Evening Star Newspaper, October 27, 1894, Page 14

14 THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1894-TWENTY PAGES. SOME WAR CIPHERS The System Adopted in Communi- cations. APPARENTLY ONLY A STRING OF WORDS The Interesting Method by Which . the Maze is Straightened Out. THE HISTORICAL VALUE —_—_s—_——— Written for The Evening Star. In a little back room of an old tumbled- down building at the corner of 18th and F strets, used for the offices of the editors and compilers of the “War Records’ Jncle Sam's 200-volume history of the rebeltion— sits a sharp-eyed, deft-fingered man, who for twelve years has spent all his days, and not a few of his uights, unraveling the mystecies of the eipher telegrams, by which the War Department directed the military operations of the great conMjct. Beginning with hardly a line to guide him, Mr. Al- fred Shaw has gradually gathered a little library of cipher keys, several of which he has constructed himself, unul he now pos- sesses the solution to nearly all the puzzles knowa to cryptography, and can rea@ the mest complicated ciphergrams as easily as if they were written in plain Enghsh. A stight notion of the magnitude of this task may be gathered from the fact that the official reports show that the dispatches sent over the lines of the United States military telegraph during « single year of the war numbered 1,200,000, a large por- tion of which were in cipher. As these tel- egrams are in many instances the only records of the correspondence of command- ars in the field, and of the department's or- Jers to execute the highly important mil- ‘tary movements, the necessity for their aceurate translation and careful preserva- tion is apparent. The reputation and per- manent piace in histcry of more than one military chieftain wil! depend upon the care with which these dispatehes are un- Traveled. te The United States military telegraph was organized in 1861 by the late Col. ‘Thomas A. Scott, the Pennsylvania ratiroad mag- rate, and Andrew Carnegie, the multi-mil- lionaire steel manufacturer, was its first chief. Carnegie was a telegraph operator, who had risen from a messenger boy to be superintendent of the Pittsburg division of the Pennsylvania railroad. ‘The organiza- tion of the telegraph was expanded during the summer of 1861, and in October Anson Stager was appointee chief of the service, with the rank of brigade quartermaster. The Cipher Systejas. He was the originator of the cipher sys- tems used throughout the war, and con- structed the first military cipher ever used in telegraphic comraunication for Goy. Den- nison of Ohio, who empleyed it in his cor- respondence with the governors of other states on matters concerning the war. The first code devised for use, by the War Department was constructed by Stager, in October, 1861, and the first key was intrust- @d to the famous detective, Allen C. Pink- erton, for his use while employed by the government on a dangerous secret mission in Kentucky. During the years that fol- lowed, many changes were made in codes and keys, but the principle known to cryp- tographers as the “route and substitution plan” was uniformly adhered to. The military telegraph, as finally organ- ized by Col. Stager, was a_very compre- hensive system of lines, 15,000 miles in length, permanent between important cities and towns, but temporary between mili- tary headquarters and points in the field. On occasion, special wires were run, in an incredibly short space of time, from some general rendezvous through the enemies’ lines to the actual scene of battle, the line- men and operators frequently risking thelr lives in the effort to provide rapid commu- nication between the officials who were directing the movements of the troops from a distance and the commanders under whose eyes the maneuvers were being exe- cuted. The military telegraph operator is cele- brated neither in song nor story, but Mr. Shaw's painstaking work has already brought some recognition to the brave men who, without hope of reward, performed as heroic deeds as did any of the soldiers whose an bitions were fired by the desire for promotion and lasting fame. As the publication of the War Records has progressed the editors have come to depend more upon the cipher dispatches for accurate information regarding impor- tant events, and the extremely small per- centage of errors discovered in them speaks volumes for the splendid nerve of the men who, amid storm of shot and shell, coolly went on with the intricate work of pre- paring, sending, receiving and translating complicated ciphergrams, when a_ single blunder by which an order could be mis- constru:d might cost hundreds of lives. A Cipher Untangled. Another fact of which the members of the corps have reason to be proud ts that during the four years of the war not a single operator betrayed the trust reposed in him by revealing to the enemy the contents of a cipher dispatch, nor was a single one of the many cipher keys employed found in the enemy's hands under circumstances that brought suspicion upon an operator. Although numerous ciphers were devised and used during the war, Col. Stager’s pet ecde, “Number 9,” was most frequently em- Tloyed. Tais was a “route and substitu- tion” cipher, which, though simple in its operation, depended ‘so absolutely upon the keys devised for it that without those keys no human ingenuity could have unraveled dispatches committed to it. It was not un- til the key to this cipher was found among the archives of the War Department that the translator for the “War Records” was able to solve the mystery of its construc- tion. It may be best described by citing an example. On May 18, 1863, Gen. Rosecrans, who was at Murphreesboro, Tenn., sent the fol- lowing dispatch over the military telegraph: Cipher Clerk, Cincinnati, Chio, War pack and advarce ninth the to this the money Burton Imogene train is on Sarthage thence where the cotton mules fhen to corps road concentrate morning moon Colonel Jaques left and for at from to break will signed Dayton have rabbit and to springs Hartsuff by at for home sterday thence Louisville red Glasgow mestown London you Bennett. R. 8. THOMAS, A. D.C. The word “war” with which this mes- sage begins, is known as a “commencement word,” and by reference to the key it is found on a page heeded “Messages of Di- sion of Nine Lines,” as follows: Commencement Words. Toad Volunteer ‘Theater Wise ‘Thomas War . 