Evening Star Newspaper, March 30, 1895, Page 18

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MARCH 30, 1895-TWENTY-FOUR. PAGES. =. Johnson & Bacheller.) CHAPTER I. I believe that the last story that I told you, my friends, was about how I received at the bidding of the emperor the cross for valor which I had, if I may be allowed to say so, so long deserved. Here upon the lapel of my coat you may see the ribbon, but the medal itself I keep in a leathern pouch at home, and I never venture to take it out unless one of the modern peace generals, or some foreigner of distinction who finds himsetf in our little town, takes advantage of the opportunity to pay his respects to the well-known Brigadier Gerard. Then I p e it upon my breast, and I give my mustache the old Marengo twist which brings a gray point into cither eye. Yet. with it all, I fear that neither they, nor you, either, my friends, will ever realize the man that I was. You know me only as a civilian—with an air and manner, it is true—but still merely es a c Had you seen me as I stood in the doorway of the inn at Alamo on the first day of July in the year IS10 you would then have kncwn what the hussar may attain to. For a month I had lingered in that ac- cursed village, and all cn account of a lance thrust in my ankle, which made it Impossible for me to put my foot to the ground. There were three of us at first— old Bouvet of the hussars, Jacques Reg- nier of the cuirassiers and a funny little voltigeur captain whose name I forget—but they all got well and hurried on to the “It is I who can hel front, while I sat gnawing my fingers and tearing my hair, and even, as I must con- fess, weeping from time to time as I thought of my hussars and the deplorable condition in which they must find them: selves when deprived of their colonel. I was not a brigadier yet, you understand, although I already carried myself like one. But I was the youngest coionel in the whole service, and my regiment was wife and children to me. It went to my heart that they should be bereaved. It is true that Villaret, the senior major, was an ex- cellent soldier, but still even among the best there are degrees of merit. Ah, that happy July day of which I speak when first I limped to the door and stood in the golden Spanish sunshine! It was but the evening before that I had heard from the regiment. They were at Pastores, on the other side of the moun- tains, face to face with the English—not forty miles from me by road. But how was I to get to them? The same thrust which had pierced my ankle had slain my chare- I took advice from Gomez, the land- , and from an old priest who had slept that night in the inn, but neither of them cculd do more than assure me that there was not so much as a colt left upon the whole country side. The landlord would not hear of my crossing the mountains without an escort, for he assured me that El Cuchillo, the Spanish guerrilla chief,was out that way with his band, and that it meant a death by torture to fall into his hands. The old priest observed, however, that he did not think a French hussar would be deterred by that, and if I had had any doubts they would, of course, have been decided by his remark. But a horse! How was I to cet one? I was standing in the docrway plotting and plenning when I heard the clink of shoes, and looking up I saw a great bearded man with a blue cloak frogged across in mil- {tary fashion coming toward me. He was riding a big black horse with one white stocking on his near foreleg. “Hullo, comrade!” said I, as he came up to me. “Hullo!” said he. “I am Col. Gerard of the hussars,” said I. “I have lain here wounded for a menth and I am now ready to rejoin my regiment at Pastores.”” you.” “I am M. Vidal of the commissariat,”” he answered, “and I am myself upon my way to Pastores. I should be glad to have your company, colonel, for hear that the mountains are far from safe.” “Alas!” said I, “I have no horse. But if you will sell me yours I will promise that an escort of hussars shall be sent back for rou.” aie would not hear of It, and it was in vain that the landlord told him dreadful stories of the doings of El Cuchillo, and that I pointed out the duty which he awed the army and to the country. He would not even argue, but called loudly for a cup of wine. I craftily asked him to dismount and to drink with me, but he must have seen something in my face, for he shook his head, and then as I approached him with some thought of seizing him by the leg he jerked his heels into his horse's flanks and was off in a cloud of dust. My faith, it was enough to make a man mad to see this fellow riding away so gaily to join his beef barrels and his brandy casks, and then to think of my five hundred beautiful hussars without their leader. I was gazing after him with bitter thoughts in my mind when who should touch me on the elbow but the little priest whom I have mentioned. “It is I who can help you,” said he. am myself traveling south.” I put my arms about him and as my ankle gave way at the sama moment we tiearly rolled upon the ground together. “y Then He Seream “Get me to Pastore: shall have a rosar. d taken one from t Sancto. It shows h take what you can campaign,and how the may become useful. “T will take cellent French, use I hy e it is my way ¢ my country over wi me dow jage to an old cowhouse, in w und a tumble-down sort of dil as they used to run early in t between some of our more