Evening Star Newspaper, May 4, 1889, Page 10

10 —.-. * THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON D.C, SATURDA . MAY 4 “1889—TWELVE PAGEs. Written for Tue Evestxe Sra. THE FIGHT OF THE REAR GUARD Exciting Times in Covering the Retreat After the Battle. A HUNGRY NIGHT—PONY-RIB ROASTS FOR BREAK- FAST—BURNING THE INDIAN VILLAGE AND CON- CEALING THE SOLDIERS’ GRAVES—ON To THE HILLS—A SPIRITED FIGHT—SAVE AT Last. [Copyrix! 1589.) Morning of September 10 broke wet, raw and cold. A mist hovered over the surface of the earth and wisps of cloud floated scross the face and summits of the buttes, sometimes hiding them entirely from our view. Well out on the slopes. crouching behind their improvised rifle-pits, our pickets could be seen wari watching for the first appearance of the Sioux. Between them and our lines, se- curely hoppled and carefully guarded were the herds of cavalry horses and pack mules—gaunt. attennated skeletons barely able to stagger. In the ravines the men were car] astir. and the smoke from a dozen tiny fires mingled with the mists and told of preparations for breakfast—such as it was. Fat, grass-fed ¥. or even Indian-cured buffalo beef. was far better than the tough and stringy horse meat we had been living on for several days. so that we were much better off than we had been, and there was still left a little coffee and sugar. Word had been passed from troop to troop at the first gray of dawn to “get breakfast and be Feady as soon as possible. READY FOR WHAT? Of course we knew that another fight was to be expected, but it would have to be defensive on our part. We had not a horse in the whole bri- gade that could make a quarter of a mile at the trot. Up on the Yellowstone, twenty | days before. we had got enough | forage from Gen. Terry's quartermaster | to give each horse abont four quarts apiece on ey two occasions, but from that time to_ th: had had nothing but md ‘you ean fancy wh when I tell you that fe dians had scoured the the grass and starting th nt they could pick t t that amounted and near the In- puntry, burning off great prairie fires that were only ended by the drenching rains of September. We could not use them to attack and pursite. for the indian ponies. w' i thrive and grow fat and hearty on the cottonwood boughs in the Little Missouri and the Grand river bottoms, couid run all around our worn-out chargers. On the other hand we knew that Crazy Horse and his band had been so badly worsted in their | senseless assault of the previous € they would be unlikely to make anoth on Crook's ugly fore the question. ORDERS ARF ORDERS. Eagerly sipping our tins of steaming coffee, and wringing the rain out of our dripping | Blankets, and worn old slouch hats, we huddled about our fire discussing _ the situation. Guards and sentries had been posted all throngh the captured village to pre- | vent the men from plundering various lodges. General Crook had decided that such hght and valuable ould go to ve Mill's — battalion—the original. captors. but as neither horses nor mules could bear any weight. the men were | Rot to be wed to take the buffalo robes or the stacks of beaver skins that lay | about im such profusion. It was not long before ve found out what was to done. me with orders f men as I lodge. ev. serap of Indian robe. skin ‘or peltry to be Mage. Similar orders, I was | told. had been sent to Major Powell, of the 4th | infantry. and he and [ were to w Orders were A staff officer came te General Crook to te and burn eve were dripping on the onter surface. side them were combustibles inny end in half an hour we were eround in CLOUDS OF BLINDING SMOKE, and an atmosphere heavily charged with all manner of odors except those of Araby, th blest. Officers and men. impartially. we visited by both smoke and smell. and blinked ir smarting eyelids. and held their noses, and blasphemed the whole Sioux nation with a heartiness and unanimity that really lifted the command above the contem- plation of the trials and discomforts of the past week. Powell and I trudged around from one lod 9 another. cheerfully ordering on more hides and horrors at every fire. and yet | ruefully figuring up the thousands of dollars furs were worth—could we only get them | to market. | pinnging CONCEALING THE GRAVES, Over in the next ravine to the north of where fifth cavalry headqu: acked, our dead were solemnly, but with scant | © ceremony, being buried deep. Pres« H Prange ee : = “4 the third and second cavalry mour loan aac eee eee General Crook and his staff ith eae, aienee: A eenek and then our cavalry brigade commander, Gen. ir va, the demmmuandés o¢ 1 troop, Se ete en ee al ot hivmen Wag har thei Maree ening ee “ 7 _ Pax je. and in another 1 mt are deploying eects oF twos, went swinging after | \5 skirmishers and driving the woull-te sore P . R resi. | fankers before them like chaif before u gale. Seebeeiiabars to cheer ie way, ans SoM reat: | OS ic dey peer Staoate thes otec GL ment rode squarely over “the grave where our het aa i ed fire from M hero was buried.” je BACK TO THE HILES, You wonder at this, no doubt, but ‘twas the nly way to save the poor remains from muti- | laton. A scalp is a scalp in Indian eyes, and it makes no difference whether he wins it in a “square fight” or by murder in cold blood: whether it is a soldicr’s or a help whether he hews it off with dripping in the face of his foe or tears it} from the skull of a buried corpse. Crook had determined to destroy everything about the village; to leave behind the Indians dead, and all the Indian women and children, cept the squaws and papooses of the “bucks” we bad dragged out of the hole in the hillside. and to go on his way to the Black Hills. It was the only thing left for | him to do. and he well knew that the mo- | ment be was gone the surrounding warriors, like so many wolves—their nearest kin Would rush in to find the graves of our dead and dig out the bodies to sealp and hideously mutilate them. Even that satisfaction w. be denied the “braves” of (1 Horse in this last resting-place of our concealed by the cranch- ing hoofs of hundreds of troop horses. “Upham's battalion is to stay and cover the withdrawal,” said a