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About The Knoxville journal. (Knoxville, Ga.) 1888-18?? | View Entire Issue (Aug. 3, 1888)
friends. Oh, give me friends! Though other wants may wear my life away. Though all the days seem cold and dark aud gray, I shall not question that which fortune sends If round me press a host of kindly friends. I ask not wealth, Nor from the ever open hand of Fat& I crave no robe of grace, nor place of state, For in the hope which fickle longing lends I seek no gift of fate, but countless friends. And thus through life, Though round me falls the shadow and the care Of bitter sorrows that I scarce can bear, I shall not heed them if my faith but rends The mist that shrouds me from my host of friends. —Madelon Grantlen. .EM’hlNE'S SUKKENDEK. l V' BY WILLIAM PEI1IIY BTiOWK. The early rains had supplemented the •thawing big of the February snows upon the the Citico mountains, and the three forks of River thundered down the wild gorges of the Unakas with au in creasing of the power that cheered the spirits loggers in Eagle’s Basin. A ta’l young mountaineer, with flow ing hair tossed roughly back, stood •playfully the holding a struggling girl over verge of the precipice called the Buzzard Roost, that towered over a whirl of waters surging through the ; gorge the lower side of the basin. The girl was robust and muscular, yet this son of anak held her easily with one hand, while he saucily shook a Anger of the other as he said laughingly: “Ef you’lows ter fool me ez ye hev some of the yuther hoys in the basin, you’ve jist gone ’nd treed the wrong coon, Hit air a fact, Em’line.” she “You, Curt Cable!" she screamed, for was more alarmed than her rude ad mirer thought her; “turn me loose— turn me loose, I say!” “My, Em’line, if I turns ye loose, ye’ll fall, shore.” He still held her, as gently as he ‘ could, while she clung to his extended arm, her usually ruddy face now pale with anger and fear. At length, with a laugh, he pulled her her toward him, half embracing with one arm. But, as she felt herself rudely pressed,she struck him a stinging blow on the face and re leased herself with a supreme effort, then sank down with her hands over her face, sobbing violently. Though the blow mibt have hurt, he smiled good humorsdly, bent over her and said: “Thar now, Em’line, tit fer tat. You’ve paid me back; now I want ter know ef you really air tryin’ to sarve me like ye do the rest of the boys ez makes out like they wants ter marry ye. Ye know I love ye, Em’line. I’ve be’n a courtin’ of ye monster time,’ an I’re jest ■ erblig’d he ierhev a answer. ” . As spoke, she crushed back the sobs, and now looked up with red eys, angrily flaming. * “Hev ye!” I—I’d see you in yore grave afore I’d marry ye, after the way you’ve treated me.” “Why, Em’line-" “Don’t ye Em’line me nary bit more. Thar’s no endurin’ of ye, ’nd from this yer day on, I wants ye ter keep ter yer self ’nd lemme erlone. Ef some yuther boys wants ter talk ter me taint nary bizness 0 ’yourn, Curt Cable.” She rose and confronted him—a breathing statue of feminine resentment —a Katharine in homespun, crushing this would-be Petruc.hio. As he slowly comprehended her meaning his smile meited into an expression of sadness, as he replied: ’ “That’s all right, Em’line. You kin let on jist ez much ez you pleases; but I knows that you know how much I’ve loved ye, ’nd waited for ye; aud ef yore agoin’ ter let my foolin’ ’nd giabbin’ change ye, I’ll b’lieve what the boys sez of ye air true. You don’t keer fur nuthin eep'n ter make fools on us, but after this ye. caiut hev yore way long o’ me, Em Rymer, for I’m done with ye.” Em’line stood motionless while the hot flush of anger slowly receded before a pallor her of words. after-riging Tho dismay at the result of lashing of the tor¬ rent below fell shiveringly upon her ear, like an audible echo of coming trouble. The whistle of a mocking bird singing from the fox grape vines over the foaming abyss, sounded the like a rasping counter irritant to thunders below. Yet and overhead, the through the March air sunshine, clear sky basked in the most restful and soothing of colors. Re Ceding from the basin