remote vill Thera were three old mules, which were strong enough to but together they might dr The sight of their gaunt ribs legs gave me more delight than th two hundred and twenty hunter A EAS RIGHDIER ((ERAR. =», Hot) Ihe Brigédiensheld the King Ona | mortal draad of this terrible Cuchillo. Ho emperor which'I have seen in their stalls at Fontainebleau. In ten minutes the owner was harnessing them into the coach, with no v ad will, however, for he was in t was only hy promising him riches in this world, while the priest threatened him with damnation in the next, that we at last got him safely upon the box with the reins be- tween his firgers. ‘Then he was in such a hurry to get off, out of fear lest we should find ourselves in the dark in the passes, that he hardly gave me time to reaew my vows to the innkeeper’s daughter. I can- net at this moment recall her name, but we wept together as we parted, and I can remember that she was a very beautiful woman. You will understand, my friends, that when a man like me, who has fought the men and kissed the women in fourteen separate kingdoms, gives a word of praise to the one or the other it has a little mean- ing of its own. The little priest had seemed a trifle grave when we Kissed good-bye, but he soon proved himself the best of companions in the diligence. All the way he amused me with tales of his little parish up in the mountains, and I in my turn told him about the camp, but my faith I had *k my steps, for when I said a word too much he would fidget in his seat, and iis face would show the pain that I had given him. And, of course, it is not the act of a gentleman to talk in anything but a proper manner to a religious man, though with all the care in the world one’s werds may get out of hand sometimes. He had come from the north of Spain, as he told me. and was going to see his mother in a village of Estremadura, and as he spoke about her little peasant home, and her joy in seeing him, it brought my mother so vividly to my thoughts that the tears started to my eyes. In his simplicity he showed me the little gifts which he was taking to her, and so kindiy was his man- ner that I could readily believe him when he said that he was loved wherever he went. He examined my own uniform with as much curiosity as a child, admiring the plume of my busby and passing his fingers through the sable with which my dolman was trimmed. He drew my sword, too, and then, when I to'd him how many men I had cut down with it, and set my gers on the notch made by the shoulder bone of the Russian emperor's aid-de- camp, he shuddered and placed thé weapon under the leathern cushion, declaring that it made him sick to look at it. Well, we had been rolling and creaking on our way whilst this talk had been going ferward, and as we reached the base of the mountains we could hear the rumbling of cannon far away upon the right. This ceme from Messena, who was, as I knew, besieging Cindad Rodrigo. ‘There was notking I should have wished better than to have gone straight to him, for he was the best Jew that I have heard of since Joshua’s time, and if you are in sight of his beaky nose and bold, black eyes, you are not likely to miss much of what is go- ing on. Still, a siege 1s always a poor sort ef a pick-and-shovel business, and there were better prospects with my hussars in front of the English. Every mile that passed my heart grew lighter and lighter, until I found myself shouting and singing lke a young ensign fresh from Saint Cyr, just to think of seeing all my fine horses and my gallant fellows once more. As we penetrated the mountains the road grew rougher and the pass more savage. At first we met a few muleteers, but now the whole country seemed deserted, which is not to be wondered at when you think trat the French, the English and the guerrillas had each in turn had command over it. So bleak and wild was it, one great brown wrinkled cliff succeeding an- other, and the pass growing narrower and narrower, that I ceased to look out, but sat in silence, thinking of this and ‘that, of women whom I had loved and of horses which I had handled. I was suddenly brought back from my dreams, however, by observing the difficulties of my com- parion, who was trying with a sort of bradawl, which he had drawn out, to bore a hole through the leathern strap which heid up his water flask. As he worked with twitching fingers the strap escaped bis grasp and the wooden bottle fell at my feet. I stooped to pick it up, and as I did so the priest. silently leaped upon my sheulders and drove his bradawl into my eye. My friends, I am, as you know, a man steeled to face every danger. When one has served from the siege of Genoa to that Jast fatal day of Waterloo, and has had the special medal, which I Keep at home in @ leathern pounch, one can afford to con- Le fe Turning Upon Me They Brandished Their Knives, fess when one 1s frightened. It may con- sole some of you when your own nerves play you tricks to remember that you have heard even me, Brigadier Gerard, say that I have been scared. And besides my terror at this horrible attack, and the maddening pain of my wound, there was a sudden feeling of loathing such as you might feel were some filthy tarantula to strike its fangs into you. I clutched the creature in both hands and hurling him onto the floor of the coach J stamped on him with my heavy boots. He had drawn a pistol from the front of his soutane, but I kicked