>■; aeq i'ta!
Tins occurred some years ago, and
about six months ago the ashes of the
burnt bills were carried to Washington;
up to this time they had been kept in
the mi»f as assets. The cashier went
free. It was proven there was but $1,200
in the ashes in the box—where were the
$24,800? It had not been burned. For
once, the keen, unblinking eye of the law
had been dashed, and by no more than a
tiny spark from an incandescent electric
lamp.
0