on every side the green and saffron slopes rose, browning with distance, until they kissed the heavens, apparently far above all terres¬ trial care and passion. Yet here she was—the queen of hearts among these mountain wilds—balked and tortured by the only man out of a half score of suitors she had ever owned to herself that she really cared for. He had accused her of trifling, of heartless¬ ness, of insincerity. Had he not spoken with some degree of truth? Without knowing the name, she felt herself to be ing a coquette, with the realizing hearts the delight of toy¬ of others while her own remained untouched. A et, was her own heart really invul¬ nerable? Standing there, with the beauty and turmoil of that wild scene enveloping things her, she began to feel that seemed were be. not altogether as they had to Nature was somehow be¬ reft of its usual charm. Without the sense of Curt Cable’s devotion—on which she had leaned, even while she tortured him—her small atom of the world was growing very cheerless. But Em’line, as we have seen, had a healthy fund of resentment to fall back upon, and resentment loves to pick flaws. After her first flood of dejection had passed, she found some sad satisfac tion in multiplying Curt’s foibles. His rough humor, his careless pride, the masterfulness and persistence that had characteried his devotion, all these, hav¬ her ing whetted lier irritation, now bolstered luctant pride. Yet she knew, though re crudities to acknowledge, foils that these were as to some nobler attributes of character. An hour later found her busy over the raftsmen’s dinner in the low, long cabin, planted centrally in Eagle’s basin before the broadest sweep of the river above herded Gripp’s Gorge, Bill Rymer, her father, cattle in summer and logged on the Citico in winter, while his wife and hands. daughter cooked for more or less of the A boom was here stretched across the river against which thousands of logs number were pushing, by the now floods hourly increased in in the upper ranges, when the three prongs that here united came raging. A score or more of mountaineers were lounging and in to dinner from the woods river. Curt Cable was with them, but his usually cheery voice was now strangely his silent. lie shuffled awkwardly about, gait and manner contrasting oddly with his really handsome figure and face. “V\ al, Em’line,” said Dow Axley, an oft-rejected yet ever good natured visi tor of the girl’s; what wur you adoin’ eround the Boost this mornin’ ? ’nd what’s the matter long o’ Curt ennyhow?” The men were eating and Em’line set down a plate of “cooked greens” before Axley with a thump, sayiDg: “Thar’s what I wuz adoin’. Ef hit wern’t for me a projeckin’ eround hyu ’nd yander, hit air prashus little biled poke ’ncl mustard ez you alls 'ud git. Ez fer Curl, ef yore so cu’rous ter know what yails him, you’d better ax him; I’m not a mindin’Curt Cable’s bizness, myself.” Curt said nothing,, though his brow contracted, while Em’line gloried in her independence of speech at the expense of an additional heartache as she noted his increasing “Yet,” gloom. thought, she reassuringly, “if he wern’t a keerin’ he w’n’df’t skorely look so mad.” After dinner the men lounged before ( h e door awhile. Over the basin the sky was clear, yet afar off the Unakas still wore the gray garb of mist and storm, The thunder of the rising river echoed woodman. ominously to the practiced ear of the “That thar roarin’means more failin’ weather, ’nd the fraish jist a cornin’ on. A fraish air a good thing, but too much puddin’ hid make a dog sick. I’m afeard, boys, ez that thar boom ’ll go afore night.” So said Rymer, after a long look at the rising vapors gathering over the Yiiakas. “Ef them thar thunder heads burst up yander, thar’ll be a jam in Gripp’s Gt*rge —shore.” Gripp’s Gorge extends for nearly a mile between two irregular lines of cliff, in a manner not unlikely a rocky moun¬ tain canyon. The river sweeping fiercely through, debouches into a more open valiey below. The “thunder heads” on the “bigmountain” did burst; the floods again descended, and about four o’clock that afternoon the boom broke. In less than an hour a jam was