it cut of his hand, and again I fell with my knees on his chest. Then for the first time he screamed horribly, while I, half blinded, Yelt about for the sword which he had so cunningly concealed. My hand had just lighted upon it, and I was dashing the blood from my face to see where he lay that I might transfix him, when the whole coach turned over upon its side, and my Weapon was jerked out of my grasp by the shock. Before I could recover myself the door was burst open and I was dragged by the heels onto the road. : CHAPTER I. But even as I was torn out onto the flint stones and realized that thirty ruffians were standing around me, I was filled with joy, for my pelisse had been pulled over my head in the struggle and was covering one of my eyes, and it was with my wound- ed eye that I was seeing this band of brig- ands. You see for yourself by this pucker and scar how the thin blade passed be- tween socket and ball, but it was only at 2t moment when I was dragged from the coach that I understood that my sight was not gone forever. The creature's intention, doubtless, was to drive it through my brain and, indeed, he loosened some portion of the inner hone of my head, so that I after- ward had more trouble from that wound than from any one of the seventeen which i rived. ed me out, these sons of dogs, ations, beating me icking me as I lay the had frequently ob- that the mountaineers wore cloth i round their feet, but never did I d ground. I at I should have so much cause kful for it. Presently, seeing the on my head, and that I lay quiet, hought I was unconscious, s I was storing every ugly face them in my so that I 2 them all’ s: ged if ever me around. Brawny rascals h yellow handkerchiefs round reat red sashes stuffed = y had rolled two great ‘k3 across the path, where it took a turn, and it was these which had rn off one of the wheels of the coach and As to the reptile who acted the priest so cleverly and had told me so much of his parish and his mother, he, of course, had known where the ambuscade was laid, and attempted io put me beyond all resist- ance at the moment when we reached it. I cannot tell you how frantic their rage was when they drew him out of the coach and saw the state to which I had reduced him. If he had not got all his deserts he had at least something as a souvenir of his meeting with Etienne Gerard, for his legs dangled aimlessly about, and though the upper part of his body was convulsed with rage and pain he sat straight down upon his feet when they tried to set him upright. But all the time his two little black eyes, which had seemed so kindly and so innocent in the coach, were glaring at me like a wounded cat, and he spat and spat and spat in my direction. My faith, when the wretches jerked me onio my feet again, and when I was dragged off up one of the mountain paths, I under- steod that a time was coming when I was to need all my courage and resource. My enemy was carried upon the shoulders of the men behind me, and I could hear his hissing and reviling, first in one ear and then in the other, as I was hurried up the winding track. I suppose that it must have been an hour that we ascended, and what, with my wounded ankle and the pain from my eye and the fear lest this wound should have spoiled my good looks, I have made no jJourhey to which I look back with less pleasure. I have never been a good climber at any time, but it is astonishing what you can do, even with a stiff ankle, when you have a copper-colored brigand at each elbow and a nine-inch blade within touch oz your whiskers. We came at last to a place where the path wound over a ridge and descended upon the: other side through thick pine trees into a valley which opened to the south. In time of peace I have lit- “He was not dend when we buried him.” tle doubt that the villians were all smug- glers and that these were the secret paths by which they crossed the Portuguese frontier. There were maty mule tracks, and once I was surprised to see the marks of a large horse where a stream had soft- ened the track. These were explained upon reaching a place where there was a clear- ing in the firwood. I saw the animal itself haltered to a fallen tree. My eyes hardly rested upon it when I recognized the great black limbs and the white near the foreleg. It was the very horse which I had begged for in the morning. What then had become of Commissariat Vidal? Was it possible that there was another Frenchman in as perilous a plight as myself? The thought had hardly enter- ed my head when our party stopped and one of them uttered a peculiar cry. It was answered from among the brambles which lined the base of a cliff at one side of the clearing, and an instant later ten or a dozen more brigands came out from among them and the two parties greeted each other. The newcomers surrendered my friend of the bradawl with cries of grief and sympathy, and then, turning upon me, they brandished their knives and howled at me, like the gang of assassins that they were. So frantic were their gestures that I was convinced that my end had come, and was just bracing myself to meet it in a manner which should be worthy of my Past reputation when one of them gave an order, and I was dragged roughly across the little glade to the brambles from which this new band had emerged. A narrow pathway led through them to a deep grotto in the side of the cliff, The sun was already setting outside and in the cave itself