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THE CONSTITUTION, JR.
Supplement to The
Atlanta Constitution.
OUT OF SALISBURY PRISON.
HOW Zin SKELTON GOT HIS STORE CLOTHES,
Zim set his pail of blackberries on a rock
and swiftly leveled his gun at a small dark
object that moved up the side of the ravine
like a shadow.
“Bang!” went the smooth-bored musket—
but the shadow receded faster than ever.
“The old gun is no good anyhow,” said
Zim, laying it down and picking up a stick.
“I’ll give you a race, Mr. Ground Hog, by
ganny!”
So Zim girded up his loins and took after
the clumsy yet alert little animal with such
vim that the ground hog, finding he could
not reach his hole in time, whirled and
scrambled into a hollow log. Zim blocked
the larger end with a rock, then searched
hastily for other outlets. Finding none he
congratulated himself.
“I don’t believe Louder (the dog at home)
could put him into a hole any quicker,”
said he to himself. “But,” in a perplexed
tone, “how is I goin’ to get him out’n
there?”
The log lay with its smaller end down the
mounja.in side. Zim got down on his knees,
cautiously withdrew the rock, and peered
within. He could see nothing; but a slight
scratching sound excited him at once. He
threw off his hat and opened his jack knife.
“Tryin’ to dig your way out, are ye?”
he exclaimed, as if to the ground hog.
“Mebbe the wood is rotten. If I can get
into you, old feller, we'll see-e-e-e!”
Zim began squeezing himself into the
hollow of the log, and the operation was
evidently a close pull. Had he been the
merest trifle larger he never could have
wormed his way down as he did, until
nothing but his toes protruded.
The ground hog snarled. The boy’s po
sition was intensely disagreeable, as he
soon found out. The rush of blood to his
head, and the difficulty in drawing breath
both warned him to hasten. It was more
over so dark that he could see nothing.
Reaching forward, his hand was snapped
at, but he managed to get hold of the ani
mal.
There was a brief struggle. Zim held
on with one hand and used his knife with
the other. Presently the ground hog ceased
its efforts and gave up the fight, and its
life as well.
But when Zim attempted to withdraw
from the log he found he could not st r.
His head was downhill, nor was there
room to work himself backward. »o aud
to his distress, his toes, in the struggle,
had iosi. their hold upon the upper -rxl cf
the log.
There was no denying that the lad was
in a bad fix. He had secured the ground
hog, but the log, apparently, had secured
him In vain, he twisted, wriggled, pant
ed, groaned, and finally called aloud for
h< Zim realized that if he remained in that
situation much longer he would surely
suffocate, though the chance of being heard
by human ears in that secluded tax me
was dismally uncertain. Yet, in tne very
ecstasy of his fear, he continued to yed lur
The swirl of blood to his brain, the
stuffy, choking darkness, and, more than
all, the appalling sense that he might die
there were almost more than he could en
dure. With a vague pricking of pity for
the ground hog and a dazed idea that he
was being punished for his own merciless
ness, he felt his head whirl dizzily.
Then something made a noise outside.
The log was pulled round, turning over as
it went. Hands grasped his heels, and Zim
was drawn from his narrow prison.
He was more exhausted by his emotions
than bv the struggle he had undtffeWne.
One hand still held the jack knife, while
the other clutched the dead ground
He was scratched, and his clothes were
torn, but he was alive. He sat up, blink
ing the dust from his eyes, and looked at
his preserver. . ,
The stranger, having accomplished Zim s
rescue, was now eating the boy’s berries
ravenously.
“Much obleeged to ye,” began Zim, then
noticing what the other was about, he in
terrupted himself, “Here! Let them ber
ries alone, please, sir. Dad 11 lick me if 1
don’t go home with the bucket full.’
“All right, sonny,” replied his rescuer,
still eating away, as if his life depended
on his celerity. “I’ll help you pick more.
Didn’t know there was any round here—and
I’m so-so hungry—”
He broke short off as he noticed the
ground hog. It seemed to Zim as if the
man must be starving. The longing ex
pressed in his eyes along amounted to an
agony.
“Can I eat that?” he asked, pointing to
the ground hog.
“What—raw?” returned Zim in amaze
ment.
“Any way. Don’t you see? I'm abso
lutely famished.”
Jim reached for his coat, which he had
thrown off before he entered the hollow
log, and drew forth two slices of corn bread
with bacon between.
“Maw ’lowed I might get hungry,” said
he. “But you need it w’uss than I do.”
The stranger snatched it, took one enor
mous bite, then seemed to remember him
self. He broke the bread in two pieces.