staff officer to me as I was making my way back through the thick smoke to rejoin regimental headquarters. aud it oc- curred to me right there that Upham was BOOKED FOR A LIVELY TIME. Sure enough. No sooner did it become ap- parent to the Indians, crowding all around us on the heights. that Crook's army was march- ing away than down they to the} burning ‘village. They pa ttention to the long columns crawling snake-like away to the south—the pack trains with their guards, the cavalry and infantry | skirmishers thrown well out both = and marching “by the With one accord they’ came sweeping down north and west. yelling rage and de and blazing away at the long lines of cav- airy skirmishers, dismounted to stand them At last all the pack-trains, all the sur- geons with their wounded on frarvis, all the guarding infantry, cavalry | were clear of the and slowly marching under the low-ha on their southward way. slowly and sullenly the covering battalions, Masou’s,on the west. and Van Vieit’s (I think) on the north, fell back tothe outskirts of the i ity, mounted under cover of the emoke and rxpidly crossed our ravine,and then @ame Upham’s turn. IN A DANGEROUS PosITION. I bad found Gen. Carr with the headquarters party, all in saddle, and au orderly holding my horse. Mounting at once, and briefly report- ing that my duties were complete and every- thing combustible in a fair way of being re- duced to ashes, 1 took such a survey of the} situation as the drifting smoke would allow. Upham’s horses were being led away south- ward in the wake of Mason's battalion; the Men dismounted and, facing north in long skirmish line, were cooly waiting for the In- dians to dash into the village and show them- selves ou the ridge between the ravines. A lively fusilade was going on over that ridge between the attacking hostiles and the tew scouts and troopers who had hung back to see the last of it. Up our ravine, half a mile sway. I could see warrior after warrior come i$ into view around a point of biut and gallop toward the village. What General Carr meant by sitting poe: eidly there between Upham’s lines and the ridge on which the Indians must appear in five minutes, 1 could not inagine. Most of the beadg uarters party began to hitch uneasily in their saddies. 1 am free to say that for one I thought it th time to be getting out of that, but a > is not supposed to know enough of Indian fighting to venture on. advice to his commander. e — RETURN OF THE INDIANS. Presently, however, it became evident tha’ @ the burning town, and with one accord, trophies as they could carry |} | knoil and | ham sends Mr. whooping and yelling, in they rushed and the lingering scouts came tumbling over the ridge and down past our party im ludicrous confusion. At the same instant some of Up- ham’s men, farthest to the west, opened fire, and then at last my phlegmatie tidal remarked with exasperating slowness: ““We—ll—I guess we might sta—rt.” We were the last in the in- fernal hole, and that was probably what the commander of the 5th desired to have said. Just asslowly he reined about.rode deliberatelyacross the ravine, his adjutant, sergeant-major and the headquarters party following in prescribed order, and then no sooner was he out of the slopes behind Upham’s line, and clear of the smoke, than he looked around. Wherever that confounded old white and red signal- flag of his was scen the Indians seemed to lose all interest in intervening objects and to concentrate their attention on that. The standard bearer had discreetly kept it furled, therefore, on this eventful morning, and now the commander miased it. Where's that flag of mine?” he demanded; 1p with it!” COOLNESS UNDER FIRE. So up it went and and in less than a minute, as we rode slowly away, with our backs to the swarming foe, the bullets began whirr- ing, whistling and singing past our ears. Napoleon used to say that, “facing the en- emy.” most men could keep up a bold front, but that Ney was the only man he knew who could preserve his sang froid with his b: the blazing musketry. ‘Whether 1t was on “the burnt child shuns tlie fire” principle or not, I cannot say, but I had been perforated by Indian builets a couple of years before; the wound had not yet healed and no more were needed just then, cspecially in the yack, A zipping missile aimed at that absurd flag nearly cut away the lobe of my right ear, aud I gave an equally absurd “duck” to the left, but Carr rode stolidly on without sigh of discomposure nutil he reached a little ridge and there we halted to look around, the le party meantime d ing in solcier sotto | the f t made us ride at slow walk. firing foe, and forbidden to face about and tight. A SPIRITED SCENE. It was a spirited scene t! met ‘our eyes. Southward, over a mile away, Crook's long columns were crawling slowly over the dips e of the prairie. “Westward, M ion in columns of twos wi thrown out on the right flank to guard against sudden dash from the range of heights, parallel to the line of mnreh and only 2.000 yards Eastward we i i able indelations of upla: the dense pallof smoke from the ing village and the swarms of darting, dashing Indians on its southern verge. Close at hand, at appropriate intervals, were the horses of the troops of U “holders rank of skir- js’ intervals from sly fi » slope mishers stretched at tive i to left across the pr: fi to the for aimed fire, 1 us was the tall for nmanding, on his big br by his side his battalion adjutant, nt of whom F told the up be- R paign Indian turn and ¢: rush in hoy and inducing romrades and run, | make a combine fy ng panic in the men to drop their woande “nant! ring the orders from th and sue long b whirl ¢ troop commanders, ne charging Sioux that | close range th scatter for shelter, Agi P nee and ste rises and retire: ney | men are being sted again the Indi n. On the western « the line Capt. Leib’s men have seized a | ndon it. and Up- tering gallop to make them come down out of 5 Once more the reunited line is nearing us and Gen. Carr, satisfied that is going well, tarns slowly away. Once more the Indians swarm on the ridge we leave and, firing over the heads of the retiring skir- | shot after shot at our party