discov¬ ered near the lower end of the gorge. The waters kept rising, while more logs from above came thumping down by the hundred. All swept through the basin into the insatiable maw of Gripp’s Gorge, and were hurled against the shape masses already piled in every conceivable between the jagged walls. Some¬ thing must be at once done, or the jam would soon assume such proportions as to defeat all efforts at dislodging it. Curt Cable, with two others, entered the gorge from above in a “dug out” canoe to see what could be done. It was a forlorn hope, and the danger so great that Curt, who called for volunteers, was about to go alone, despite all dissuasive efforts on the part of others, when these two came forward. Em’line sat in the front porch of her father’s cabin and saw the canoe leave the shore. goin’ “Pap,” she ashed, “who air them a ter risk thur lives fer a passel of old logs?" Mr. Rymer was approaching at a half run from the riverside. that “You, Em’line,” he cried, “get out thar long inch rope we’uns uses ter windlass the rafts with. Curt Cable, ’nd Jim Spratt, ’nd Doak Slover hev gone down the gorge ter the jam. We —why don’t yer git that thar rope, gal!” Em’line was standing speechless and staring. impatiently, Her father stamped his foot and she turned to look for the rope like one in a dream, muttering to herself: “What ef Curt—never—comes back?” Ten minutes later Bill Rymer and several others were standing on the Black C'lilf, a huge priecipice that over¬ hung round a ltrge rock midway of the gorge, which the waters boiled and where the jam had formed. Em’line had followed them, regardless of the supper she was to prepare—regardless of all, save that Curt Cable had, perhaps, gone to his death, aud—that she loved him. How the results of her own pretty re sentment now mocked her as she remem bered his last attempt causelessly at reconciliation which she had so repulsed. She recalled his better traits-his geu erosity, frankness and daring. She owned to herself that if he had been rough and rude, she had been guilty of many where shortcomings, he? And now-now was How she climbed the?cliffs, up the cluing rugged, perilous trail among to vines and bushes, tearing her clothes unheeded, she hardly knew. Now she stood beside her father on the Black Cliff. Below was a savage roar and white dash of spray, and the grinding and thunder of descending logs. Her ears, half deafened by the noise. were strained for the sound of voices that might, even now, be forever silenced. Thesunwassinking; enveloping chilling shadows were the gorge, though the eastern mountains were ye: bright with a tender glow. The men were lowering " the rope. Her father, lying upon th e rock, abyss/ peered down into the seething At last lie raised his head and oa y. ’ . Thar , two that thar ler ez 1 km s make men out. on Hit rock,, like cz seems they ve bruk loose a part of the jam.” ‘Only two men, pap; ’ cried Em’line. She threw herself down, and peered ® v ® r - “bat “ the absent one was Curt Cable For the first time since the “big meetin s down m the valley last fall she prayed prayed silently, yet with her m;na m an incoherent maze of fear and suspense. hit, “That’s boys,” she heard her father say. “A leetle lowerdown—thar! He liev kitched it. He’s got it yunder his arms. Now—pull stiddy, hoys, ’nd don’t frazzle the rope.” A human form was dangling over tho cauldron below, drenched with spray and swinging wildly. Was it Curt? If the rope should break—she shuddered and drew back from a sight that sickened her. She hid her face, and stil! heard the horrible rasp of the rope over the ing smooth edge the of the cliff, the hard breath¬ of men—then, after a while, a heavy scraping voice. of feet, aud Doak Slover’s “Hit were a hard squeeze, boys, ’nd a leetle the tightest place I wur ever in. “Who uns on the rock ’sices you?” she heard lier father ask. His voice was as the voice of one afar off. “That thar is Jim Spratt.” Her heart gave a fearful leap—she gasped for breath. “Wall, Doak, whar’s Curt?” Oh! the sickening suspense of that supreme instant of dread. It was mad¬ dening. She sprang to her feet as Slover’s slow tones came like an echo of