“Take one,” said he, but Zim shook his
head and watched his rescuer curiously
while he ate or rather crammed the food
into himself, as if he were a machine that
required constant stuffing.
Zim was fifteen, and the stranger could
not have been more than two or three
years older, but the pitiful emaciation of
his features gave to his face a look'of weird
and unnatural maturity. His clothes were
merely shreds and patches, dirt stained and
hardly sufficient to cover his nakedness.
Zim observed that their original color was
blue. A battered army cap of the same hue
confirmed an idea that had entered the boy’s
bead.
It was the fourth summer of the civil wsm*
DEVOTED TO THE INSTRUCTION AND AMUSEMENT OF THE YOUNG READERS OF THE CONSTITUTION,
and the confederate military prison at
Salisbury, N. C., was only forty miles away.
“You must be one of them union prison
ers as we heard got out last week,” said
Zim, eyeing the other steadily.
The young soldier stopped eating, and his
eyes flashed. Then his weakness and his
hunger returned upon him and he again
attacked the corn bread. Zim noticed how
thin were his legs and arms as he waited
for a reply.
“Suppose I am,” said the other. “If I
handn’t helped you out of that log—where
would you be now?”
“In there, I reckon. But you needn’t be
skeered.”
“There’s bloodhounds,” he shuddered
weakly. “I waded that creek down yon
der for half a mile or more. But lam not
certain whether I’ve thrown "them off my
track or not.”
W; "' " iB J
The Stranger Was Eating the Boy’s Berries Ravenously.
“You haven’t said who you are yet,” re
minded Zim kindly.
“I am Oscar Whittaker of the • ty-
third Ohio. One of the drummer boys.
Seven of us dug oui' way out three nights
ago.”
“And you’ve come all this way—bare
footed?” Zim noticed how bruised were the
soldier’s feet, and that the hand he had
graspeu was >AL-ieivn-nr.t.
“Had to. I’d rather be shot than go
back. The rebs haven’t much to eat them
selves, and as for the prisoners—look at
me.”
Zim had looked. “I see. You’re nothin’
but skin and bone.”
“Hark!” The stranger rose. Having
finished the bread he had begun on the ber
ries again, and this time Zim had not the
heart to say him nay. “Didn’t you hear
anything?”
A hunted, terrified look came into the
drummer boy’s eyes. Hunger and weak
ness had partially unnerved him, and he
seized Zim by the arm.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s a hound, and a bloodhound at that,”
replied Zim. “I know the creature by the
way he opens. Our mountin’ dogs don’t
make no sech noise as that.’”
Whittaker had grown even paler than
he was before. The sound of the deep,
relentless baying appeared very near to
him.
“I hoped I had thrown them off my
track,” ’ he faltered—then he regarded Zim
suspicously.
The boy was hastily reloading his mus
ket •
“Here, you take my knife,” said Zim.
“There’s only one dog. I can tell by the cry.
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The Hound Reared Backward.
I might not kill him, you see. This pesky
gun—”
“Then you will help me?” interrupted
Whittaker eagerly.
“Course I will!”
“But—suppose the rebs are close be
hind ?”
“That’s hardly likely. But the bushes are
thick here. They can’t see far. I’ll fire
when the do ggets near, then you must
knife him. Say—is your grit good?”
“Good enough for that—now.” Oscar’s
ATLANTA. GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 2, 1894.
courage had revived when he felt sure of
Zimri’s sincerity and aid.
The two then crouched behind the log.
The sounds drew rapidly nearer, until the
sides of the ravine rang with the long
drawn notes. All around was the forest,
climbing the steep spurs of the mountain.
The undergrowth at the bottom of the ra
vine, up which the hound was trailing, was
of a character that brought the brute within
thirty yards before the boys could see it
clearly. Suddenly the dog paused, with
raised head and sniffing nostril. Then rose
a swift, short echoing yow-ow-ow-ow, unlike
the previous long-drawn bay. Zim took a
careful sight along the musket barrel that
rested across the log.
“He’s seen us!” exclaimed the boy. “Now
—when I fire you make ready for a rush.”
A second later a sharp report rang out.
Oscar, knife in hand, and followed by Zim
with his gun clubbed, leaped over the log
and ran towards the hound which had
reared backward, uttering a shrill yell of
pain. Whittaker drew the knife deeply
across its throat, while Zim made matters
sure with a crashing blow over the animal's
skull. Its dying throes were not yet ended
when Zim drew his companion away.
“We must get away from here, afore the
men come up,” said he. “And we mustn’t
be long about it, either. - '
He picked up the ground hog, and Oscar
the pail of berries. Then he appeared to
reflect hurriedly.