ded flag. Then comes a new ‘ nut Crook is getting farther and farther awa: We are now full two miles from his rearmost files and a mile from Mason's columns, DANGER AVERTED. Nobody scems togive a backward glance to see how Upham is getting on with his awkward and trying duty. What if the Indians were to dash around our flanks and cut us off. Cumbered with our wounded we could not well charge through them. I had hardly time to think of it when. sure enough. swarm of mounted warriors appeared img along a ridge to the east, bent, evid a working U °s right and 3 and could see their je and could not. e the colonel’s and warn him » that they go tumbling back. yelling like I, bus ducking down behind thete seaimper- ing ponies, And so for 2 fail mile more they follow in onr wake, but nota man_ can they in all the long line. Not once do they break or “pliase” avery time they make a dash the troopers | e them, and the misty air tairly rings with lamor of our carbine: d at last reluc f ay and leave us in pe: is signaled from the trumpet at head- quarters. Troop after troop swings into saddle as it reaches its horses, and by 8. o'clock the lively skirmish is at an end, and we jog along to catch Crook. Cn. S KING, A Rainy “vening. ark clouds hurry by; The wind, along its dreary way, Goes onward with a sigh. ‘The road in every rain-filled place Within the darkness shines; And their trace ; #limmering lines. An ancient church tower, dark aad high, old, Holds up its cross of A silhouette against the In shadows, dull an: Now, one by one, each flashing light ze and bright, ‘That flicker in the streets. ‘The sounds of night are changed and dull; A dreary undertone | Of failing rain fl!s in each uid | Yet by the window's light J mark A little branch of bloom, ‘Thai sends me softly through the dark, Its breath of faint perfume. And all the night's long rainy hours Are filled with warmth and light For the childish band that Jaid the flowers Upon the sill to-night. —JeSSIE PIERSON. # A wealthy London merchant gives the secret of his business success as follows: always feel happy when I am advertising, for then I know that, waking or sleeping, I have a strung thowtgh silent orator working for me; one“Wwho never tires, never makes mistakes, and who is certain to enter the households from which, if at all, my trade must come.” To secure the services of such au agent as this shrewd merchant referred to, advertise in Tur Evesino Stan. It is read by everybody im Washington. —_ Now the trees are being covered with their leayes of shining green, Seon Jpn the fuchsias in the garden will he seen; tAnd Dane Nature will de leaving glory in her track, ae nese Spreading light and sunshine o'er us uu ebow back! —Nebraska State Journal. nee Her Ways. 1 do recall a hundred ways of hers— ou she Was angry, glad or shy, ot loving; How she would pat hick hittle foot 5 OF tirow her arms about my eck, thus ng ‘The life that lay beneath her fluttering breast; How her biue-laced lids would slowly rise, And give me only of her eyes— Eyes where dear Love hid, but to me confest. ‘These, and a hundred woman's ways like a thing | coustraint, THE FIRST INAUGURAL BALL. It was an afternoon in the early spring of the Year 1739—one of those days when the sun's warm radiance is unchecked either by cloud or touch of recent winter in the air, Over the Boston road a family conch was Iumbering sleepily on its way to the city of New York, and behind it, upon a stocky bay horse, which gallantly bore his majestic rider's weight, rode Judge Jared Chester, the owner of the horse and of the coach, and the father of the two young ladies whose pretty faces were looking with eager frequency through the windows of the vehicle. Away on the left, beyond the new-leafed trees, the spires of the town were faintly to be seen, and at such visible promise of their long- anticipated goal the wondering interest of the two young travellers was at its height. The younger pushed back the hood of her cape, and thrust her face far out into the balmy, earth-scented air. “Jonathan might drive faster if he would,” she said, impatientiy, gazing with wide blue eyes toward their destination, ‘How strange it will be to us, Mildred! I do long tobe there,” _ She was a rosy, dimpled little creature, seem- ing with her disord: = curls and flushed cheeks rather like a tired, eager child than a young lady on the eve of her formal introduction to the world. Her sister Mildred, on the contrary, showed to the full her twenty years of life’s discipline. Her’s was a fair, fine-cut face and dignified, well-controlled manner. Even the dast and fatigue of travel had but lightly set their mark upon her, “The town will be strange to ug, I make no doubt,” she said, gent “But have you no fear, Mollie, that we may also be strange to | ?—that we may seem iil-bred, because we | have seen so little, and so Aunt Hobart be ashamed of us?” i “Aunt Hobart ashamed of us, indeed was | the scornful answer. “And pray should not | her brother's children be as well born as she? Andif we have not becu abroad till now, we have seen fine c ur father's house. | Why. the: | sation upon the subject was ¥ the voice of Judge Chester, in to them their where- again fell back a slight tarn «U brought them into a suburb of the city where the thickness of the trees distant prospect from view, and upon hand spiendid 1 i throu shrubbery with var s of distinc s they pi of other vehicles tracted their excited attention, re other people. and there are two— ides!” exels pd Mollie, in deligh me more aud more. It must be ¢ na gr ming like usto see resident, and when cach day there t 1 pedestrians Mildred smiled doubtfully. that there is a market d “People have be how they will make the thirty or forty new one must soon be do not think city, “if John W ald ride up among them all,” ss wauld be the grandest’ thin sht meet | him, 3 “Tt is for- ward i she said, with some you to wish that, “But if [ cannot help wishing it! and I see no harm. Jehn was born our neighbor, and then he is so fine and handsome. s been so ‘h in the town th: know him for a leman, I think we should be proud to see | “But, Mr. Bartoi said Mildred, hesitating. “It might be »harm to wish to see John. 4 spoke of Mr. Barton.” h, did 1?” answered Mollie, indifferently! ad See, Mildred, see; a soldic Quick! Did you see how brave he Io New York; 1 am sure of it. Mrs. Hobart's residence was a square brick structure situated within the city, upon a corner of two stre w its door- a elers with p she v rhaps A smile nd eyes as ape d, dignitied ia Years, wearing a snowy apron, and a dark homespun gow of affectionate pride lighted her she beheld her nieces. “These should be mine, brother,” she said, locking admiringly upon them. “Is it not ever the way with the world that such ax they should be motherless,and such as I, childless’ “What is, is for the be E Chester answered, grave And it ix for the best t now.” she returned, ti passing from her face, doings in eth,” Judge are with me ry. shadow “Phere will be grand 1 town, children, and 1 have heard those speaking of your coming who will sec you rigutly placed in all, Young Wadleigh has been here. Brother, you may have known our neighbor Wadleigh’s ‘son at Ah! there young men like them that come ont of ehusatis: bear that in mind, rls.” The days which followed were days of euj ment to Mildred, of enchantment to Mol From the tirst morning i 0} his their stay they were | } sought out by those their aunt's friends who | had been notified of their arrival, and their | beauty quickiy widened the circle of their ac- quaintauce, ‘To Mollie the ter number of men paid their court, forshe ‘ with her merry laugh and lively spec Mildred was more silent and difficult ldred in these days was becoming troubled for her sister, There was frequently that in Mollie's manner which seemed to her lacking | ming modesty; and although she 4 ted, her words brought but the brict- ow of r est si At first know g John Wadicigh his attentions with her swe after, upow® the app r former ac ingly forgot John’s er, meeting that dashing sold: Colonel Grinell, she turned capricions ag: and decried her other admirers as “youths, while enjoying the fascination of her new con- te There was much shopping and visiting dur- ing the days, when, being clove at their aunt's ide. Mi nce, Eliott | Barton, she until, stili own age and st with the busine vw nap in her chair, and teave her neic young friends to themselves, One afternoon they #tr through the city and upon the Battery, whic the bay. ‘There was little A rosy light from the departing sun the burnished waves, flushing the 1 poplar spires und the new-leafed es and the: out of doors branches of the willows. At anchor in the harbor lay the frigates ing the morrow, which was to triumph: smaller craft moved about, be pleasure-seekers upon little tours of inspec- tion. ore & great throng enjoyed gooily night with beaming of proud anticipation, wh warmed each heert toward its country and its neighbor, It would have been hard to find one | sour or sorrowful f: nong this comy Chester, h ring loads of y and of it walked Mil- are hn Wadieigh and Eliott Barton apon They were well-built men, rather » the medium height. and weight, and being of taste and disposi- tion, had become fast friends at college and at the law school, where t! complete. : Mildred, who found little charm in new faces, trained and merry as in the F rs young neighbor and ‘his friend, | whom she had’ met in John’s company at her home, Among such numbers of strangers as she now daily encountered, his voice had nearly as welcome and familiar a sound as John’s own, As for Mis Mollie, she had thonght neither for John Wadleigh nor for Barton, Through three days she hed been faithful to Colonel Grinell—to his epaulettes, his shining buttons, his heavy-hilted sword—and at his side she now walked, dazzled and delighted with her surroundings. “And General Washington will come to-mor- row,” she said, with asmall sigh, ‘and there will be only duty for you after that.” “Wherever I may be, my heart willbe with you,” he answered, gallantly. “But may I not see you at the landing? Shall not you be there?” “No; Aunt Hobart fears to be among so many. We went this morning to the stairs and brought some rs for the draping; so we saw where it wil! be; and even if not sooner, we shall see General Washington at the ball.” As they came nearer to the water they stopped among those who looked out upon its lovely. surface; behind them the gay crowd drifted by. “If one sailed away and away in a pin line,” said Mollie, raising her arm, which the cloak fell back, to point the course, “where would he come at last?” Asshe spoke she turned her head to Col. Grinell, standing behind her, who, in mock anixety to know the exact direction that she would indicate, bent his own head that his eye might fall ina line with her uplifted arm and finger. Bat here Ji ——— interposed. “You will cateh gold” he in a voice of dis- pleasure, “: it is time to return. Your ir course was not yet aunt will be troubled.” Mollie would have obj but in spite of this, and of Col. Grinell’s remon- i assed further, the increasing | } | the | little light brown eurls and t¢ devotion. |, 1 splendor, while among them the | | grave, proud manner, strance, Mildred carried the point against her. Frequently before, Mollie had been able to annoy the faithful Jobn into leaving her with any rival whom she migit be favoring; but to- night, ignore or quarrel with him as she would, he declined to notice her displeasure, and upon their arrival et Mrs. Hobart’s mansion he was still beside her, “And Where is Mildred, then?” was Mrs. Ho- bart's question, **Was not Mildred with you?” “She is with Mr, Barton,” Mollie answered. ‘They wili be here very soon. Ah, yes. the foolish ones.” she thought, gazing wistfully from the window into the gathering dusk. “they will hasten. though they need not.” And even as she thought her sister appeared in the doorway, Contrary to custom Mildred spoke very brieily to the different members of the com- any present, and then, bending over her aunt's chair, asked her permission to go to her room. Mollie laughed. “Mildred cannot forgive >,” she said, mischievously, “because I would have been longer by the watcr. When next I walk, aunt, Mildred shall stay with you.” Bat Mildred did not remain to defend her- self. A