it would have been quite dark but for a pair of torches which blazed from a socket on either side. Between them there was sitting at a rude table a very singular-looking person, whom I saw in- stantly, from the respect with which the others addressed him, could be rone other than the brigand chief who had received, on account of his dreadful character, the sinister name of El Cuchillo. The man whom I had injured had been carried in and placed upon the top of a barrel, his helpless legs dangling about in front of him and his cat’s eyes still darting glances of hatred at me. I understood from the sratches of talk which I could follow be- tween the.chief and him that he was the Meutenant of the band, and that part of his duties was to lie in wait, with his smooth tongue and his peaceful garb, for travelers like myself. When I thought of how many gallant officers may have been lured to their death by this monster of hypocrisy it gave me a glow of pleasure to think that I had brought his villainies to an end—though I feared it would be at the cost of a life which neither the em- peror nor the army could well spare. As the injured man, still supported on the barrel by two comrades, was explaining in Spanish all that had befallen him, I was held by several of the villains in front of the table at which the chief was seated, and had an excellent opportunity of ob- serving him. I have seldom seen any man who was less like my idea of a brigand, and especially of a brigand with such a reputation that in a land of cruelty he had earned so dark a nickname. His face was bluff, and broad and bland, with ruddy cheeks and comfortable little tufts of side whiskers, which gave him the appearance of a well-to-do grocer of the Rue St. An- toine. He had not any of those flaring sashes or gleaming weapons which distin- guished his followers, but, on the contrary, he wore a good broadcloth coat like a respectable father of a family, and save his brown leggings there was nothing to indicate a life among the mountains. His surroundings, too, corresponded with him- self, and beside his snuff box upon the table there stood a great brown book,which looked like a commercial ledger. Many other books were ranged along a plank between ‘two powder casks, and there was a great litter of papers, some of which had verses scribbled upon them. All this I took in while he, leaning indolently back in his chair, was Hstening to the report of his lieutenant. Having heard everything he ordered the cripple to be carried out again,and I was left with only three guards waiting to hear my fate. He took up his pen, and, tapping his forehead with the handle of it, he pursed up his lips and jooked out of the corner of his eyes at the reof of the grotto. “I suppose,” said he at last, speaking very excellent French, “that you are not “Col. Girard shall have a death of his ow able to suggest a rhyme for the word Co- vilha.”” I answered that my acquaintance with the Spanish language was so limited that I was unable to oblige him. “It is a very rich language,” said he, “but_less prolific in rhymes than either the German or the English. That is why our best work has been done in blank verse, a form of Mterature which, as 1 need not remind a Frenchman, is capable of reaching great heights. But'I fear that such subjects are somewhat outside the range of a hussar.” I was about to answer: that if they were good enough for a guerrilla they could not be too much for the light cavalry, but he was already stooping over his half-finished verse. Presently he threw down the pen with an exclamation of satisfaction and declaimed a few lines, which drew a cry of approval from the three ruffians who held me. His broad face blushed like a young girl who receives her first compli- ment. “The critics are in my favor, it appears,” said he. “We amuse ourselves in our long evenings by singing dur own ballads, you understand; I have some little facility in that direction, anf I @o not at all despair of seeing some of'my ‘poor efforts in print before long, and ‘with ‘Madrid’ upon the title page, too. But ‘we must get back to business. May I ask What your name is?” “Etienne Gerard.” / Rank tie “Colonel.” ak “Corps?” oh +“The third hussats.™ “You are young for‘ colonel.” “My career has been an eventful one.” “Tut, that makes. it-the sadder,” said he, with his bland smile, I made no answer to that, but I tried to show him by my bearing that I was ready for the very worst} which could befall me. “By thea way, I rather fancy that we have had some ef your corps here,” said he, turning over the pages of his big brown register. “We endeavor to keep a record of our operations.’ Here is a heading under June 24. Have you not a young officer named Soubiron, a tall, slight youth with light hair?” “Certainly.” ee see that we buried him upon that late.” “Poor lad!” I cried. “And how did he die?” ‘We buried him.” “But before you buried him?” “You misunderstand, colonel; he was not dead before we buried him.” = CHAPTER III. “You buried him alive?” For a moment I was too stunned to act. Then I hurled myself upon the man, as he sat, with that placid smile of his upon his lips, and I would have torn his throat out had the three watchers not dragged me away from him. Again and again I made for him, panting and cursing, shaking off this man and that, straining and wrenching, but never quite free. At last, with my jacket nearly torn off my back and the blood dripping from my wrists, I was hauled backward in the bight of a rope and cords passed around my ankles and my arms. “You sleek hound,” I cried. “If ever I have you at my sword’s point I will teach you to maltreat one of my lads. You will find, you bloodthirsty beast, that my em- peror has long arms, and, though you le here like a rat in its hole, the time will come when he will tear you out of it, and you and your vermin will perish to- gether.” My faith, I have a rough side to my tongue, and there was not a hard word that I had learned in fourteen campaigns which I did not let fly at him, but he sat with the handle of his pen tapping against his forehead and his eyes squinting up at the roof as if he had conceived the idea of some new stanza. It was this occupation of his which showed me how I might get my point into him. “You spawn,” said I, “you think that you are safe here, but your life may be as short as that of your absurd verses, and God knows it could not be shorter than that." Oh, you should have seen him bound |* from his chair when I had said the words. This vile monster, who dispensed death and torture as a grocer serves out figs, had one raw nerve which I could prod at pleasure. His face now grew livid and those little bourgeois side whiskers quiv- ered and thrilled with his passion. “Very good, colonel. You have said enough,” he cried, in a choking voice. “You say that you have had a very distinguish- ed career; I promise you also a very dis- tinguished ending. Col. Etienne Gerard of the third hussars shall have a death of his own.” : “And I only beg,” said I, “that you do not commemorate it in verse.” I had one or two other little fronies to utter, but he cut me short with a furious gesture, which caused my three guards to drag me -rom the cave. Our interview, which I have told you as nearly as I can remember it, must have lasted some time, fur it was quite dark when we came out, and the moon was shin- ing very clearly in the heavens. The brig- ands had lighted a great fire of the dried branches of the ‘fir trees; not, of course, for warmth, since the night was already very sultry, but to cook their evening meal. A huge copper pot fiung over the biaze, and the rascals were lying all around in the yellow glare, so that the scene looked like one of those pictures which Junot stole out of Madrid.’ There are seme sol- diers who profes’ to care nothing for art and the like, but 1 have always been drawn toward it myself, in Which respect I show my good taste and my breeding. I remem- ber, for example, that when they were selling the plunder after the fallof Danzig I bought a very fine picture called ‘Nymphs Surprised in a Weed,” and I carried it with me throngh two campaigns until my charg- er had the misfortune,to put his hoof through it. I only tell you this, however, to show you that I was never a mere rough sol- dier, like Rapp or Lefebvre. As I Jay in that brigands’ camp I had little time or inclination to think about such mat- ters. They had thrown me down vun- der a tree, the three villains squatting round and smoking their cigarettes within hand's touch of me. What to do I could not imagine. In my whole career I do not suppose that I have ten times been in as hopeless a_ situation. “But courage,” thought I, “courage, my brave boy, you were not made a colonel of hussars at twenty-eight because you could dance a cotillon. You are a picked man, Etienne, @ man who has come through more than 200 affairs, and this Ittle one is surely not going to be the last.” I began eagerly to glance about for some chance to escape, and as I did so I saw something which filled me with great astonishment, I have already told you that a large fire was burning in the center of the glade. What with its glare and what with the mconlight, everything was as clear as pos- sible. On the other side of the glade there was a single tall fir tree, which attracted my attention because its trunk and lower branches were discolored, as if a large fire had recently been lit underneath it. A clump of bushes grew in front of it which concealed the base. Well, as I looked to- ward it I was surprised to see projecting above the bush, and fastened apparently to the tree, a pair of fine riding boots, with the toes upward. At first I thought they were tied there, but as I looked harder I saw that they were secured by a great nail, which was hammered through the foot of each. And then suddenly, with a thrill of horror, I understood that they were not empty boots, and, moving my head a little to the right, I was able to see who it was that had been fastened there and why a fire had been lit beneath the tree. It is not pleasant to speak or think of horrors, my friends, and I do not wish to give any of you bad dreams tonight, but I cannot take you among the Spanish guer- rillas without showing you what kind of men they were and the sort of warfare that they waged. I will only say that I understood why Monsieur Vidal’s horse was waiting masterless in the grove, and that I hoped that he had met his terrible fate with sprightliness and courage, as a good. Frenchman ought. It Was not a very cheering sight for me, as you can imagine. When I had been with their chief in the grotto I had been so, carried away by my rage at the cruel death of young Soubiron, who was one of the brightest lads who ever threw his thigh over a charger, that I had never given a thought to my. own position. Perhaps it would have