4 columns 5 columns 6 columns Route, Route, Route, Up 4, up 2, Down’ 1, up 3, Up 3, down 2, Up 8, up 1. ~— Down 2, up 5, Up 4, down 6, Down 4, Up 1) down 6. Clever Devices. “War” is found over the designation, “6 columns,” which means that the dispatch when arranged for translation must be writ- ten out in six columns of nine lines each, acccrding to the route found under the commencement word. By an absolute rule of the cipher one word, called a “blind word” or “null,” is to be dropped at the end of each column. After ruling off the six columns of nine lines each, the transla- tor takes up the message and proceeds to distribute tt according to the prescribed route. Beginning with “pack” the words are written up the third column until the top is reached, when the next word, “money,” which is a null, is dropped. The route then goes down the second column until the bottom is reached, where “cotton” 1s dropp 1 up the fourth column to the top, ques” {8 discarded. The course now skips to the fifth column and goes down to “Dayton,” which is a null,after which the route jumps to the bottom of the first column, beginning with “have” and running to the ‘op, “home” being dropped. The remaining words of the message make up the sixth column, beginning at the top with “yesterday,” and ending at the bottom with “Bennett.” The translator @ew has before him the following, much of which is intelligible when the lines are read across from left to right: For Burton the colonel left yesterday at Jmozene for toon and _ thence by train this morning for Loutsuille Haru is fo concentrate, at red springs on the road = from _ Glasgow to. Carthage 9th corps to Jamestown and thence advance to break rabbit where and when will you have pack mules The message having been arranged by the route indicated by the keyword, it now remains to apply the substitution principle. “Tell-tale” words, such as names of per- sons, localities, bodies of troops, times of meeting, &c., were rarely employed in these dispatches, but in their stead arbitrary substitutes were used, as found in the cipher key, each word having two equivalents, so that if used twice in a message both alter- natives might be employed to prevent a shrewd guess as to the translation. Here is part of the key of substitutions, some- what condensed: Arbitrary Substitutes. Adam Pres't Lincoln Asia Anron Arabia Anthon America Alamo Armada ‘Asp Gen. McClellan ‘Asis Applause Gen. Halleck —Abortive A Gen. Dix Agate ‘Alias Gen. Banks = Amen- Banjo Gen. Grant Bengal Benjamin Gen. Rosecrans Bennett Burton Gen. Burnskle Buckytone Roanoke Gilead Baton Ivery ‘New Ogeans” M Memphi Melon Nashville Mescow Viskabarg oie oF Optte Winchester Orbia Pagan Washington Pagota Rabbit Rridze Racine Kale! Brigade Reading We Tear Walker Youth Troops Yoke Then the Translation. By reference to this key it is found that “Burton” stands for General Burnside, “moon” for Nashville, “Glasgow” for Roanoke, “rabbit for bridge, and “Ben- nett” for General Rosécrans. But one word, “Imogene,” remains to be translated. A glance at the following table made up of feminine names indicating time shows that “Imogene” should be read “9 p.m.” 5:00 Cornelia . 6:30 Harriet . Pr 30 Imogene 00 Rosalie When all made the translator finds the following terse and thoroughiy intelligible message: For General Burnside: The colonel left yesterday at 5 p.m. for Nashville, and thence by train this morning for Louisville. Hartsuff is to concentrate at Red Springs, on the road from Roanoke to Carthage; ninth corps to Jamestown, and thence ad- vance to break London bridge. Where and when will you have the pack mules? (Signed) ROSECRANS. Gen. Grant always used the Stager cipher for transmitting important information, and sometimes sent long detailed reports of several thousand words, which it required many hours of incessant labor to translate. An Anecedote of Grant. A story is told of Gen. Grant which illus- trates his strong sense of justice, while it also shows tne stringency with which the regulations governing the secrecy of the cipher code were enforced. In December, 1863, Granc went to Knoxville without his cipher operator, Beckwith, and while there was much annoyed at receiving dispatches | which he could not translate. On nis re- turn to headquarters he ordered Beckwith to furnish a copy of his key to his aid, Col. Comstock, to prevent any more awkward experiences with cipher messages. Beck- with at first refused, but Grant insisted, and the operator, under threat of arrest, yielded, but ceported the facts to the Se retary of War, who at once telegraphed his diumissal for having violated the depart- ment’s instructions in giving up his code. When Grant learned of the facts, he wrote a very urgent letter to the depart- ment, assuming all blame for the incident, and asking Beckwith’s prompt reinstat ment, a request which was immediately granted. It seems quite appropriate that the last Fiactical use made of the military telegraph should have been to aid in the capture of the assassin of President Lincoln. Beck- with, the cipher operator, who became fa- mous as a member of Gen. Grant's staff, was one of the first to attempt to track the murderer, and it was upon information which he sent to Washington in cipher that Booth was located, and subsequently shot while attempting to escape, the operator re- ceiving $00 of the reward offered by the goverrment for the detection of the as- sassin. soe PUBLIC MEN’S MEMORY. Tom Reed Cannot