little later Mollie entered her room, and, casting her hat and cloak upon a chair, stood with mock meekness waiting until Mil- dred should turn and see her. “Are you sweet?” she asked, looking up in- quisiti t her sister, with her head upon one side. “Ah, you are langhing, and I am glad, because Lhave something to show you. Some one has writtensome verses for me. See, ey are here. I found them in the doorway.” Mildred gianced at the paper and started. “Are they surely yours?” she asked, putting a light hand before her sister's eyes, “You should not read them if they be not surely yours.” Moliie laughed and put away “the hand. she said, is for me. at away, “I, “Since he said. for me.” was a short silence, then, ‘You lose seid Mollie, throwing down the prper aking herself to her toilett, | “It’s all vent ’ and ‘stately ‘mien.’ call me state as more anxious to fit the verse than me, One must be tall and fair and sileat to be stately, like you, Mildred. the mirror with her Toll » sh sister. Her che filled with tears, iknow now.” she said, in a low. steady “Lhe verses are mine; give them to ks were scarlet, her eyes were hanically Mollie took up the ed itin her sister's b Her S Mildred, 2 © verses to you? ht write them to me and mean nothing, ttoyou, And father will not have him ty either of us. I heard him s: Hobart that he thought young Barton a wild youth, and though Aunt Hobart said he was of the best Rhode Istand families, and that youths would all be wild. still father would not hear.” But Mildred, in the fac only scemed to ‘nge with tin e of growing dificulty, y of the landin . and preparations ¥ till greater day of th Was alive with soldiers a gone ction of spring weather adorned the ly morning the inauguration. Very crowds were 1 ing places’ in th charches, or upon the streets through which the distingnished company must From a window apo. of whom we Broad strest those write witnessed th king place upon the balcony of the eral Building, and even across the thousands of shifting heads below they felt the impressive dignity of that brown- 1 And then the booming ng cheers, the glorions scene ! ily Judge Chester's daugh- ed themselves hereto- flying ker- veek eding the in tion proved to them more tilled with imterest than any wh dit. Ever sin evening when Barton’s verses lien between them the sisters had been move in sympathy than ever before. ‘The spoke together no further upon the subj but Moliie knew that Mildred avoided the pos- ility of tete-a-tete communication with her nd between admiration of her sister's discretion and pity for Barton's fruitless devo- tion, she found little time to think of herself or her fancies, er sight could not be imagined than ening of the bail, lest bine, with he delicate bril- but prettiest of all, p in her gown of filmiest, 7 li ney of her co haps, was her delighted pride in her sister Mil- dred’s white-robed stateliness, “He will see the: ou,” she ventured to say, as were leaving their room. ‘Oh. Mildred, ind to him to-night!” And now the eveniug was half danced away. vening of unalloyed delight it had been to for the first President of the United States had taken her trembling hand in his, and gold-lace and epaulettes were ever at her side, Presently, as she closed a dance with one of a | est through the toward her, per in his hand, y fellow without,” he said to her, “He pretended to n were leaving, but t himself trouble, -” he added, “It is a : Imirer pri HI folded at was, Com- vas she glanced Barton’s hand, an- iness, perhaps. ing the evening, save had learned, it might ssion in his behalf. She ls just then, But as she was abont refolding the scrap her eye caught the first se suce written upon it, = Mildred and T marry to-night.” she read, and then remained motionless, gazing at the pap blind to its few further words, deaf to the sounds about of her own intere ald not read his w of necessity for action re- She looked toward her ion with Madame 8 to her waiting from her naged to You remember nu Wadleigh. I will go er Moilie Chester might gh was never far rem tes John Wad -¥ few iniam when.with » Mollie left the side of her es- jer, Who turned back into the room smile. “It’s a duel ubout her, or my name's not Gri- ell,” he said to himse: ‘And here’s a mess le of it! Ah, lucky John. I'd chance a : him myself for his good fortune, and thank him, too.” Meanwhile poor Mollie had parted with her note and ii artling secret. and stood white and tearless before’ the “lucky John,” now nearly overwhelmed by the sudden weight of his responsibility. Buta short distance from s Judge Chester, in friendly vonversa- a group of officers, He Was a man ol How would he receive such a shock as thi Like Mollie, Wadleigh dared not inform him, It might kill him, or drive him to denounce his daughter before the whole assembly. “Th 1 have been gone but a short time,” John said, presently, “Ll might overtake them if I knew——” Mollie interrupted him. Nothing conid have helped her to preserve an outward calm as did the consciousness of her father’s near presence, Even now, in this second shock of hope, she was able to retain control of all but her voice and words. “You will follow them,” brokenly and sagan & but very softly. “You will bring her back. Ah, John, dear John, there is nobody like you in all the world! Go— go now, Do not los¢ time.” “But you—you must be taken home.” “No, no; they would miss her then. I will stay and dance.” “Dance? You could not do it. The sus- pense——” “Tecan doit. Oh, do not stay. to think of me, Only bring her back. Promise—t ris coming—promise and go.” He took her hand and bent over “My task is easier than yours,” he said—“I promise.” Then he turned away and left her. Only onge he looked back, and amid the glit- ter of brilliant lights and gay costumes he saw Judge Chester i head his friends to his daug! ter. He saw her slender blue-robed figure ly once, again, and , and oe light upon his tears blinded ve ” she said. speaking it formally. for | “Ride me the horse here.” he said, “I will stay by your coach. ve but a pound or two about me, but only the right beast, and quickly, and you ve the money twice over to-morrow.” Not above a half hour thereafter