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The Middle Georgia argus. (Indian Springs, Ga.) 18??-1893, January 27, 1881, Image 1

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■ f jy I blisher, im. :ws, -tax qualifica k Indi an-river pilone produce I boxes of or lof Harrison colored ; while county pi are worth cs of cotton, \ I(‘SS than it cotton. ■ the Library Ii borrowing i the Orphan increased in te debt. Remanded at building was ■hot, and it ■tuces death ■ -olineiiicnt. ibelt with Egypt ;h, in for ighest civ the world, Ga., R "<• than R he more ;,R>ii, which P|a!i - up to ■ tin- next mm I" e-tali |9| h 1 State ■ '■ 'hange ||R ; ” ' ;i :r ' R" on the !■; innn. i> ■ bank. ||||B 1 1 1 I.OIHI Rfc: t" |i|Bfl if b ■ fb ■rifß In ■ ■ R a jj§R r: Ri'.srard.” R |§jß' •!.- I R n | jR : Jr ■' gVf ■ ' R /vljl S I B n^^Rfth> ’ R Wk m Rhes. Runs :h;b |jg K B B a Rte I R B B | IHIHI Dinner was over at last, and Mr. Wal ter Currie, English Commissioner at the up-country station, at Huttee-Bagli, in Northern India, had gone upon the ve randa with his wife and liis two guests, the Colonel and Major of the th light infantry, to enjoy the cool of the even ing. On three sides tho house was sur rounded by its compound, a largo in closed space serving the purpose of, a courtyard, but the fourth was only sep arated by a small patch of garden from the road, along which a number of native women wore passing with their little pitchers on their heads. The sight of them naturally turned the conversation upon a favorite subject with all Anglo-Indians, viz., the char acter of the natives and the best mode of dealing with them. “There s only one way,” said the Colonel, emphatically. “Tell ’em what they iU'o to do, make ’em do it,* and thrash ’em well if they don’t. That’s my wa fr.” “ Well, I venture to differ from you there, Colonel,” said Mr. Currie, quietly. “ I liacj to do some thrashing once or twice, I own, but most of my native ser vants get along very well without it, and they seem to serve me excellently, I assure you.” “I wish you had been in my place, then,” retorted the Colonel; “yotfd have changed your opinion, I warrant. Why, the year before last, when I had charge of two battalions of the rascals down at Suttepoor, because there wasn’t another Queen’s officer within reach— just like my confounded luck !—there was no getting anything done unless I did it myself. By Jove, sir ! I had to be everything at once—my own Quarter master, my own Sergeant Major, my own caterer, and—” “And your own trumpeter, Col. An nesley ? ” asked Mrs. Currie, with an arch smile. The Colonel’s broad face reddened ominously, and an explosion seemed imminent, when a sudden clamor of {merry voices from the road below drew the;,? all to the front veranda. ' The cause of the disturbance was visi ble at a glance. Two lialf-drunken En glish swaggering along the road, had come into violent contact with a native who was running past; and one of them, enraged at the collis ion, had felled the poor lad to the ground, and was unclasping his own belt with the evident intention of beat ing him unmercifully. “Served the young whelp right,” shouted the Colonel, rubbing hisliands ; “ that’s just what they all want.” The other officer, Maj. Armstrong— popularly called Maj. Strongarm—was a huge, brawny, silent man, whose forte lay in acting rather than talking. During the whole discussion he had sat like a great bronze statue, never utter ing a word; but, at sight of this man ill-using this child, he woke up rather startlingly. To leap to the ground twelve feet be low, to dart across the garden, to vault over the high stockade beyond, was the work of a moment for the athletic Major, and in another instaut he had raised the boy tenderly from the ground, while say ing to the foremost soldier, in the low, compressed tone of a man who means what he says : “Be off with you.” “ And who the deuce are you, shovin’ yer nose in where you ain’t * wanted ?” roared the infuriated ruffian, to whose eyes the Major’s plain evening dress bora no token of his being an officer. “ Jisfc you—” The sentence was never finished. At the sound of that insolent defiance Armstrong’s sorely-tried patience gave way altogether, and the powerful right hand which had hewed its way through a whole squadron of Shiv cavalry fell like a sledge-hammer upon his oppo nent’s face, dashing him to the ground as if he had been blown from the mouth of a. gun. “ Well done, Maj. Armstrong,’’shouted Mr. Currie from above. “ You deserve your name, and no