Memorize His Speeches, but Mr. Cleveland is Letter Perfect. From the Bostoa Herald. Thomas B. Reed has never shown that he possessed the remarkable power of verbal memory that some of our public men have had. Consequently it is not surprising to hear that the speech which he delivered at Old Orchard a week ago was quite different from the speech which he had caused to be printed in advance for the use of the news- papers. Probably Mr. Reed could not de- liver a long discourse frém memory if he tried to do it. Few men have this power in the superlative degree in which Roscoe Conkling had it. No man equaled him in feats of verbal recitation among our mod- ern public men. When he prepared a speech of 12,000 words with which to open a campaign it was his habit to have it put in type in advance, to memorize it, and then to repeat it word for word before a great audience. Once he had a “campaign open- er’ in advance in the office of the New York Times. The Times reporter took slips | of the speech to the Brookiyn Academy of Music, where the speech was delivered, and followed the great orator. He discovered that Mr. Conkling was letter perfect in the recitation, but that he transposed one passage of considerable length, uttering it at a later time wn he intended, yet not altering a word, a the speech was so di- vided by topics that this was possible with- out affecting the force of the argument with the audience. Mr. Blaine had no special power of this kind, and whenever he spoke at much length on any formal occasion he always wrote out what he had to say and read it from manuscript or from type proof. Among the men now prominent there is no one who excels Mr. Cleveland in his power of verbal memory. Mr. Cleveland can pre- pate a long adcress in writing, read it over once, and then stand up before ah audience and repeat {t without changing a word. Since Mr. Conkling’s time there has been hardly any one prominent in public life who has sought to excel in this wonderful accomplishment. Probably Mr. Wilson of West Virginia can do better at it than any other man in Congress. — A Newsboy’s Bicycle. From the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Two ragged newsboys, one white, the other colored, stood on an Olive street cor- ner as an athletic young man flashed by on @ handsome safety bicycle. “I wish I had lots o’ money,” said the little coon, “so's I could buy me one o’ dem wheels.” “Oh, dat’s easy, cooney,” responded the other; “no trouble ‘tall. Take de rubber outer yer neck an’ de wheels outer yer head an’ put —_ togeder, and den you got a bicycle. er” eee ——_ A Good Deal Better Of. From Life. HORSFORD'S ACID PHOSPHATE Makes Delicious Lemonade. ‘A teaspoonful added to a glass of hot or cold water, and sweetened to the taste, will be found refreshing and invigorating, ALL'S WELL From All the Year Round. CHAPTER L “All's well!” “AU's well!” The musical ery floated down from the two black figures that stood, vaguely out- lined through the mist, high above the vessel's deck. It floated down, in ever-widening ripples, round the great black hull and over the tessing waters. It was caught by the waves as they dashed from the vessel's prow, and reced past her tall sides, and foamed, and splashed, and eddied in her wake. It was caught up and thrown back, and carried on again, and swept*olit into the ‘night=out into the night, and the shrouding mist, and the rotling waves of the Atlantic; and there the ripples of its sound quivered for the last time and died away. It floated down, already muffled by the! inist, over the long, wet decks, to the ears of a man who paced to and fro in the after part of the vessel. it floated down and struck upon his ears, and vibrated in them lke the ringing of a bell. bs And the man turned in his restless walk and paced back again, with the cry still echoing in his ea. ‘All's well!” . He even repeated it to himself, softly, slowly, like one trying to reassure himself of some good news, too good to be as yet believed. He murmured it to himself with half-closed lips each time that he paused in that monotonous pacing to and fro. His footsteps fell upon the deck and beat out the rhythm of the same two words. And each time that he murmured them, each time that his listening brain caught that sound in the rushing of the wind, or all whistling of the ropes, or the steady tramp of his own footfalls, there was a smile up- on his face that was not good to see. His fellow passengers on board the ship knew him as the Silent Man. No doubt he had some other name; no doubt the captain knew, and the ship's books held it written down in full, but to all the passengers who knew him he was known only as the Silent Man. And there were few on board who knew him not; few who had not noticed the tall, geunt figure that strode incessant- ly to and fro, and up and down upon the deck; few who had not shrunk insensibly from that haggard face, and the lips that murmured forever to themselves, but could hardly be brought to frame an answer to another; few who had not wondered who this man was, with his murmuring lips, and his taciturnity, and his ceaseless tramp on the ship's deck—who had not speculate on the business that brought him on that voyage of the Amsterdam across the broad Atlantic. ‘Once more the bell sounded, and the voices rang out through the darkness. And the Silent Man still paced, with bowed head and folded arms, up and down, to and fro, in the gathering mist. Once again the bell was almost due to Sound, but the cry that broke then from one of the two motionless figures on the lookout bridge was not the same—a cry of sudden fear, of wild alarm—with waving arms and frantic gestures, and hands pointing out into | the darkness; pointing into ‘the darkness no longer now; pointing at something vast and | shapeless, like a cloud rising from the water; something that came swiftly, noiselessly, loomingiy out of the fog, ever nearer and nearer, or towering high above