been more politic had I spoken the ruffian fair, but it was too late now. The cork was drawn and I must drain the wine. Besides, if the harmless commis- sariat man was put to such a death, what hope was there for me, who had snapped the spine of their lieutenant? No, I was doomed in any case, so it was as well, per- haps, that I should have put the best face on the matter. This beast could bear wit- ness that Etienne Gerard had died as he had lived, and that one prisoner at least had not quailed before him. I lay there think- ing of the various girls who would mourn for me, and of my dear old mother, and of the deplorable logs that I should be both to my regiment and to the emperor, and I am not ashamed to confess to you that I shed tears as I thipugit of the general con- sternation which-my premature end would give rise to. ie 20 But all the time I was’ taking the very keenest notice of everything which might possibly help m& 1 am not a man who would He like a sick horse waiting for the farriar sergeant and the pole ax. First I would give a little tug at my ankle cords, and then another at those that were around my wristS, and all the time I was trying to loosen them I was peering around to see if I could find something which was my favor. There was one thing which was vel evident. A bussar i formed without a ho: other haif quietly & yards of me. Then I a thing. The path over the mountains was s horse could only be led across it slow! with difficulty, but_in ne other direction E to ad straight down into a gently sloping Had I but my feet in yonder stir aber in my hand, a single of the power to and strain- ing with my w y ankles when their chief came cut from his grotto, and after some talk with his lieutenant, who lay groaning near the fire, they both nod- ded their heads and looked across at me. He then said some few words to the band, who clapped their hands and laughed up- roariously. Things looked ominous, and I was delighted to feel that my hands were so far free that I could easily slip them through the cords if I wished. But with my ankles I feared that I could do noth- ing, for when I strained it brought such pain into my lance wound that I had to gnaw _my mustache to keep from crying out. I could only lie still, half free and half bound, and see what turn things were likely to take. For a little I could not ‘see what they were after. One of the rascals climbed up to the top of a well-grown fir tree up on one side of the glade, and tied a rope around the top of the trunk. He then fast- ened another rope in the same fashion to a similar tree on the other side. The two loose ends were now dangling down, and I waited with some curiosity and just a little He Said a Few Words to the Band. trepidation to see what they would do next. The whole band pulled upon one of the ropes until they had bent the strong young tree down into a semi-circle, and they then fastened it to a stump, so as to hold it so. When they had bent the other tree down in a similar fashion, the two sum- mits were within a few feet of each other, though, as you understand, they would each spring back to their original position the instant that they were released. I al- ready saw the diabolical plan which those miscreants had: formed. “I presume that you are a strong man, colonel,” said the chief, coming toward me, with his hateful smile. “If you will have the kindness to loosen these cords,” I answered, “I will show you how strong I am.” “We were all interested to see whether you were as strong as these two young saplings,” said he. “It is our intention, you see, to tie one end of each rope round your ankles and then let the trees go. If you are stronger than the trees, then, of course, no harm would be done. If, on the other hand, the trees are stronger than you—why, -in that case, colonel, we may have a souvenir of you upon each side of our little glade’’ He laughed as he spoke, and at the sight of it the whole forty of them laughed also. Even now, if I am in my darker humor, or if I have a touch of my old Lithuanian ague, I see in my sleep that ring of dark savage faces, with their cruel eyes and the firelight flashing upon their strong white teeth. (To be concluded next Saturday.) eS STRONGEST LIGHT. Electric Beam of 250,000,000 Candle Power to Be Thrown 100 Miles. “The most powerful light in the world is now being set up on Fire Island, off New York city,” said an officer of the light- house board to a writer for The Star. “It will be ready for business by July 1 next. To ships it will be visible 100 miles out at sea. I do not mean that the light itself will be seen at that distance, for that would be impossible, owing to the curva- ture of the earth, but the flash on the clouds in the sky will be discerned. In other words, from the point of view of the watchful skipper so far {rom shore an in- termittent glare will be observed, as if lightning were to show in the same quar- ter of the heavens at regular intervals of five seconds. Passengers on transatlantic steamers will thus receive a cheering sig- nal of their approach to America. “The light will be electric, having a pow- er of 50,000,000 candles without the lens. The lens, which was made in Paris, is of enormous size—about ten feet in diameter It will increase the power to 250,000,000 can- dies. It is called a bivalve lens, being in two halves like the shells of an oyster. The convex halves are separated by a distance sufficient to