mistake. ” At that formidable name the soldier took to his heels at once, and Armstrong, without even looking at his prostrate an tagonist, proceeded to look at the hurts of the boy.” # The latter was sqrely bruised in many A I.U.TIP OF CARBOIt. Tell me, lump of carbon burning Lurid in the glowing grate, "While thy flames rise twisting, turning, Quenoh in me this ourloua yearning, Ages past eluoidate. Tell me of the time when waving High above tire primal world. Thou, a giant palm-tree, lifting Thy proud head above the shifting Of the storm-cloud’s lightning hurled, While the tropio sea, hot laving, ItounA thy roots its billows curled. Tell me, did the mammoth, straying Near that mighty trunk of yours, On the verdure stop and gaze, Which thy ample base displays, Or his weary limbs down laying, Bleep away the tardy hours ? Perchance some monstrous saurian, sliding, Waddled up the neighboring strand, Or leapt into its native sea With something of agility, Though all ungainly on the land; While near your roots, in blood-stained fray, Maybe two iohthyc beasts colliding, Hit and fought their lives away. 1 ell me, ancient palm-corpse, was there In that world of yours primeval, Aught of man in perfect shape? Was there good ? and was there evil ? Was there man ? er was it ape ? Tell dip, lump of carbon, burning Lurid in the glowing grate, Lies there in each human face Something of the monkey’s trace ? Tell me have tve lost a link? Btir thy coaly brain and think, While thy red-flames rise and sink, Ages nast elucidate. gWMgMPL"*" I I ■ Just in Time. XV ide-Awake, Independent, but Neutral in Nothing 1 . places, and the blood was trickling free ly over his swarthy face; but the little hero still did his best to stand erect, and to keep down every sign of the pain which he was enduring. “ You’re a brave lad, and you’ll make a soldier, some day,” said the Major to him in Hindoostanee. “ Came with me, and I’ll see that no one molests you again.” The lad seized the huge brown hand which had defended him so bravely, and kissed it with the deepest reverence; and the two walked away together. Six months have come and gone, and Mr. Currie’s hospitable home presents a very different spectacle. The pretty garden is trampled into dust and mire, and the bodies of men and horses are lying thick among the fragments of the half-destroyed stockade. All the windows of the house are blocked up, and tlirough the loop-holed walls peer the muzzles of ready rifles, showing how steadily the besieged gar rison stands at bay against the countless enemies, whose dark, fierce faces and glittering weapons are visible amid the lialf-ruined building and matted thick ets all around. The Sepoy mutiny of 1857 is blazing sky-high over Northern India, and Col. Annesley is blockaded in Huttee- Bagh, with a certainty of a hideous death for liimself and every man of the few who are still true to him, unless help comes speedily. Day was just breaking when two men held a whispered council in one of the upper rooms. “No fear of the water running short,” said Maj. Armstrong, “but, even upon half rations, the food will be out in four days more.” “And then we’ll just go right at them, and cut our way through or die for it!” growled the old Colonel, with a grim smile oil his iron face, for, with all his harshness and injustice, Col. Annesley was “grit” to the backbone. “We mustn’t say anything to them about it, though,” added he, with a side glance at Mr. Currie, who, standing in the further corner, was anxiously watching the thin, worn face of his sleeping wife. At that moment a loud cheer from below startled them both, and the next moment Ismail (the “Major’s boy,” as every one now called him) burst into the room with a glow of unwonted excite ment on his dark face. “Sahib,” cried he, “there is hope for us yet! A detachment of lngleez (En glish) are coming ) the other bank of the river; if we can send word to them as they pass we are saved.” “How do you know?” asked the Major eagerly. “I heard the Sepoys say so, while I was hid among the bushes yon der,” answered the lad. “Among the bushes yonder?” roared the Colonel, facing around. “Have you really been in tlie midst of those cut throat villains listening to what they said. Whatever did you do that for?” “I did it for Sahib Armstrong’s sake,” replied tlie boy, proudly; “because he was good to me.” Tlie Colonel turned hastily away to hide the flush of not unmanly shame that overspread his hard face; and Arm strong smiled slightly as he heard him mutter: “By Jove! these