the vessel's | masts, lit with a strange glimmering light something that a moment later, with a noise of crackling ice, with a horrible, rending, grinding jar, with a bipw that made the great ship quiver like a compass needle, hed into the bows of the Amsterdam. For an instant she remained reared up against the iceberg, held fast in the jagged cleft that her prow fad cut, then slowly, with a rushing swirl of water, slid back into the waves. She was sinking in mid-Atlantic! One of the first boats that were launched contained the Silent Man, He had taken his | place quietly, almost mechanically. He was rowing now, and the beat of his oar in the rowlock seemed to him, as he gazed back at the misty outline of the sinking ship, to be still grimly, darkly, ominously echoing those words: “Ail's wel All that night they rowed, menaced in- cessantly by masses of detached ice, by float- ing wreckage, by foam-topped surf that broke over the open boat—all that night and the next day, and for many days after. ‘Who can ‘tell the horror of those days? Of days when the shrovding mist robbed them of all hope of rescue; when the sun beat down through the damp-laden atmos- phere for hour after hour on their uncovered heads; when no cloud in the sky came to screen them for an instant from its scorch- ing, dazzling rays; when they drifted they knew scarcely whither, and heard afar off the fog signals of vessels that passed them unheeded in the mist; when arms ached and strength was failing, and hunger and thirst were doing their fell work, and courage and hope together were well-nigh spent. Of nights when the rising breeze blew through their saturated clothes and chilled the very life within them; when other boats, the companions of their fate, were missed and lost sight of; when the great rolling swell threatened in the darkness to over- whelm them, and each giant wave as it passed seemed only to delay the death that the next must surely bring; when the misery, and anguish, and despair were made deeper and blacker, and more intolerable by the darkness. Of days and nights later on when the heat, and thirst, and weakness had done their work, and men began to rave, and sing aloud, and say wild, unmeaning things; when fever and death came among them; when it was no longer a strange sight to see dtad men—their bodies stripped, that their cloth- ing might afferd protection to the living— cast over into the gray waves without a prayer, almost without a thought; when the number of the living souls on board that lit- tle boat shrank awfully from day to day. ‘When there were at last but six alive—but five-and then, one dim, gray morning, only three. "The Silent Man still lived. Through all these days he lived—silent, unmoved, un- | complaining, working at his oar like a tireless machine, possessed, as it were, with a very greed for life. Through all those days he lived—untouched by hunger or thirst, by heat or chill, by fatigue, or ex- posure, or despair; through all those days— unheeding everything around him, living in a sort cf dream. He had dreamt the same waking dream that night when he paced to end fro on the deck of the Amsterdam. He had dreamt the same dream, but not quite all of it; had seen the same dream-figures, sleeping and waking, for twelve months past; but now—in his weakness and the horror of his daily life, with madness and delirtum, and death atl around him—the dream-figures gathered color and vividness and substan- tiality; they became to his disordered brain living comrades, ving and moving with im in a different world. ‘The scenes of the vision always recurred in the same order. ‘A cottage lying at the end of a long shad- ed garden. The sun shining on the red-tiled roof, and the white muslin curtains in the little windows, and the rustic porch of trellis-work, on which a rose tree climbs stragglingly. The garden, bright with flow- ering lilac, and drooping arbors of labur- num, and all the uncultured profusion of English country flowers. The air around filled with the fragrance of the blossoms and the spring song of countless birds. And over all a sense of brightness and hap- piness and home. f ‘A little two-year-old child, toddling with open arms and laughing eyes, down the gravel path. % A fair-haired young mother, thai rvns and catches up the little girl, and bears her with merry laughter, heid aloft in her arms, down the path to meet the dreaming man. A moment of exquisite happiness, of mutual love, of joy so boundless that it seems to fill the soul, and brim over. A time of happy rest, of unimpaired content, when those two sit In the rose-twined porch, with the child playing at their feet, and watch the sun as he sinks to his rest. A shadow that falls like a knife between the dreaming man and his wife. A shadow at first thin and gray, that seems, for all it 1s so slight, to rob the sunshine suddenly of all its warmth and brightness, and leave the evening cold and cheerless. A shadow that grows quickly broader, and blacker, and icier, until it blots out the figures of the wife and child and darkens the little porch; that steals up swiftly, like a cloud of deadly vapor round the red tiles of the cottage roof, and wraps all the picture at last in an impene- trable shroud. A shadow that somehow gathers itself gradually into the form of a man’s face— coarse, thick-lipped, sensuous, with gloat- ing eyes and false smile—a face that might, for all its coarseness, be made attractive by that luring smile, yet in itself cruel, and dissolute, and evil-looking. Slowly the face emerges from behind that shadowy curtain. Slowly the features come dimly forth, as one by one they recur to the tortured mind of the man in his waking dream. Slowly the eyes of the dream face turn and gaze down upon him mozkingly. Then a great surge of blowi-red light floods over the gibing face, and hides it from view, and there ts only the gray shadow left. So far, the vision had always been the same; but