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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