“I dassn’t take you home,” said Zim.
“Not but what you’d be welcome. But ’t
wouldn’t !c safe for you nor healthy fur
Ulil JLjlk IV » v, .
Can you stand runnin’ and wadin’ for a
spell longer?”
“Yes, yes. Let us go on. Anything rather
than Salisbury prison again.”
Zimri plunged into the bushes, taking
his way up the ravine, Whittaker following
closely.
“Maw won’t get any berries of your pick
in’ today,” laughed Zim. in allusion to
Oscar’s previous offer. “But when she
knows how awful hungry you was, she
won’t begrudge ye what you’ve eat, 1
reckon.”
At the head of the ravine they crossed
a low divide and plunged into another long
hollow, where a large spring, bursting from
the earth under a projecting cliff, was the
source of a bravzling mountain stream. Zim
followed the course of the brook for per
haps forty yards, then leaped to a large
rock, and from thence to another—an im
mense boulder, _ seemingly. Oscar followed
with difficulty. He was very much exhausted
by long-continued hunger and fatigue.
“Just a leetlc further,” called Zim encour
agingly. “We’re almost there.”
The distant shouts of men were now
heard from over the divide.
“They’ve found the hound,” said Zimri,
then he laughed. “He won’t do much trail
in’ for ’em now, I reckon.”
“I can’t go no further,” said the drum
mer, sinking down upon the sloping side
the boulder, and letting the pail of berries
fall. * 1 ou had better get away Zimri. They
will be here in a minute, and you ought
not to be found with me.”
The voices were approaching. Zim look
ed seared for a moment as he thought of
the possible consequences to himself of be
ing caught while aiding a federal prisoner
to escape. Then his face hardened with a
sudden resolution.
“Here!” said he peremptorily. “Jerk off
them army duds. Don’t speak, but get
out’n ’em quicker’n scat.”
He was pulling off his own clothes as if
life depended upon his speed in so doing.
Oscar wearily obeyed. He was too tired to
argue. Zim, having disrobed, assisted with
no gentle hand.
“Get into these of mine,” ordered the boy.
“Quick now, if you don’t want to be took,
or get me into trouble.”
Faster than this is being written the two
lads exchanged suits. Oscar looked rather
ludicrous in Zim’s coat and pants whiich
were too small for him though Zim was
large for his own age. As for Zim himself—
well it was all Whitaker could do to refrain
from laughing despite his nervous exhaus
tion. But the lad coolly rolled up the ex
tremities then thrust his gun into Oscar’s
hand and hung powder horn and pouch from
his shoulder.
“You take up that there mountin,” said
he pointing up one side of the ravine.
Make out like you’re squirrel huntin’—and
when them rebs come don’t dodge but keep
slowly up to the mountain. Don’t let ’m
get close if you can help it. Tell ’em
you heard a gun if they ask anything, and
seed a feller goin’ over yan ridge.”
“But how about you.”
“I’ll take round the other way. get home
best I can, and change my clothes agin--
see?”
Loud shouts were now’ heard, near the
summit of the divide. Zim pushed Oscar
from the rock to the opposite bank and
niotioned upward.
“At the top of that ridge you’ll see the
cave,” he called, springing back himself
to the side whence they had descended the
hollow from the spring. “Let ’em see you,
and don’t seem to want to get away. I’ll
be round when things quiets down.”
While speaking Zim crawled up the spur
and presently whipped out of sight. Whit
taker made his w r ay towards the cave, seem
ing to look for squirrels as he went, but
•with his senses alert for sounds of his pur
suers. Half way up the ridge he was halt
ed by a distant call.
“Come down here, boy?” said one of
several soldiers who were now descending
the divide. But as Whittaker was slow to
obey, a shot was fired over his head, and
he came down reluctantly.
He was questioned closely concerning es
caped prisoners and the death of the blood
hound, but managed to avoid inculpating
himself. One man, the sergeant in charge,
had been taking stock of Oscar’s ill-fitting
clothes and thin, emaciated features.
“Who made your clothes?” he demanded
suddenly.
“Why, the—the folks at home, of course,”
stammered the lad.
“And you didn’t hear that dog?”
“I heard it and also a gunshot. But there
are so many runaway yankees about that
we folks don’t pay much attention •*
“Blamed if I don’t believe you’re one
yourself! You look hungry enough. Br.-ng
him along, boys.”
Oscar attempted to expostulate, but a
sound of firing below interrupted him,
whereat the confederates seemed to be
alarmed.