Wadleigh found himself clattering over the cobble pave- ment of Broadway toward the country. Al- though the day had been fair and clear, the sky ome overcast since the evening. It was very dark, and a chill damp breeze was rising: but he, well wrapped in the folds of his cloak, and having for the present only to follow the straight street before him, paid no heed to his surroundi ngs, but set himself to think over the task which he had -indertaken, In their every relation Barton had been his wn loyal friend and supporter, ever showing himself a gentleman's son even in his wildest youthful pranks, and seorning a mean or dis- honest act. What, then, had come to him to- night? and what had come to Mildred, to so far forget the dignified reserve which had ever been her own? And what had come to Mollie, able to take upon her chilish self that dignity which Mildred had forgotten, and to display a heroism dazzling to remember? And then, great heaven ! what had come to Aim, Wadleigh, who with no single past grudge must hound this dearest friend perhaps to his death? His brain fairly reeled under the realizing sense of his position. “He's no scoundrel; I'll swear it.” he mut- tered, urging on his horse. **But he shall not injure her people so—he shall not.” Yet he knew that his was a desperate errand, and grimly songht the pistols in the holsters as he hurried on, He was leaving the city now. and the road was no longer paved. At the gates of some of the residences lanterns were hung, showing that the people living there were still abroad; but save for these occasional glimmers all was darkness. Even where the streets branched he to make choice, but turned across into Bowery Lane, and so straight out on to the high-road At length. after riding, he a farther half-hour of hard ined in his hor: There was a house without inclosure a little way in advance | of him. If it were an ini , a8 its lights seemed e, he might hear news; ut least he Bat ashe rode up the short approach he saw with increased excitement | that there was a coach standing before the | door, and, without drawing nearer, turned across the turf toward the side veranda, wherc after transferring the pistols from their hols- ters to his pockets, he dismounted and threw the bridle of his horse abouta slender tree. Then, with a tinal summoning of all his tact and coolness, he moved past the heavily cnr- taine @ side windows toward the corner of the pou | Cloaked.as he was and in the shadow, he | | could see with slight danger of being seen. The n Which stood before the broad door-stone ready for departar en as Wadleigh sed a marf mounted its driver's seat, while from the house a second figure of heayy build and without a coat—evidently the innkeeper— | appeared, and spoke with him, Wadieigh would have given his right hand to be able to hear their words, but a small dog which had followed the stont man ran barking up and | down, re of the stranger in the shadow, yet pproach him, me breath Wadleigh was cursing the animal's noise and blessing its fears, when in the light of the doorway a third man appeared, aked like any traveler, and bearing a heav: wrap upon his arm, As he turned his face uy | ward toward the driver the light fell full be- | hind the protile, Wadleigh knew it. It was | Barton's. At the sight of his friend, strong and dete! mined as b own had come j . ear, | even if his promises and penniless condition | could have prevailed over the ready money of | the other side: he could not shoot his friend | from ambush; there was nothing for it but to present himseif when the iast iinute should arrive, and obtain a hearing or die. | _ After a word or two with the men at the door Barton turned again within, and presently re- appeared, with slow steps, kading a lady om he carefully placed within the coac! | after which he once more entered the house, followed by the lendlord, L a flash Wadleigh’s resolve was taken. It was a race between himself and Barton now. He strode along the veranda, looking 1 to the right nor to the left, and boldly the carriage door. the ‘Then he thrust a pistol in | ce of the astounded coachman and d himself on to the tloor of the box seat. y.” he said, holding the pis- 's muzzle to the man’s head, “Driv r wretch, or I'll fire!” The guests at the ball were beginning to take their departure, following the example. of their President, who had been among_ the first | to leave. Twice Mrs. Hobart had reminded her younger neice of the lateness of the hour, and urged upon her the necessity of saying fare- wellto her partners, but twice Mollie had begged a short reprieve. To her relief, Mrs. Hobart had not noticed Mildred’s absence. Seeing one of her charges always near, she ap- parently failed to remember that it was alw: the same one, and time rushed by in the e citement of gossips and the dance until the hour of midnight was long gone by. With ever fainter hope Mollie's tired eyes sought among the guests who yet remained for the appearance of her returning kaight. © Grinell, who imagined that he knew he trouble, had through the past hoo-s been generosity itself in his efforts to spare Ler the annoyance of observing partners, and reliev her from the constant necessity for exertion till stood beside her, she saw | tily approaching, with a troubled | face and most determined air, The end had come, then. From his decision there would be come, Mollie, child.” he said k of no one but yourself? low, ill with weariness, and tay here dau “do Your sister you would | gf till the morning. Colonel lead my daughter? I will speak to her aint After that Mollie knew nothing more until she felt the rash of the damp t wind upon her face and heard John Wadleigh’s muring hasty words in her ear. Sh her eyes as they placed her in the carr ‘That was Mildred’s white dress which brash her knee; Mildred’s hand which she covered | with her own; Mildred’s shoulder against | which her head was leaning. She was too weak and happy to ca And to be weari langhed Mrs. pleasurin drove Young things like Look at me, three times your if need be, to have all over a Ab, constitutions aven't what they were, brother, when we were rs. Hobart’s j ave place to keenest anxiety