doom. “Why, Curt—he—wal, jist afore the jam bruk loose, the eend of a log hit the dug-out, down kerbimf it.” ’Nd Curt, he went long with She waited to hear no more, but with¬ out ing a word, passed behind the that unheed¬ group, conscious only Curt’s body she was somewhere below the gorge, that would find it—and then die. “Lower away, boys,” Bill Rymer shouted again, but the words and the safety of Jim Pratt were an indifferent affair to her now. Was there ever misery so poignant as hers? Would any who knew her have called her a coquette now? “He hev gone ter his death,” she groaned, “’thout ever a forgivin’ me. 1 don’t keer how sune I goes ter mine— p’raps The Pll meet him thar.” Where? dilated despairing and woman, who with eyes torn garments, with gasping struggled breath and trembling hands, the along that the perilous trail above gorge led to calmer waters be¬ low, found the above query unexpec edly answered. The form of Curt Cable, drenched, bruised, his clothing half torn away, his face unnaturally pale, suddenly glided ronnd a sharp bend of the path and con¬ fronted her. Her Limbs sunk beneath her weight; she hid her eyes, exclaim¬ ing: “Lawd hev pity! Hit—air—his— haunt. ” She would have fallen down the slope, but strong arms grasped her; a warm breath fanned her brow, and as her eyes responded, she saw the “haunt” ap¬ parently working its will with her. But the hands felt lifelike and the voice she now heard made her heart throb anew'. “No, Em’line, I haiut quite a haant yet, tho’ I corn’d tolerable nur a gittin’ tur be one.” “Why—why—” she whimpered, “Doak. he said ez a log hit ye ’nd ye went down—” a11 thro \ ,’ nd kl ^ w la f be a sa vl u ’ J 7^ - , 3ut 1 . W . dugout “V when ,°“ log J T’ struck it, a ZlZ T 3 T T i 7® “ split herself on a rock, r I le’pt on a lo 2 cz w f a P^in’. ’nd got whirled yund ® r , " d S°t kno cked about considerable. But I r got ashore some h ° w i nd b ? ur | ls ; No *- El u | me ’ S^tUhyVXe?”^ 77, 7 - ^ , There 7 3 110 answer : }f x- l , , lier f faCa wa an , J “estled^warmly e f V-. against his . ragged ,, Aow,. v JISt Em line, tln air ye still mad, or a 'J ,u oa ‘ St ’, n ° !'fP ly: VCt f earm stole , , softly ,, round Curt s neck, f who, fee ing that his time had at W’ mm V ho be3t ~ ^se u “Xj o'f hi ponmr ^ ^ tb ° vont ~ r v 5 e c ever ev a a S "oin’ ter git that tnnt wav 3 a v , lon . - ^ 0 , me blS a™ slightly tightened i its -i clasp 1 of 1 ,iTif 1 '' fo !L a “ ans ' sv ® r - me right ^ smak E ? 111 In ?; the 1 mouth.” "’ an i S ,? e ter kiss . But this last humiliation was post p° nl ; ( i by the appearance of Bill Rymer and the other men. The father stared his at friends, Curt and his daughter, then said to with a knowing grin: “He a'r a right peart kind of a corpse, boys-, jist erbout peart enuffi ter cause a weddin’ about hyur afore long, I reckon.” Rip was right. Em’line had finally surrendered, and when the affair thus prophesied came off, as it did in due time, half of her old beaux were there to dance and congratulate with such heart as this resuit had left them .—Nashville American. A Queer Scene in Morocco. Shortly after, there passed us a jet black fellow on the move to some distant town, and from the size of his outfit he must have been of considerable import¬ ance. First came his servants witli his goods and and chattels camels, picturesquely while followed loaded on mules he a s'iglit distance in the rear, jealously guarding ten dusky wives who rode astride their mules, two upon each, with their faces carefully covered from the contaminating gaze of wicked, wicked men. Old Alladan, or whatever his name was, rode in such a position that he could keep lm jealous eye fastened 011 eight of his wives, but the ninth and tenth had managed to get in the rear, and I have an idea that ten women dis¬ tributed au nature! among five mules, made me smile audibly; any way, no sooner had old Bluebeard got where he could not see, than number ten dropped her face covering white long enough teeth amply to show dis¬ me a row of very played, a roguish face with an indescrib¬ able smile upon it, and a pair of big, brown eyes with an unspoken challenge, in them ,—Boston Transcript, —