chaps aren’t so black as they’re painted, after all.” “But if the troops are beyond the river how can we communicate with them?” asked Mrs. Currie, who, awakened by the shouting, had arisen and joined the group. “They may not pass near enough to hear the firing, and w r e have no means of sending them word.” “Fear nothing for that, mem-sahib” (madam), answered the Hindoo boy, quietly. “I will carry them word my self.” “But how can you possibly do it?” cried Mrs. Currie, tliuhderstr’tick by the confident tone in which this mere child spoke of a task from which the hardiest veteran might well have shrunk. ** “Listen, Sahib,” answered Ismail. “ I will slip out of the house and make a dash into the enemy’s lines, as if I were deserting from you to them, and you can tell your people to fire a shot or two after me with blank cartridge as I go. Then the ■Sepoys will receive me kindly, and I’ll tell them that you’re &11 dying of thirst, and that they must only wait one day more to make sure of you, so that they won’t care to make another attack. Then, when they have no sus picion, and think I’m quite one of them selves, I’ll steal away and slip across the river.” “ But are you quite sure the Sepoys will believe you?” asked Maj. Arm strong, doubtfully. “They’ll believe this, anyhow,” re plied the boy, deliberately making a deep gash in his bare shoulder and stain ing his white frock with the blood as he glided from the room, followed by Arm strong. The plan was soon explained to the men below, and a moment later Ismail’s dark figure was seen darting like an ar row across the open space in front of the building, followed by a quick discharge of blank cartridges from marksmen at the loopholes. The sound of the firing drew the attention of the Sepoys, sev eral of whom ran forward to meet him. In another instant he was in the midst of them. “I can scarcely see for those bushes,” said Col. Annesley, “but he seems to be showing them the wound on his shoulder, and telling them it was our doing.” e At that moment an exulting yell from the enemy came pealing through the air. “ That’s the story of our being short of water, for a guinea I” said the Major; “it was a veiy good thought of his. If it only delays their attack two days lon INDIAN SPRING, GEORGIA. Tan 07 igg, .. > . ger, there may be time for help to arrive yet.” Slowly and wearily the long hours of that fearful day wore on. The heat was so terrible that even the native soldiers of the garrison could barely hold their own against it, and the handful of En glishmen were also helpless. Had the Sepoys attacked them, all would have been over at one blow; but hour passed hour, and there was .no sign of an as sault. At length, as afternoon gave place to evening, a movement began to show itself in the enemy’s lines. Then curls of sn.oke rising above the trees showed that the evening’s meal was m prepara tion ; then several figures with pitchers in their hands were seen going toward the river, among whom the Colonel’s keen eyes detected Ismaih “By George!” cried the old soldier, slapping his knee exultingly, “that lad’s worth his weight in gold ! There’s his way down to the river right open to him without the least chance of suspicion. *Wliy, he’s a born gentleman—nothing less!” Every eye within the walls was now turned anxiously upon the distant group, fearing to see at any moment some movement which would show that the trick was detected. How did mean to accomplish his purpose ? Would he plunge boldly into the river, without any disguise, or had he some further stratagem in preparation ? No one could say. Suddenly, as Ismail stooped to plunge his light wooden dipper into the water, it slipped from his hands and went float ing away down the stream. A cry of dis may, a loud laugh from the Sepoys, and then the boy was seen running frantically along the bank and trying in vain to catch the vessel as it floated past. “ Wliat on earth’s lie up to ? ” grunt ed the Colonel, completely mystified. “I see ! ” cried Maj. Armstrong, tri umphantly; “there’s a boat yonder among the reeds, and he’s making for it. Well done, my brave boy ! ” But at that moment a yell of rage from the Sepoys told that the trick was discovered. Luckily those on the bank had left tlieir pieces behind, or poor Ismail w ould soon have been disposed of ; but the alarm instantly brought up a crowd of their armed comrades, whose bullets fell like hail around the boat and its gallant little pilot. “Let us fire a volley and make a show of sallying out,” said the Colonel; “ it’ll>ake their attention from him.” But in this he was mistaken. The first rattle of musketry from be hind the house did indeed recall most of Ismail’s assailants, but at least a dozen were left, who kept up an incessant fir ing, striking the boat again and again. All at once the Colonel dashed his glass to the floor with a frightful oath. Between the two gusts of smoke he had seen the boat turn suddenly over, and go whirling down the river, keel upward. “ There’s an end of the poor lad,” mut tered the veteran brokenly. “ God bless him for a brave little fellow. And now, old friend, we must just die hard, for there’s no hope left.” The> first few lioiirs of the night passed quietly, and the exhausted defenders, utter'd > worn out, slept as if drugged with opium. But a little after midnight the quick ears of the tw T o veteran officers —the only w r atchers in the whole gar rison except the sentries themselves— caught a faint stirring in the surround ing thickets, which seemed to argue some movement on the part of the enemy. Listening intently for a few moments, they felt certain that they were right, and lost no time in arousing their men. The scanty stores of food were opened cnce"more, and, .crouched together in the darkness, the doomed men took what they fully believed to be their last meal on earth. “ They’re coming !” said Maj. Arm strong, straining his eyes into the gloom through a loop-hole. “ I hear them creeping forward, though I can’t see fhem.” “What the deuce was that?” ex claimed the Colonel, suddenly. “It looked like a fiery arrow flying past.” “It’s worse than that,” said the Ma jor, in a low voice. “ The rascals are shooting lighted chips of bamboo out on to the roof to set it on fire. Send the women up with buckets to flood the thatch; there’s not a moment to lose. ” “ I’ll go and see to it myself !” cried Mrs. Currie, hastening out of the room. But the power of this new weapon had already become fatally manifest. The house was an old one, and dry as tinder from the prolonged heat, and as fast as the flames were quenched in one place they broke out in another. When the day dawned the fire had al ready got a firm hold of one corner of the building, and a crushing discharge was poured upon all who attempted to extinguish it, while the triumphant yell of the human tigers below .told them that they felt sure of their prey. “It’s all over with us, old fellow,’’said the Colonel, grasping the old comrade’s hand; “ but, at least, we shall have done our duty.” “ Give me one of your pistols,” whis pered Mrs. Currie to her husband, in a voice that was not her own. “ I must not fall into their hands alive. ” At this moment Maj. Armstrong was seen to start and bend forward, as if lis tening intently; for he thought—al though he could scarcely believe his ears—that he had suddenly caught a faint sound of distant firing. In another instant he heard it again, and this time there could be no doubt, forjjjeveral of the others had caught it * and a gleam of hope once more lighted up their haggard faces and bloodshot eyes. Louder and nearer came the welcome sound, while the sudden terror and con fusion visible among the enemy showed that they, too, w’ere at no loss to guess the meaning. Then high above the din arose the well-known “hurrah ! ” and tlirough the BmoH -clouds broke a charging line of glittering bayonets and ruddy English faces, sweeping away the cowardly mur derers as the sun chases the morning mist. ‘ ‘ Thf t ore a worth liis weight in gold, ” said Col. Annesley, r, a few hours later, he listened to Ismail’s account of how he had dived under the boat and kept it between him and the Sepoys, that they might think him drowned. “He’s the pluckiest little fellow I’ve seen, and, although lie belongs to the Major, I’m going to take my share of helping him on, by Jove I ” Tho Burr-Hamllton Duel. On the 4th day of July, 1804, Alex ander Hamilton and Aaron Burr had met for the last time as public charac ters at the dinner of the Cincinnati. The arrangements for the duel, which were of the most secret character, had then been fully made, but not one guest at the dinner would have suspected their existence. Eye-witnesses long aiterward recalled the imperturbable face of Burr and the vivacity of Hamilton, who was in the chair, and over the walnuts and the wine sang the ballad of “The Drum.” Eleven days later the antago nists met at Weehawken—the beauties of wliich, as sung by Halleck and Rob ert C. Sands, the local poets of the pe riod, have long been destroyed. The