admit the body of a man, so that the carbons and other apparatus be- tween them may be got at. This double lens and the whole mechanical contrivance supporting it rests in a circular trough filled with mercury. In fact, its entire weight rests upon the liquid quicksilver, so that it may be revolved almost without friction. Ordinarily brass wheels are used for revolving lights in lighthouses. “The light is generated by enormously powerful dynamos. Of the latter there are two, so that, in case one breaks down, the other may be used. It is a subject of re- gret to us that the lighthouse board is still obliged to maintain the electrical light in liberty’s torch in the harbor of New York. It isof no use worth mentioning to mar- iners, and it costs $6,000 a year. It used to cost $10,000 per annum, but we have cut off the electric search lights, which formerly were employed to throw a light upon the statue and illuminate it. Liberty might be of some value for lighthouse purpose if she had been placed on the Reaumur Shoals, which would have afforded a more suitable location any way. “The newspapers have made note recently of whistling buoys, which are drifting about the Atlantic—some of them still whistling and likely on that account to alarm mar- iners. It is not often that they get away from their moorings. We could not afford to have them do so, inasmuch as they are very expensive. They cost $750 apiece,” — Written for The Evening Star. Despair. ‘Triumphant Hope Once made his dome Within my heart, Ambition’s home, ‘Where Promise to my soul conyeyed Success in what Desire essayed. But roses fade, aromas die, ‘And Day slinks off when Night says “‘fty!” Misfortune came and bade me roam, Like drifting bubbles on sea-foam, From vales of want to hills of care, And buffet sorrow and despair, Till Life would yield its cross of breath And find relief in silent death, Where Disappointment enters not And Care may die and be forgot— O weary body, I would give ‘Thy burden up and freely live! : URTON T. DOYLE. >. A Slight Offense. From Life. An English tourist arrived in an Irish town, where a man was about to be hung for ehooting his landlord. Ignorant of the cause of the gathering he questioned one of the peasants. Englishman—‘‘What is going on today, my man?” Peasant—“They're goin’ t’hang. a man, sor.” Englishman—“What is he going to be hanged fo Peasant—“Just for a bit uv a joke, sor.” Englishman—“Hang a man for a joke? Absurd! What did he do?” Peasant—“He just made game uv his landlord, sor.’ ————— Carried the Thing Too Far. From the Great Divide. «BIE CURA A warm bath with CUTI- CURA SOAP, and a single application of CUTICURA (ointment), the great skin cure, will afford instant relief, permit rest and sleep, and point toa speedy, permanent and economical cure of the most distressing of itching, burning and scaly skin and scalp dis- eases after all other meth- ods fail. Potter Drug & Chemical Corp., Sole Proprietors, Boston, U. Ss. A. Webster Lav baiiding, “503 Dia — RAILROADS. — PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. STATION CORNER OF SIXTH AND B STREETS. In Effect 12:01 A.M. March 18, 1595, 10.30 A.M. PENNSYL) LIMITED. Pullman Sleeping, ‘moking and Obsersation Cars Barris 0, Cincinnati, Indianapolis, St id and Toledo. Butter Parlor 10.80 ALM. f.—Pullman Buffet Parlor Yarlor and Dining Cars, Har- Parlor and Dining Cars, Harrisburg to . CHICAGO AND ST. LOUIS EXPRESS, Buftet Parlor Car to Harrisburg. Sleep and Dining Cars, Harrisburg to St. Louis, ineinnat!, Louisville and Chicaxo. + WESTERN EXPRESS Pullman Sleep~ go and Hurrisburg to Clevel ics ESVERN EXPRESS.—Pullman i and Dining Cars to St. Louis and Sleep- Harrisburg to Cincinnati. .40 P.M. PACIFIC EXPRESS.—Pullman Sleeping Car to Pittsburg MM. el Car to Harrisburg. risburg. 7.10 PM. Sleepi Niagara’ Falls daily, exci A.M. for Elnira ls, except foc Williamsport, Kociiester, Butfalo and ‘Magara Falis daily, except Saturday, with Sleep- ing Car Washington to Suspension Bridge via. Ibadtalo, 0.30 F falo and > Slee] “for, Pelladeipita, New York and the Rast. For leip! New Y¥ 4.00 P.M. “CONGRESSIONAL | LIMITED,” all Parlor Cars, with Dining Car from Balti for New York ‘daily, ‘or Intadelphia week days. Heegular (ut 7.09 (Dining Can), 7-20, 9.00, 10.00 ining Cur), and 11 «ining Car) A. M., 22.1! 8.15, 4.20, 6.40, 10.00 and 11.35 P.M. On Sun- gC 00, 10.00 (Dining 5, 3.15, 4.20, Philadelphia week days. Ex- daily: 50 A.M. week days, ly, Frst Express press, 2.01 and 5.40 A. For Beston, and 3.15'P.M. zi For Baltimore, 7.05, 7.20, 7.50, 10.30, 11.00’ and 11.50 'A.M. 3-40 (4.00 Limited), 4.20, 4.36, 5.40, 6.05, 6. 40.40, 11-19 and 11. 1 Limited), and 11.35 B.3 For Pope's Creek Line, 7.20 A.M. and 4.36 P.M, daily, except Sunday. For Ancepolis, 7.20, 9.00 and 11.50 A.M., and 4.20 V-AL. daily, except Sunday. . Sundays, 9.00 a.m, 4.20 Bo Atlantic Coast Line. “Flicrida Special” for Jack- sonville and St. Augustine, TOs PAM. week days. Express for itichmond, Jacksonville and ‘Tam 4.80 A 3.30 P.M.’ daily. Richmond and At- Janta, 8.40 P.M. daily. Kichmond only, 10.57 A.M. Week days. Accommodation for, Quantico, 7.45 A.M. daily, ana 4.25 P.M. weel i , 6.35, 7.45, 8.40, 9.45, 10.57, + 12.60," 1.40, 3.20, 4.25, 5.00, 5.87, 10.19 and 11.29 P/M. On al -45, 9.45 AM., 245, 6.15, 8.02 and 10.10 Leave Alexandria for Washington, 6.05, 6.43, 7.05, 8.00, 9.10, 30.15, 10.28 A.) 2.15," 3.00, 3.23, 5.00, 5.30," 6.13, 7.00, 10.58 and’ 11.08" P.M. +, 2.15, 6.30, , 7.20, Ticket offices, northeast corner of 13th street and Pennsylvania svenue, and at the station, 6th and B streets, where orders can be left for the check- ing of baggage to destination from hotels and res Ade woop, jences, 8. M. PREVOST, i. R. ae Manager. General Passenger Agent. ni SOUTHERN RAILWAY. (Piedmont Air Line.) Schedule in effect March 17, 1895. All trains arrive und leave at Pennsylvania Passenger Station. —Loeal for Danville. Connects at daily, yt Sanday, and ee oe 2. A.M.