upon the followig day. For Mildred appeared in the morning so white and | | cold and silent that_her father ordered her to her room again, and sent her a strengthening Mollie, heavy-eyed and forlorn, wave neither rest nor tonic for herself, | by her sister's side, and thought and spoke only of her. Over the stairs and over them again Mrs, Hobart flew with drops and cordials or anxious inguiry, while below in the drawing-room Judge C er received visits from the two most persistent af the half-dozen callers who applied themselves to the distracted knocker for admittance. By little and little the problem resolved it- self aright. John Wadleigh learned that he | had gained the admiring confidence of the girl he loved, to au extent which nothing could shake; and her father's ready sanction and the pleased congratulations of her aunt and sister confirmed his happiness and hers, By John’s advice Barton was for a time al- lowed to believe that Mildred had by her own act returned to her father’s care, and it was not until Judge Chester, finding the young man of sufficient importance to his daugiter’s happiness, had investigated his suspected past AS approved his suit, that Mildred made known to him the story as it was, conjuring him to think how much happier they must be now than if they had carried out the mad im- pulse which had overwhelmed them both, ‘Thus it happened that, taming his first wrath for Mildred’s sake, Barton came to reflect upon the story as if it had been another man's ad- venture; and that, wishing to have the myste- rious pace made clear, he was led to ask John himself gegarding them. And John, with hon- est charging of all to befriending chance, told how he had watched at the corner of the house, and how, after seizing the coach, he had terri- fied the man who drove into taking a rounda- miles away. “And you cursed me a a 5 throngh it all,” said “and you were seus lieve that Ju | 88 hot as can be borne, in quantities of ‘a half- | sharp knife | fold and baste it together, knew him to be, Wadieigh felt his | the | tablespoonfals of rose water. Apply on a fine laughing. “‘l turned back for this. ingot life isl? thretgh ber seminge ate ing of life itself her suff first ral ball. 4 Earle, in Harper’s Bazar. HOME MATrERs. EVERY-DAY SUGGESTIONS AND USEFUL RECIPES FOR PRACTICAL HOUSEKERPERS—HOUSEHOLD HINTS FOR THE DINING-RooM, PANTRY AND KITCHEN—THINGS WORTH REMEMDERING, —Anne Waew Cooxtne Beans add one-half teaspoon- ful of saleratus. Never Autow Fresn Meat to remain in pa- per; it absorbs the juices, Wuew Sroncr-Cake Becomes Dry it is nice to cut it in thin slices and toast. Scspve tak Pats or Buoop-Buisters by im- mersing in spirits of camphor for five or ten minutes, Corp Tra Is THE Best TatNe with which to clean grained wood. Never use ammonia for this work. Never Pet Sat isto Sovr when cooking till it has been thoroughly skimmed, as salt pre- vents the scum from rising. A Norep Practitioxer Recomexps tightly closing the ears by pressure and taking several sips of cold water to relieve hiccoughs. Kisses.—Beat powdered sugar into the whites of two eggs until very thick. Bake on buttered paper, in a slow oven, Wuex Ustxa tHe Orprxary old-fashioned whitewash of slacked lime add a smail quantity of liquid bluing, It will give ita pearly white tint. To Prevest THE Jurce or Pres from soaking into the bottom crust, wash the crust over with a beaten egg before putting ia the fruit. ‘Tue Sarest axp Most PLEASANT remedy for gastric hemorrhage is said to be water, drank tumblerful to a tumblerful, Cocoanvt Drops.--One grated cocoanut, one- half its weight in powdered sugar. the white of one egg beaten stiff, Drop on buttered paper. Bake ia a slow oven. Fixe Vance Sarr will remove odors from.the hands after peeling onions or handling fish. Simply rub the hands thoroughly with it and then Wash it off, Cre Eoos.—Boil an egg till hard, remove the shell. efully ent off one end with a Scoop out the yoke, chop it tine h it a little peer. salt, ch vinegar. Stuff the whites with this nix Ret JELLy.—One-half of a box of gelatine dissolved, one stick of cinnamon, one p: boiling water, three-fourths of a cupful of | St in into wet molds, For ax Uxcenatixe Toorn take a piece of old, wide, and as long as desired, wet some ¢ flaxseed in cold water, place in the clot Place this upon the outside of the gum: it will soothe the pain in ashort time wnd draw the ulceration to that spot, where it can be easily lanced. Sart Disso.vep 1x Acconot is often found a good thing for removing grease spots from cloth, Molasses will remove the grass stains 80 : clothing of chil- as if it were soap on a Wash the garment ordi . For cleaning windows use chamois skin instead of cloth. it you wish a bright polished surface Be —Heat together till thick, one table- spoonful of powdered sugar, one tablespoonfal of butter, the beaten yolks of five eggs, two aspoonfuls of corn-starch, jnice of one lemon. ain through a fine sieve. Stir till col id the whites of five eggs beaten stiff, Bake ina buttered mold set in hot water. Eat with currant jelly, MED Eves on Everips, use the white of an egg beaten up toa froth with two ed place grows dry; or, stir two ms of powdered alum into the beaten whites of two eggs till a coagulum is formed. Place between a fold of a soft linen rag and apply Lyoxxatse Porators.—One quart of cold boiied potatoes, cut into dice; three tablespoon- fuls of butter, one of chopped onion, chopped parsley, salt, pepper. Se tatocs with the salt and pepper. F in the butter, and when the the potatoes, Stir witha fork. being careful not to break them. When hot. add the pars and cook two minutes longer. Serve immedi- ately on a tt dish, Drorren Ecos witt Haw.—Drop eggs in boiling salted water: when don it of |». claret, one and ene-half cupfuls of sugar. | } about one and one-half inches | one of ____RAILROADs. TEE CREAT, xs = SIEEL NANTA TAR AND SIE Str 1 PQULPMENT, MoM STATION, y 5 teney Limited Pxprers a Naam dinily : Pemt 1s MAG IN EFFECT TRAINS LEANE WAsitNel CORNER OF SINTH AND re with throweh. Sie his. Vacife Express and the Weat. woth Sie B a certo Pittetes me teh [TIMOKE AND POTOMAC RAILROAD. feisua and Rochester da: i Niacare asad wath Slowpitae Car W Fer Witbameport, Lock daily, except Sunday For New York and the fast me 21d 41GB al For bn ‘al except Sunday al Car. of Boston, without chan N. ¥.. all For Brooklyn. Sereey ca 10 p.m. every day throuel. trains Car, For Atlantic Cit; For Baitunore, and 11-40 4:40.68, 7 41 day. 4.405," 46.740, 8:10, 10, For Pope's Creek Lit except Sunda For Anziay. auily.