“Men,” said the sergeant, “we must fall
back. We are too far from our supports.
There is a raid of yanks up this way from
Knoxville; that I know.”
Several scattering shots and a chorus of
shouts apparently ascending th' ravine,
added to the alarm of the paru. One of
the men had appropriated Zim’s gun, de
snite Oscar’s protests. The others took his
coat and hat, leaving their own dilapidated
garments in lieu thereof. Then ordering the
young man to follow, they retreated rapidly
up the divide.
Whittaker dodged behind the great
boulder, determining to risk being shot at
rather than return to captivity. Another
uproar from the unseen foe below so far
befriended him that his defection was
not at first noticed. They dared not then
return for him, but quickly disappeared
over the ride—just as Zim, accompanied
by his father and several unionist neigh
bors, came up the ravine. Zim had met
them and told his story,and, as they rightly
judged that the rebels must be few in num
b“r, they had resolved upon intimidating
“JPaw goin’ to help our side,” shouted
Zim -.h 1 he saw Oscar. “He ’lowed he
won! yesterda? if the fed’rals made a
ra’d. They’re m below now. But goodness.
Oscar, you a.re a sight. Where is my gun?”
Mutual explanations followed, and Zim
resigned himself TcTthe loss as best he could.
Whittaker determined to go on with the
party. One man bad a mule and he made
the young drummer ride behind him, and
thus 1) 1 cnteied the federal camp that night,
half naked, exhausted, yet safe.
Three months after Lee's surrender, Zim’s
father came home one day from the
store down by the railroad, biinging among
other things a long wooden box addressed
to Zimri Skelton. It was from a town in
Ohio, and the freight was prepaid.
Inside was a fine suit of “store clothing,”
including hat and overcoat. A pair of
boots and some underwear were beneath.
Then the lad drew forth a breech-loading
rifle of the latent make, and a plentiful
supply of cartridges. There was also a let
ter that read as follows:
“Dear Zim: Here are your clothes back,
and also your gun. Would have sent them
lieft'i'?. .hjit bad Pardon the de-
on’j' visit vrmr ohlisred and sincere
friend OSCAR WHITTAKER.”
“Well, I’ll be switched!” exclaimed Zim,
fondling the rifle. “Ain’t she a daisy!
Wonder if Oscar wants his old army rags
back. William Perry Brown.
He Knew His Business.
The engineer in charge of the machinery
at a mechanics’ fair in a large city had
taught his boy the way to stop and start
the engine.
The boy was one day standing by it. when
a gentleman came up to him and said.
“You seem to be a pretty small boy to run
such a big engine.”
“I suppose I am pretty small,” replied tne
boy, “but I can do it all right.” (
“You think you understand your busi
ness?” continued the visitor.
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Can you start the engine?”
“I can.”
“Let’s see you start it.”
The boy opened the valve and the fly
wheel slowly started to revolve.
“You really can do it, can’t you?’’ said the
visitor.
“Yes, sir,” modestly answered the boy.
“Can you make it go backward ? asked
the man.
“Backward or forward; it doesn t make
any difference to me,” replied the young
engineer. ~
“Let me see you run it backward.’
The boy stopped the engine and quickly
reversed it, so it ran in an opposite direc
tion.
“Well, I declare, my boy, you seem to
understand your business perfectly.”
The boy said nothing for a moment, but
eyed the stranger suspiciously. Suddenly
an idea appeared to strike him, and he
said:
“May I ask what your business is?”
“Why. certainly. I am a minister of the
gospel.”
“Where do you reside?”
“Oh, right across the river here, in Cam
bridge!”
“Do you understand your business? fur
ther questioned the youngster.
“I believe 1 do, ’ replied the ministei, good
naturedly. .
“Can you repeat the Lord’s prayer?
“Why, certainly!’,
“Say' it for me,” requested the boy.
The clergyman did so.
“Vou really do know how, don’t you?”
laughingly said the little engineer.
“Why, of course I do! I repeat it several
times a day.”
“Well, now, say it backward. You know
I ran the engine backward for you.”
The clergyman, after a moment s hesita
tion, said he could not do it.
“You can’t do it?” said the little fellow.
“Well, you see, I understand my business
a great deal better than you do yours.”
The clergyman appeared to think so and
retired.
A teacher asked a bright little girl
“what country is opposite to us on the
globe?” “Don’t know, sir,” she answered.
“Well, now,” pursued the teacher, “if I
were to bore a hole through the earth and
you were to get in it at this end, where
would you come out?” “Out of the hole,
sir,” replied the pupil, with an air
triumph.