lately, since the Silent Man had taken his passage on board the Amsterdam, there had been something more which fol- lowed it—another ending to the never-end- ing dream. An ending in which he sees a scrap of pa- per, traced over with trembling characters— a letter dated four weeks before from No. 23 Omaha avenue, Lumberville, U. S. A. The characters range themselves unerr- ingly before his mind: “I have sinned, and God knows I have re- pented. -I do not ask to be forgiven. That cannot be. But for our child's sake, for Itttle Goldie’s sake, come quickly. “She who was once YOUR WIFE The Silent Man's hand steals into the breast-of bis: coat, an@* touches~soraething there—something hard and cold, made of metal; something that he touches softly and caressingly, looking at his fingers af- terward, to make sure that the sea water | has not reached it; something that in the darkness of the night, as he lies crouching in the bows of the tossing boat, he takes from his breast and examines and weighs in his hand. And he listens to the washing of the waves as they splash on the boat's side, and laughs softly to himself as they, t seem to bear the same 1.essage—“Aul’s well!” All was yet well—for what he had to do. The morning dawned at last,” when there were but two living souls besides himse?f on board the boat—dawned with a glorious up- rising of the sun, to show that the deathiy fog had tolled away, that 0)! was clear as far as the horizon line, that a sailing ship was standing down toward then. They were saved! Who shall say what those men felt? Who shall describe the weeping and laughter intermixed, the incoherent cries of joy, the frantic waving of the emaciat»1 arms, the wild ejaculations of confused thanksgiving and imprecation that burst from their blackened lips? Who shall wonder that, but for their failing strengih, they would have cast themselves into the waves, and struggled to gain the boat that was lowered to rescue them; that in the mument of their preservation from a death bu: few hours distant their minds became distraught? All save the Silent Man. He alone was calm. To him alone their rescue seemed not une<pected. To tam alone it was not a miracle like to the rais- ing from the dead. To hin alone it was but the fulfillment of an omen. ‘The sailing ship that picked them up was bound for Rio, but the Sileat Man was des- tined to dream that strause dream mary a time yet before land was reached. For sev- eral weeks they beat about on the Atlant They were delayed by headwinds, thrown out of their course by constantly recurring gales, becalmed for three whole days on the equator. It was close upon two months from that giorious dawn when the litue boat had been espted drifting on che waste of tossing waters that they first saw the coast of Brazil—like a streak of bluish cloud rising behind the sea line—opening out be- fore them. Their voyage was nearly at an end. The bluish cloud resolved itself into dark- green masses of vegetation growing down to the water's edge; the vegetation became dotted and broken ‘by the while roofs of buildings; the buildings collected them- selves together, tler beyond tier, and blocked out the vegetation; a great con- course of masts and spars rose be buildings; they were entering Rio harbor. It was long yet before the Silent Man re- sumed his journey. There were inquire to be made—inquiries wherein the obje of that journey was sought for, but not re- vealed; ‘the story of the loss of the Am- sterdam and of the awful days that fol- lowed it had to be told again and again, a sum of money was raised and paid to him. At last he was embarked for New York. ‘Then followed more days of dazaling heat, and glittering water, and the rising and falling of the ship's deck; days in which he lay inactive, watching the feathery clouds | that floated across the sky, tracing the ship's wake as it wound over the gigssy surface of the sea; nights in which he saw again the chill shadow creep up the cot- tage wall, and the face fashion itself out of the shadow, and the flash of blood that ended it all, And then his hand would seek the thing that he carried in his breast, and he would look at it stealthily in the moon- ght and laugh exultingly to himself. Once more he was on land, in the crowded streets of New York. He wanted to get to Lumberville; it is a long distance, almost half way across the continent. But he had got plenty of time to do that which he had come to His money would not suffice to carry him the whole way. For two days he traveled by the railroad, fancying in the motion of the cars that he was still at sea; expecting almost, as he looked from the windows of the car, to see the leaden-colored waves, and the gray mist, and the tangles of float- ing sea-weed. Then his money was gone, and he must walk. Rough, loosely made roads, thick with sand and grit. Long days’ tramps under the broiling sun, when the little hillock or the stunted tree, that looked so close at and across the unbroken level of the prai- rie, was only reached after half an hour's weary walking. Starlit nights, when he cast himself do-vn on the long, coarse grass to sleep the deathlike sleep of exhaustion, to dream once more that never-changing dream. Homesteads of hewn timber, where he was made welcome in a rough, yet kindly fashion, where he was allowed to sleep, perhaps, on a bed of straw in the empty barn, where round-eyed children brought him milk and hunks of bread, and stayed behind to stare at the silent, uncouth man. Cities of six months’ growth, proud in their uprising buildings, which never would be finished, and their mighty streets, which never would be built. Cities in which he was received with cold suspi- cion, as another competitor in that strug- gling throng of hungered humanity, whence he was watched on his departure with un- concealed relief More homesteads, more aspiring cities, more of the rolling boundlessness of the prairies. ‘And then—Lumberville, CHAPTER IL. It wes