rocks on which the adversaries stood have been made into blocks of Weehaw ken granite and pave the streets of the metropolis. William P. Yan Ness, who eight years afterward tilled the office now filled by Judge Choate, was Burr’s second on that dark day, and Judge Nathaniel Pendleton, the grandfather of Senator Pendleton, was Hamilton’s sec ond. Matthew L. Davis, “the spy at Washington,” a journalist thought to be closely connected with Burr, and the famous Dr. Hosack waited in a dell be low tho dueling ground near the water’s edge, where wonderingly sat the boat men who had ferried the parties over. At twelve paces the rivals faced each other—Hamilton placed so that he took his last look at the city. Burr fired as tho lips of Judge Pendleton closed on the word “ Present,” and Hamilton was shot dead before he could bring his pistol to a level. It is doubtful whether he meant to fire at all on the first exchange of shots, for when Judge Pendleton had inquired “Shall I set the hair trigger?” liis prin cipal had meaningly said “Not this time.” The wound was soon pronounced mortal by Drs. Hosack and Wright Post and certain consulting surgeons of emi nence whom Gen. Key, the French Con sul, summoned from three French frig ates which had anchored in the harbor. In thirty hours after the encounter Hamilton was dead. Possibly his death agonies, which the surgeons described as acute, were intensified by the re membrance that less than three years previously his eldest son, Philip, had also been killed in a duel. By his bed side stood his fifth child, John Church Hamilton, who still lives at the ago of 88 years. Among the other children by the bedside were Angelica, who died un married ; Alexander, Jr. , who left no children; James Alexander, who mar ried Miss Mary Morris, and died at Dobb’s Ferry two or three years ago, leaving four daughters and one soi Alexander, a distinguished lawyer; William Stephan, who died a bachelor in California ; Eliza, who became Mrs. Augustus Holly, and Philip, the young est, who married the daughter of Louis McLane, and whose son, Dr. Allan Mc- Lane Hamilton, is a well-known phys ician in this city. The verdict of the Coroner’s jury, “ that Aaron Burr, Vice President of the United States, was guilty of the murder of Alexander Ham ilton, and that William P. Yan Ness and Nathaniel Pendleton were accessor ies,” lies flow among the musty files of the Court of General Sessions. —New York World. Mills for Marbles. Almost all the marbles with which boys everywhere amuse themselves, in season and out of season, on sidewalks and in shady spots, are made at Ober stein, Germany. There are large agate quarries and mills in that neighborhood, and the refuse is turned to good account in providing the 3mall stone balls for experts to “knuckle” with. The stone is broken into small cubes, by blows of a light hammer. These small blocks of stone are thrown by the shovelful into the hopper of a small mill, formed of a bedstone, having 'ts surface grooved with concentrate furrows. Above this is the “runner,” which is of some hard wood, having a level face on its lower surface. The upper block is made to revolve rapidly, water being delivered upon the grooves of the bedstone where Ike marbles are being rounded. It takes about fifteen minutes to finish half a bushel of good marbles, ready for the boy’s knuckles. One mill will turn out 169,000 marbles per week. The very hardest “crackers,” as the boys call them, are made by a slower process, somewhat analogous to the other. A writer in Land and Water says; “What a mistake it is to put marble statues in the open air in London! There is an effigy of the Queen in the Royal Exchange. In fine weather the features are soot-begrimed, and on wet days the water flows in dirty furrows doVn the cheeks.” SUBSCRIPTION-$1.50. NUMBER 22. True Lore. A pretty story is told of the late Czarina, who, as is well known, was a most faithful wife, in spite of the long continued harsh treatment and neglect of the Czar, and a wise and devoted mother. Although a strict observer of the rules of the Greek Church, she al ways opposed the tendency to substitute forms and ascetic ceremonies in religion, in place of true feeling and domestic every-day duty. While visiting the Smolnoje Institute for girls, some years ago, the Empress, during the examination of the pupils, suddenly asked, “Wliat is love ?” The young ladies blushed as though an improper question had been proposed, became greatly confused, and were silent. Madame Leontieff, the