« ALEXANDRIA WAY. AND Al KAILBOAD, For . uv for. Qu mn week dapa s% For k 3K W Ge. Puss, As APRIL 14, 1889, aessee Mi Charlo rt ie. Calera, man Sleeper Washingt rk to Atlanta, pai rr an Sleepers Monts ve bul ” m Bouderr Sleepers tor Birmi en only to Claf- Washington 5 ute. Solid run wains Sunday, for Manassas, tobe. ma. Put Nleope Mempliis, connecting thence for ts, Western Express, daily for Manassas, rarne. € Ney Stay he for Lynehb Charlotte, womery, New —Sonthern Express dail Kalew! Asheville, Bat .. TALLOR. Gen. Pass, Avent Barrons’ Axo Ome Ranzoav | Fehedule meffect Merch 10, 1488. Washing m Irom station cournerof Ni tudd C street a Cleveland, Ves expr val Stat rrange on a) & | cither boiled or fried, which has been heated hot ina tin for a moment. which you would think not enough for one per- son will make a good appetizing meal without | other meat for three or four when used in this way. | Curese Straws.—Mix two ounces of flour, | three ounces of grated cheese, a half teaspoon- ful of salt, and a dish of red pepper together. Beat the k of an egg with two tablespoon- tuls of ice water, add this to the flour and cheese, work all into a smooth paste. Koll out on a board an eighth of an inch thick, Cut some of the paste into small rings aud the re mainder into strips of one-eighth of an inch wide and five inches long; place both on greased sheets and bake in a very moderate oven till a light brown, Put the straws through the rings like a bundle of fagots, Cream or Tomato Sovr.—Thisis a nice spring soup. Cook one-quart can of tomatoes for half an hour with a minced onion and some sprigs of parsle; ep bac tire with a tablespoonful of butt heaping tablespoonful of sifted flour, and when smooth add slowly the liquid of tomatoes and a scant half teaspoonfal of bakin the soda with a ve foaming stops add a quart of boiling milk, Sca- son to taste with salt and pepper, and pour at ouce into the tureen, Serge thin wafer crack- ers with it, Baxep Cream Fise.—Trout and whitefish are best for th or a fish weighing three or four pounds take one pint milk, one onion, one tea- stir ina | Spoonfal of mace, two tablespoonfuls of butter, some powdered cracker and a little of sifted fiour; steam the fish; when done pick it up as fine as possible; season with salt and pepper: put it ina baking pan in layers, sprinkle each flour; boil th butter, and ha’ d mace in the milk, add auce ready to pour over fish when it is arranged in the dish; sprinkle the fine cracker with some butter over the top, and bake the whole in a slow oven for about an hour. Tea, Corree, axD Cocoa are three admissible drinks, but none in excess, For the voice, cocoa is the most beneficial. It should never be made too strong, and those cocoas are the best that have been deprived of their oil. A mended between the exertions of singing. Tea must not be taken too strong. nor when it has drawn too long, for tea then becomes acrid and has a bad influence upon the mucous membrane that lines the throat. There is always a dry sensation after havymg a cup of tea that has been allowed to draw too long. A vocalist had better do without sugar in tea and only take milk with it, Frozex StRawperries.—Mash and strain sufficient strawberries to make one quart of juice; add a pound and a half of sugar, and stir continuously until the sugar is dissolved. Stem a quart of perfectly sound, ripe 5 cut them into halves and sprinkle over a half ound of sugar anda tabl fal of lemon juice. Turn the first mixture into the freezer; pack and turn the crank until partly then add the strawberries. and turn slowly an continuously until the whole is nicely frozen. Serve at once; that is, within thirty or forty minutes, or the strawberries will be too hard to be palatable, How Mirx Swovtp ne Kepr.—Consumers of | hot platter and sprinkle with} chopped ham, | A bit of cold ham | Rub through a strainer fine enough | the seeds, Set the saucepan over | layer with a little flour; do not ‘use too much | cup of thin cocoa, just warm, is to be recom. ! ‘or | s10-00'p. Courea t t708nd NEW YORK & PHILADELPHIA DIVISION. For New York, Treuton, Newark + T8-00, * < | a, . 0 r Parior Cars Sleeping Caron the 10:00 p:m., Shen 40300 ort ts 00. ay. | “10 iy Hl ida. mi, Tao, “4S, *, night. offing, leave Philadelphia for Washinet sui ww only. ed trom tela and resis lett at AND AFTER MAY 7, Iss, THE STE. EI ATLANY, having been rebuilt, will i. ~y : rt on SUNDAYS, TUL-DALS. aid 1H Uline . m. for Potomine river laudituen, ae fi oe «. Grinder’, ‘tan ~~ sown a Wednesdays up ‘out, TLursd dowa and Mouda: ene st. wharf, Aweiit, Alexandria, Va, POTOMAC TRANSPORTATION LINE. For Baltimore and River Landings. Steamer Sue, Capt. Geox! Jeaves Dtephenson's Whart every Sunday at d'clock pm. Hor surtier information yp ‘EPHENSON & BRO. _mh6-6m_ ” hart. MT. VEKNON a) Coe | STEAMER W. W. CORCORAN oatreet wharf daily cexcent Sunday) for Me Vernon cud River Landings as far down a» Glyiuont, at 10 o'clock a m, Returning, ues Washingtos: <a s | Leaves 71 | BS MEK “WAKEFIELD” Leaves 7th-street whart on MONDA\S, THULSDAYS: } and SATURDAYS at 7 a.m. Returning TUESDAYS, FRIDAYS and SUNDA}S p.m, touching st River Landings as far ss Nomini Creek, Va.. St Md. Connects with 1 an SULLN &. town “a ote and lee piscni tee schediae FADGEYT. Age ‘Mabager. = CW. AUDLEY. LASGOW SERVICE. Guemnape seat petanday from. Dew York York to iLASGOW DONDERK}. a = {odonderrs ‘Liverpool, d i if Herne a fresh supply is received. ibe. emptied wat | ‘between York, South: is brought it be into a glass or the new twin-scTew steaners: it should be made absolutely clean and then well aired. ‘Those who have young children | ‘Thusday 3 pendent upon milk food ought to receive a > extremely low, "Apily to i f i E t fi rea ales. [i EESAE SS anestenhe __ WENDT. FEROS) noe Ls 8.00,