half-past three in the afternoon when the limping figure—his clothes torn and grimed with dust, his face and hands scorched and seamed and blackened by ex- posure—slouched up under the shade of the eucalyptus trees that skirted Omaha Ave- nue. His right hand was hidden in his breast. His hungry, bicodsnot eyes scanned the houses furtively as he passed. Number twenty-six. ‘The man faltered. THis hand trembled— even twitched once or twice convulsively—- beneath his coat. His eyes turned—ir-volun- tarily, as it were—toward the hovse, and met the cves of a woman who was sitting in the porch. A middle-aged woman with a pleasant, comely face, who lay back in her chair, fanning herself and rockiag gently to and fro in the shadow of the veranda. As the eyes of the Silent Mar met hers, in a va- cant, wild-looking stare, she ceased rocking and smiled, but not unkindly. “Well, you're a pretty figure, anyhow, she said. There was a pause. The Silent Man still looked at her. His hand still fumbled be- neath his coat. “Seams to me as you've be2n doin’ a bit of walking,” continued the woman, still smiling. “And, by 'pearances, it’s been pret- ty rough. Are you hungry?” she inquired suddenly with a jerk. ‘The Silent Man said nothing. The woman recommenced her rocking, and went on talking in her quiet, even voice: “If so be, 1 s'pose I could give ye a bite and a drop of ice water, and not hurt my- self.”” The man wetted his lips with his torlgue and spoke all at once, hoarsely, in a cur- fous, gabbling whisper. “Is there a man living here—Spencer?” he said. The woman looked at him keenly. “What has that got to do with you, any- how? Are you a friend of Mr. Spencer's? He started, and a sudden light came into his filmy, bloodshot eyes. “Then he does live here? I am—a friend of his.” What is that hand doing that works ner- vously to and fro beneath his coat? That seems to be clutching something in its grasp, yet never comes from his breast? The woman does not see it. She is look- ing across the road at a patch of golden sunflowers that grow in a hedge opposite. When she turns again to the Silent Man the hand is still. “Well, Mr. Spencer don't live hers now, so you're just wrong,” she answered, with sonie asperity, rocking herself a trifle more energetically. “And not much loss, either. And if you're a friend of his, I don't envy ‘ou, not much, A man who could go and leave his wife—or who was a wife to him, anyway, whatever she was—with a sick child and nary a dollar in the house, leave her and go ciean off, he’s what I'd call a skunk. See there!” ‘The man had to moisten his lips again be- fore he could speak. “And she?" he muttered. ‘She? D'ye mean Mrs. Spencer? Well, she’s dead, poor soul.”” “Dead!” He weuld have fallen but for the stem of the eucalyptus tree. He leaned against it, shivering. His eyes gazed dreamily at the sunshine in the road—at the sunshine and the clump of nodding sunflowers, and the white pinafore of a little girl, who was playing around their tall stalks. He even followed with his eyes the flight of a scarlet butterfly, as it fluttered quiveringly from flower to flower. It seemed as if his brain was rumbed and unable to think. Try as he would, he coul] not think. ‘The woman: looked at him compassion- ately. “I'm sorry if I’ve skeered you,” she said, more gently. ¥I just didn’t know as you were acquainted with Mrs. Spencer, or I wouldn't have bluffed it out:like that. But it’s the truth, anyway; so it 'ud have had to ccme out all the same, one word or one thousand. Maybe ye'd like a drink of ice uwater,”’ she,added quickly, as she rose {rom her chair. : The man motioned to her with his hand. It had fallen from his breast now. “No, no,” he whispered. ‘Tell me—how it was. The thoughts were coming back to him now—black, evil thoughts, that he shud- dered vaguely to remember; thoughts of what he had come there for; thoughts of how it had all ended with that woman's word, “Dead!”* “You'd best have something, for you do lock real bad,” the woman fersisted. “But there, if you won't, I s'pose you won't. Well,” she continted, settlirg herself once more in the chair and folding her ample arms, “I've said this yer Mr. Spencer was a skunk, and a skun« he was to her! And she was frit of him, dewnright frit—couldn’t abcar of him, far's 1 could see, and yet daren’t speak ‘to him kardly, she was that frit. Well, sir, I told you that they had a chila"—she was getting loquacious now, in her placid, droning manner, and rocking herself with a steady swing that seemed to stimulate hes conversation—‘anyway, there was a child with them, though I never could onderstand exactly whose ‘twas, and he was more of a skunk t> that child than it’s in the natur’ of man to be to his own, and the child was took sick with the diphthery. That was when he bolted. Sick as sick the child was, poor little mortal! Ang then Mrs. Spencer come out—come out pretty g, too. I hadn't had much of a notion x while the man was with her—I don’t mind cenfessin’'—with her dolly face and fool ways and no'more spir’t than a chip- munk; but when sho comes out as she did come cut, I kinder cf arged my ideas of her. Yes, sir! The way ske nursed that, child, and’ sat up with her, day and night, and Sundays and workdays, and never took no food, so’s she could buy medicines for the child, and got sick herself, and didn’t care, but went on nursin’ just the same—well, it was pretty strong! And I—you'd just as well change your mind and have some- thing,” the woman interposed, earnestly, “you're lookin’ that skeered.” ‘The man shook his head irritably. “Go on.” “Weil, there ain't much more to tell. She took the diphthery then, as I said, and took it bad. And there was no one to nurse her— ‘cept what I did, and that wasn’t much— and she'd sorter taken the grit out of her- self with all the nursin’ and watchin’ and ’ herself, and she couldn't seem ter stand out against it. And so—she died. That's all” ‘There was a long pause. The woman was very quiet. There was a gleam in her eyes, as she looked away across the sunny fields, as though tears were standing there. The | man stil leaned against the stem of the eucalyptus tree, twisting in his hands a fallen leaf that he had caught as is fluttered down, “And the child?’ he said at last. she die?” i “No, sir! quie “Did the woman answered, still very e didn’t die. I guess the nursin’ saved her, When she come round,” she con- tinued presently, “there was no one left to take care of if you understand; so me and i husban’, cousiderin’ the lonesome- re the poor little critter, kinder ‘dopted jher, nut having any children of our own. | And she’s settied down with us just wonder- It's real good to have her. Goldie,” cried, “come here, dearie!” » man turned quickly, shaking with a spasmodic tremor. lie!’ she called | full. again softly— he Httle girl, who was playing in the ze by the patch of sunflowers, rose and turned toward them. For an instant she hesitated, shyly, wondering; then suddenly she stretched out ‘er little arms and began to run acr the road. “Dada: she cried. ‘The tinge of golden light was fading froin crests of the waves. The last the faint flush of the sunset was fading from the western sky. A tall, grizzled man and a golden-haired girl, ripening into woman- hood, Were standing on the hurricane deck of the ocean steamer, watching the flush as it paled and died away. He was a rich man from out west, every- body knew. Had been mayor of Lumber- ville, some said, and had made a great for- | tune in live stock and grain. A self-made jman, who had risen from nothing, but de- served his success by straightforwardness and hard work. And the girl was his daughter. ‘The flush faded from the violet summer sky. The stars came out, one by one, shin- ing brightly in its clear depths, The man and girl turned from where they stood on the vessel's stern, and began to walk slowly back—in the direction where the sun, when it rose on the morrow morn, would rise on the rocky headlands and rugged cliffs that the man had last seen from the deck of the Amsterdam, as they faded into the bluen of the sky, ‘close on fourteen years befor And as they turned, the clear voices rang out once more over the silent waters: “Ail's well!” “All's well! a The Dead Babe. From the Chicago Record. Last night, as my dear babe lay dea In ay T knelt and sai —_ “0 God! what have I done, Or in what wise offended Thee, ‘That ‘Theu shouldst take away’ from me My little son? “Upon the thousand useless lives— Upon the guilt that yaunting thrives— y Wrath were better spent! Why shonldst ‘Thou take my little son? Why shouldst Thou veut Thy wrath upom This innocent Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, Before inine eyes the vision spread Of things that might have been: Licentious riot, eruel strife, Forgotten prayers, a wasted Ife, Dark red With sia! Then, with soft music in the air, I saw another vision there: ‘A Shepherd, in whose keep A litde lumb—iny Tittle chtld— Of worldly wisdom undefiled, Lay fast asleep! Last night, as my deac In those tivo message A. wisdom manifest; And, though my arms be childless now, Tam content—to Him I bow Who knoweth best. - ‘ ~EUGENE FIELD. babe lay dead, roe ‘A writer in a London paper declares tt ts not impossible that aluminum may be ap- plied to the making of drapery goods, since it can be drawn into wires finer than a hair, and yet so fine and supple that they can be woven with silk. It is believed that there is a wonderful future before alumi- num, owing to its remarkable lightness and tenacity. There are those ‘who think they see in this material a solution of the prob- jem of flying machines, and some of the prophets go so far as to predict an age of aluminum, not very far ahead of the pres- ent time. ——_—+e+ An Eye to Business, From Life. > “Hey, Chimm: holler extrys wid how's dat for a t’roat ter Eee BUT POOR BUTTERINE, IS NOT CHEAP AT ANY PRICE. TRY OURS AND BE CONVINCED THAT WE SELL THE ONLY HIGH GRADE. ‘THERE'S A DIFFERENCE IN BUT- TERINE. GET THE BEST. 2 () SQUARE MARBLE AND GLASS STANDS, B ST. WING, NEAR (TH ST., Center Market. KIRK'S Elegant Silver Ware. Also Queen Anne, Louis XIV, Empire styles tn Gift Pieces and Combination Sets—Spoons, Forks, Dimer, Tea and Dessert Services. MANUFACTUKED BY SAM’L KIRK & SOW, < 106 B Baltimore st., Established 1817. Baltimore, fd. Also Diamonds, Watches and Jewelry of the highest grade. ocS-1m Gloves, As well as women's und children’s, are within the lines of our sto Men need not be competed to wear the filly fitting gloves that they get at a place where gloves are @ side line of not much importance. They cen get gloves that Ht as well as a Woman's usually do, here. Prices not high. Men’s Gloves at $1.00. ( ( ‘sg Gloves at $1.50. Men’s Gloves at $2.00. Products of the best French manufacturers—tried on and) war- ranted. ( Also CASHMERE and HEAVY « LINED MEN'S GLOVES. ( HIBBERT’S GLOVE EMPORIUM, : ( 606 11th St, cen & Lothrop's. 560 Ix crowded with all that's desirable KPETS and RUGS. There's Department in ©. old or out of date in the stock. New weaves, pretty and handsome designs. The prices would be long, 80 won't give it, But you may be sured of a big doilar's worth in Whatever sou want. TF Hassocks of every kind and de- scription. he Houghton Co., 1214 Fst. nw. Smallpox Prevented ABSOLUTELY, EFFECTUALLY, SURELY —by using the scientific disinfectant. Phenyl \ Not merely a smell kilier, %4-pound “cans. pound cans. nothing ‘but A GERM DESTROYER. I At all .25c. |Druggists. . TT 1th st. now. oc36-tf ‘lake a Note Of our address’ or ask central for 592 when you want hurried and faultless laundry work done. Ex- amine our work and compare It with that of other laundries, and you'll be convinced that our work possesses all the superiority we claim for it. Trust us with your next laundering. mere xe 6Stea GODFREY’S , Steam 1307 F Street. donee eee ee ee STORAGE. ‘We tave a large warchouse, one story of which 