directress, kneel ing, begged leave to state to Her Majesty that all knowledge of this dangerous suh. ject was prohibited by her, and that, in all probability, the pupils did not even know the meaning of the word. The £zarina frowned. “So far from being a dangerous subject, madame,” she said, “love should be the piu*e main sprf if a woman’s life ; first, love for her v mts; then, love for her husband ; lastl ’ love for her children ; and love for God always. If your pupils have not this, they are badly prepared for the du ties of life.” The Empress left the Institute, and the next day, Madame Leontieff was re moved as incompetent by the Imperial Ministry of Education. In American society, the mention of love is too often received by young girls with a blush and a giggle, which betray the narrow and vulgar meaning which they attach to the word. It is to them simply a flirtation with some young man, which may or may not end in a mar riage. It is the fault of their mothers if they a e not taught to know and respect that divine quality of devotion and self-sacri fice, which alone can ennoble a woman’s life, and which, whether it is given to parent, child, or lover, makes her more akin to her Master. If we were asked for a typical picture of love in the present time, we should choose, n >t a pretty little girl sitting by a moustached youth in the moonlight, but Mary Diller standing by her old holpless father on the burning deck of the Seawanhaka , the flames wrapping her like a- arment, and burning her eyes blind South's Companion. A Witty Judge. Readers of Shakespeare have always en joyed the wit of ‘ ‘Port) a,” in the Merchant of Venice, by which she saved ‘ ‘Antonio* from the knife of ‘ ‘Shylock. ” The pretend ed judge affirmed the right of “Shylock” to his pound of flesh, but added, should a drop of blood be shed in taking it, his life would be forfeited. A California judge has shown equal wit. A hard character, well-known as a thief, was indicted for entering a miner’s tent, and stealing a bag of gold dust. The theft was proved. He had been seen to cut a slit in the tent and reach in and take the bag. A bright thought occured to the counsel for the defence. “ How far did he get when he took the dust ?” “About half-way in, as he reached over,” said the witness. “ May it please your honor,” said the shrewd lawyer, “I shall demand the acquittal of my client. The indictment is not sustained. He did not enter the tent. Can a man enter a house when one-half of Vs body is in, and the othei half out? Tlie jury and judge were equal to the emergency. The verdict of the jury was, “ Guilty as to one-half of his body, and not guilty as to the other half. ” The sentence of the judge was, “Imprison ment for the guilty part, of two The •prisoner may leave the other part l; hini, :■ take r - ith him.” Theshaif) lawyer was < Health Hu. U Students. “Health for Students” is a neat little pocte* pamphlet, condensed by Prof. Burt (Jr. Wilder from his course of six lectures on hygiene, delivered at Cornell University. It embodies many useful suggestions respecting choice of room, food, clothing, ventilation, time and method of study, sleep, exercise, bathing, care of the eyes, and stimu lants. He advises students to make breakfast them principal meal, not be cause the forenoon is usually longer and more fully occupied than the afternoon, but because a hearty mid-day dinner is apt to incapacitate one for both mental and bodily work during a large part of the afternoon. He thinks that break fast should always include oatmeal mush, oi tracked wheat, with plenty of milk ; and that in place of meat, at least for an occasional change, two or three eggs are desirable. Early Rising. A German physician of celebrity has lately been investigating the subject of early rising, and has come to the con clusion that, far from making a man “healthy, wealthy and wise,” it has quite the contrary effect, and shortens life instead of prolonging it. In the majority of cases which he has inves tigated, the long-livers have indulged in late hours, and at least eight out of every ten persons who attained the age of 80 and upward were in the habit of not retiring to rest until the small hours, and remaining in bed until the day was far advanced. He has no doubt what ever that early rising is a most perni cious habit for those who go to bed late, and, like Charles Lamb, thinks it better and, like Charles Lamb, thinks it better for everybody to delay getting up until the morning has had a chance to be come well aired.