—Daily—The ITED STATES F. MAIL carries Pullman Buffet Sleepers New York and Washington to St. Augustine, uniting at Cbar- lotte with Pullman Sleeper for Augusta; also Pull- man Sleeper New York to Montgomery, with con~ nection for New Orleans; connects at Atlanta with Pollman Sleeper for Birmingham, Ala., Memphis, Tenn., and Kansas City. P.M.—Daily foc Charlottesville and through ‘estern, itrasburg, daily except Sunday. 10:0, P-M.—Dally NEW YORK AND FLORIDA’ SHORT LINE LIMITED. Pullman Sleepers New York und Washington to Augusta and St. Augustine and Pullman Car New York to St. Augustine, Dining bury to St. Augustine, first-class day Va: ington to St. Augustine without change. 10:43 _P.M.—Daily—WASHINGTON AND SOUTHs WESTERN VESTIBULED LIMITED, composed Pullman Vestibuled Sleepers and Dining Cars, Pull- New York to Ashevi and Hot v1 Ingham at New York ew via Atlanta and Montgomery. Dining Car from Greensboro’ to Montgomers.. VISION leave. Wa ington ‘30 ae Guy, 4203 [ON leave Was! ‘ton . 2: Eat dale’ except Souiay, aad 6233 BM Sanday only, for Round Hill, and 6:33 P.M. dafly for Hern- don.’ | Heturming, arrive at Washington 8:84 AM. fly from Round Hill, and 7:06 pt Sunday, from Herndon only. Double Drawing Room Compartment Salis- as 3 AM. dails, bh trains from the Soutb arrive at Ws ton 6:42 A.M., 9:45 A.M, Ma P. lig. _ Manastas Division, 10:52 A-M. daily, ¢ iy, and 10:52 AM. daily from Charlottesvill Tickets, Sleeping Car reservation and information furnished at , 511 and 1300 Pennsylvania ave- nue, and at Pennsylvania itailroad Passenger Sta- tion, Ww. Sa General Manager astern System). z RE, Gencral Passenger, Agent, mhi8" “LS. BROWN, Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept. CHESAPEAKE AND OHIO RAILWAY. Schedule in effect March 4, 1 1895. Trains leave daily from Union Station (B. and P+), 6th and B sts. Saypt: hh the grandest in America, with the handsomest ‘and tnost ‘complete solid trait serve ice west from Wash:ngtcn. 2:25 Y. nd St. Louis Elec- Specinl™-Solia “Wert led, Newly Baul rial’ —S Vestibul new! qui tric-lighted, Steam-heated’ ‘Train. Pullman's finest sleeping cars Washington to Cincinnati, I lis St. Louls without change. ing. from Wasbington. Arrive Cincinnati, 8:00 @.m.3 indianapolis, 11:40 a.m., and Chicago, 5:30 p.m. St. Louis, 6:56 p.m. ‘ 11:10 P.M. DAILY.—The famous “F. F. ¥. Lam- A solid vestibuied train, with dining A 7 and Pullman Sleepers for Cincinnati, Lexington Louisville, without ecbange. Pullman Sleeper Wash- ington to Virginla ‘Hot Springs, ‘without change, wr Qbvserration car from Hinton. Cincinnatt, 5.50. p.m. Hille p.m; Union 10:57 A.M. ‘and ‘Nor! ly 2:25 P.M. DAILY.—E Charlottesville, W: : pal Virginia points, daily; for Richmond, cept man locations and tickets at company’s of- 613 and 1421 Pennsylvania avenue. H. W. FULLER, mht General 7 eae eeeile tt sec dae, C1 An. Leaye Washington from station ‘comer of New Indianapolis, Vesti- a. ns, 1 For Winchester and way stat Laray, Sa eS Roanok fons, 5: and New . x am., x12: 20 (8:00 45-minutes), 3:25, 4:1 “is-miluites), 35:05, 0:30, 38:00, 29:00, minutes), 5:05, 6:30, 38:00, 50: 730, 11:35. pin. se 210 and 8:36 a.m., 12:15, 4:28 ‘1 p.m. re 225 a.m, b1:15, e€:80, For Hagerstown, 11:25 a.m., 05:80 p.m. For ‘and way Bord and points, a7:05 p.m. For Gaithersbu way '£8:00, 8:00 C1200, CONG, C435" abeSb. at%65, bOseO, For Washington Junction and way points, 09: Seer ae aa principal si only, cf: :30 p.m. ROYAL BLUB LINE’ FOR NEW YORK AND ANl trains ttumiaated with Pintsch light. For Philadelphia, Boston andthe East, week ), §:00 (10:00 a.m. Dining 5:06 cli :i0 p.m Bleeping Gar’ open at 10 Scloeks, Sand: S & “au. Dial ean, 2-00 Din- 00 Dining Car), 8: 230 Sleep- ing Car, rs 10:00 p.m.). i ae a Ba r Atlantic Ci a.m. 10:00 a.m., 12:00 noon. Sundays, 4: 12:00 noon. ¢ Except Sunday. “a “Daily. b Sunday only, x Express trains. Bagguge called for and checked from hotels residences by Union ‘Transfer Company on left at ticket offices, 619 Pennsylvania’ avenue n.W., ‘New York avenue and 15th street, and at SCULL, Gei . O. en. B. B. CAMPBELL. Gen. Manager. a : DENTISTRY. Nothing Experimental About our method of painless treatment for ailing teeth. It is entirely sclentific—per- fectly harmless and has proved eminently uecessful whenever used. The advice and attention of a skilled practician assured every patron, Extracting without pain, 50 cents. GRAHAM, 307 7th st. F mb11-144 On the cown grade of quality and price wi cheapness ceases to be economy. Our claims Superiority rest on superlative service and pot on price—but the association system enables us to adopt fees which private practitioners cannot af- ford for the best grade of work. Read our ad. on local page. Extracting, 25e.; with Zovo or gas, GOc.; clean- ing, 75c.; fillings, 7c. up; gold crowns, $7.50; best teeth, £8.00. U. S. Dental Association, ATTORNEYS. CAMPBELL CARRINGT: Attorne; ———— ‘Lay n.¥., an” “Ee Residence,’ £33 K si