1s devoted to the storage of household goods in private rooms, which are well lighted and can be sevurely locked, and on ether floors ample space for every description of merchandise, We make 4 spectalty of carriages, which are kept covered and thoroughly clean. Vans and large covered wagons for moving. ‘Telephone 495. Littlefield, Alvord & Co., 26th and D Sts. N.W. fy31-tu.th&s3m NTT GRA’ Epps’s Cocoa. BRL AKFAST—SUPPER. “By a thorough knowledge of the natural laws iblch govern the operations of digestion and autrl tion, and by a careful lication of the fine prop- erties of well-selected Mr. Epps has vided FOR OUR BREAKFAST AND SUPPER & @clicately Mrvoured beverage which may save us many heavy doctors’ bills, “It is by the judicious vse — sien, ot diet ge & constitution may gradually up until st: resist. “every tendency to disease. "Husdreds. ot subtle maladies are foating around us ready to Attack wherever there is a weuk point, We may Sess, Sup Ud dod Sea oa wel pure and a ithea ‘trame.”—Clvil Bervice Gazette Pe ‘Made simoly with boiling water or milk. Sold only in half-pound tins, by Grocers, labeled thus: JAMES EPPS & CO., Lid., thie Ch . iuiee a mista, tuly DEUNKENNESS OR THE LIQUOR HABIT POSI- tively cured by administering Dr. Haines’ Gol- den Specitic, it can be given in a cup of coffee or tea, or in foud, without the knowledge of the patient. it is absolutely harmless, and will effect & permanent and cure, whether the patient 18 a moderate drinker or an alco- holie wreck, (it has been given in thonyands, of FOR AP ED oveTT faatance perfect card pas wed. It never ‘The systein once im- Preguated with the Specitic, it becomes am utter impossibility forthe liquor appetite to exist. GOLDEN SPECIFIC CO., Props., Cincinnatl, Odio, Particulars free. To be’ had of B.S. WILLIAMS % sts. n.w.; 8 F. WARE, under Hout” House, Washingioas myi2-ta,theom" MENDING —For Bachelors. ‘or Benedicts. Maidens. Bring us your dresses, yout hosiery, or anything chat needs ‘a stitch and you will be more than pleased with results. Obarges pogeditagty_seodernte. Goods called and delivered: NIVERSAL MENDING. 00. a 0cl3-1m Room 4, 1114-1116 F at. POSSASSSOTORES St Bvery Day One Customer Gets A Pair of Shoes FREE. ——-- $2.65 Buys Ladies’ and Men's Shoes of the same quality as those you have to pay $3.50 for elsewhere. he Wi arren Shoe House, GRO W. RICH, 919 F ST. 284 ~ SOPPOOOSOSE SSIS HF LIOHOHS ‘ar | Psoas —south of Philadelphia is here. It includes all tromes of any reputation in existence. If we cannot fit you, nobody in Washing- fre cae, Full line of clastic hoslery at or money back. Phy Lady attendant. ai Beriin ss Co., F & tath Sts., 17a —o 3 8d floor. ‘Take the elevator, Bargain In Hair Switches. $2.50, Was $5.00. $4.50, Was $6.00. $6.5¢, Was $10.00. In all shades; also largere- ductions in Gray Switches. Hair Dressing, Cutting and Shampooing in best manner by competent artists at S. Heller’s, 720 7th St. Ladies’ Tan Coats And Heavy Wraps That are ast the “correct sha sent here. We them proper color that fashion dictates. No ripping required. Nj jury, even to most delicate. fabrics. dias C7 A postal will bring our wagon. Anton Fischer, 906 G St., Matchless Process D: ing and ‘Cleaning. 13d At Ramsay’s Your watch cleaned for $1; watch mainspring, 3. All our work warranted for year. ib ow Who Knows a Woman Who bas ne ! BURCHELL'S SPRING LEAF A ther it is bet- ter this season (han eve: AY 3 be because ‘this year’s tea crop is better. Tell hor its purity, strength and delicions favor is excelled by iio othe: no mittier how high the price. ‘Teli lier it’s ouly 50e. G7 Tell her we seud it, by mail . . oy, y mail or ex N. W. BURCHELL, 132 BORN AND RAISED IN Ii aces and guarantee | fist-ciase St. mater pelass workmanship. Suits ft $16 up. Pant up. Formerly with Nicoll, the tailor. “B. PEERAO, O22 Pa. ave. aw, oct Morphine Habit. DR. L M. HARRISON, SPECIALIST. Morphine, Optum and Cocaine Habits cured with- out suff OF deteniion from business, 0c24-Gr' Office, 14: New York re. 2: : Gas Fixtures. Gemnetaate ena trecara tte Sommeioe Lamps. Our $1.65 Lamp is complete. Just for students, Gas ‘Heating Stoves. $1.50 Stove will heat moderate-size Can cook on it also, winter and sum- c. A. Muddiman,614 12th St 50c.and $1. Palms, rece Half Week. F.W. Bolgiano, 1341 7th & 717 15th St Physical Culturd orset Company. Our whole window is full of those 69- Every one healthy and luxuriant—ond never been used for decorations, TFChrysanthemums — re- ceived daily. cent Corsets we've told you so much about lately. ‘They make a splendid and fmnress yon at a glance With the ‘fact that theyre ‘worth ‘much more than we're asking for them. ‘They're in white, drab and cern. ¢ dozen tp all. [Regular $1.25 Corsets for 69 CENTS. ” Mrs. Wheian,figr. sx. ( G se ot peceice cas aeeeese o| “ * ° * > for @ wedding present. Certainly you cannot find a better place to make such purchases, for we can show as clegant a line of such goods as can be fonnd anywhere. CUT GLASS BON BONS, DISHES, VASES, OBLERTES, SALAD ROWLS, PUNCH BOWLS, WATER ROTTLES, ICH OREAM SETS, COLOGNE BorT- TLES, &c. STERLING AND PLATED GOODS to creat variety. Also new line of IMPORTED VASES, iWedding : 4 e Presents.? | Searcely a day parses without our sf having calls for “something suitable ; are psking. 3M. W. Beveridge, POTTERY AND PORC AINS, 1215 F and 1214 G sts. 48d, Soe soeccarercoogceeooesersats Drop a postal today —asking us to call for that sult to be dred ed. Nobady can do it better—nobody than we. Washing lace curtains and blankets ts one of our specialties. Spindler’s, acs Anton Fischer, DOOR ABOVE F ST, ON 12TH. HVSSSOROCEOC Soe OS I ORS 66.60% mc It bas steel clamps. It bas in. hinges. It has {ron bottom. It bas two trays. Tt has genuine ior” lock. Tt has heavy lock-bott. It ts canvas covered. It is musiin lined. . . . We have a 88 Case for $4, the ec °° which cannot be * elsewhere for $5. al of had . Kneessi, 425 7th St. 7 ‘ Seen seeeeees s+: x |