Evening Star Newspaper, May 29, 1897, Page 15

——— THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY; MAY 29, 1897-24 PAGES. 15 THE BROTHER OF JIM An Unexpected Union of the Blue and Gray. > BY WILLIAM HENRY SHELTON. >_——— Written for The Evening Star. (Copsright, 1807, S. S. McClure Co.) ‘The roar of nearby battle and the hissing of fiying missiles overhead rendered the voices of the men indistinct, and mercifully swallowed up some uncallcd-for oaths and ribal jests. Suddenly the darkness in the sunken road was softened and illumined by a red reflection from burning stacks and farm buildings on the invisible field. The groups of men under the shelving banks, the long artillery train and the trees overhead took on the lurid hue of a dragon's grotto in a play, while the bank which shut off the view of the fire was lighted by a more than noonday brilliance against the ficrce conflagration. The brightest light streamed across the very apex of the hill through which the road had been cut. The jagged stone wall was nearly leveled with the earth. Not a tree or bush broke the lighted expanse, in the very midst of which appeared the sil- houetted figure of a man, with head bent “I Did It! I Did It!” forward and hands clasped. His broken cap strap trembled below his chin, and his haversack, crowhed by an inverted tin cup, was hitched up into an absurd hump on his back. At the man's feet a bare earthen mound rose against the line of the broken wall, and something that looked from below like a crooked root. growing out of the side of the mound seemed to grasp the red light of the flaming stacks. Around the dark figure the minie balls and fragments of shell wailed like a jerky harp. “There ain't no flies on Henry,” mur- mured a wheel driver, through a mouthful of hardtack. “Come down from there, Price,” cried the captain, who had walked back on the road, attracted by the ligh There was not the the bent figure. “Price!” roared the captain. Henry Price sank slowly to his knees and 1 his face to the red twisted root. action of the man crouching over the mound was so strange and his position so perilous that the captain's anger gave way to a feeling of pity, which was ha'f admi- Tation for the fellow’s insensibility to danger. He looked on for one irresolute moment ard then ordered a sergeant to bring Price down. This was not such a hazardous duty as might at first seem, for the non-commissioned officer had bat to clamber up the bank and clutch the cloth- ing of the oblivious man and drag him over the declivity. The two came down to- gether out of the glare into the dull red light of the cut, followed by a drift of peb- bles and dirt Henry Price scrambled to his feet with- out resenting the action of the sergeant or so much as noticing the presence of the captain. He took off his old cap und drew his hand across his damp forehead. His words were not addressed to the crowd about him, but rather to his own guilty conscience. “It's my work. I did it.” “Did what, Henry?" asked the captain, laying his hand kindly on Price's shoulder. The stricken man appreciated the friend- liness of the action, and recognized the presence of his commanding officer. He Was eager to speak. “It's my brother up there. I kilied him. I've been waiting a year to find out for certain. I did it.” Price threw up his arms, with a gesture of despair. The light Streamed down on to his ghastly upturned face, and marked it with the color of blood. In an instant he recovered himself. ightest movement in wen, captain,” he exclaimed, eager- ly. “It was this way: He was in the south- ern army. Jim was. My regiment formed in this cut in the other battle. We were ordered up to the top of this very bank. As I came to the top—right there, captain —a soldier rushed in above me. Our guns went off together. That soldier was Jim. I saw his face as he fell. My God, I can never forget $s look, captain. 1 was near h him in my arms, but my d I fell back into the road. ad to climb up again, but the rebs charged with a yell through the cut and swept us out. I hoped it was only a wound, but now I know the truth, Captain Sanderson—I did it." Poor Price was an abject picture of misery as he uttered the final three words, standing dry-eyed in the red road. “You see,’ he continued. point- ing upward, “Jim lay just there where he . until the burial party found him—and they didn't half do their work. Look, cap- tain, that’s his skeleton hand thrust out of his grave—Jim’s hand, with the gray sleeve beaten into the dirt by the rain.” “My dear fellow,” said the ~ captain, “there is no certainty that it is your brother.” “Don't I know?" said Price, with a hope- less expression of conviction. “Jim lost his forefinger fooling with a gun when we were boys together. The very same finger is gone from that hand up there. “I killed my brother!’ Price resented almost angrily the sort of syinpathy that tried to throw doubt upon the identity of the remains. Several of the men who climbed up under the shelter of the bank to where they could get a near view of the mound in the fierce light of the conflagration, reported the exact condition of the skeleton hand. The index finger was a y wanting, and a rag of gray sleeve, down and rotted by the rain, lay about the opening in the soil. The only consolation that remained to the stricken and contrite brother was the sad duty of reburial, and the erection of some object to mark the place. But for the restraint put upon him Price would have gone instantly about this work, re- gardiess of the scathing fire that swept the strangely lighted and exposed mound on the crest of the hill. He unhooked a shove! from one of the caissons and leaned impatiently on it awaiting his opportunity, but the final desperate struggle in the light of the burning buildings necessitated the hasty withdrawal of the battery ffom its cramped and defenseless position, and when quict settied at last over the field, Henry Price was separated from the sunken road by two lines of pickets, and morning found the battery a long distance from Groveton cross roads. Soon after dawn Price presented himself before the captain at the roadside. His face was haggard and his appearance indi- cated that he had passed a slecpless night. He was received with all the respect and hill, half buried, and I shan’t live to reach him. Promise me one thing, captain. Af- ter the fighting is over have him decently buried.” “Don't be silly,” said the captain. “Promise me, sir,” said Price, “If we hold the grourd,” said the cap- “T'll have everything done that you wish; but pluck up heart, my man. You'll live te grow gray hairs yet. “My hours are numbered,” said Price. “TI am resigned to my fate now that I have your promise that you will look after Jim.” sald, “and stop there. We'll cheat fate of its victim.” “That's not my style,”_exclaimed. P1 a and jhe turned away from’ the intei with: the-éndignation of a man whoge cour- age had been impugned. Befcre another night every extra-duty man had ‘taken a number at the guns. In the ragsed garden of a burning house Henry Price stepped eagerly into a vacant place alongside a hot-gun, and put out his left hand to have the buckskin thongs of the blackened thumbstall knotted about his wrist. & I reckun my time has ccfe,” he said, looking across at the man with the lan- yard, and glencing down at the boy whose place he had taken. “It might better have been me than Dick.’ There was little time for talk in the midst of the fierce work that ensued in the neglected garden, untit the opposing bat- tery was silenced. When the firing did eease the sooty cannoneers*threw them- selves down on the trampled weeds, except Henry, Price, who waiked about on the blackened and smoking turf before the mvzzle of the gun, every movement of his nervous figure uttering the dumb accusa- ticn, “I did it.” Every corarade knew that he was_in the desperate mood which im- pels men eagerly to court death in some forlorn hope. Henry Price was impatient of Inaction and incapable of rest. When the battery blazed away again, puncturing the dun smoke with red flashes, and the return shells plowed the old garden between the kot guns, the tense excitement and the hard work filled him with grim _satlsfac- tien. When the man in front cf him fell he caught tke grimy sponge and wielded it fiercely, glad to be uncovered, as if he had come that much nearer his fate. Once he fell himself as he sprang ckward to & the gun an opportunity fo bark, but it was oniy a tangle of trampled rose bvshes that caught his heel, instead of a n:esspge of fcrgetfuln In frert of sleped away tor a of pestura and grain fields and away to the dark woods railroad embankiment. In ess of that wid night was half mad to shoulder a musket and get down into the line of his old regiment ecmewhere in the thunder of tities that rolled over the vailey. . ‘Phe lines of stars pursuing each ether fcscinated him. His old regiment was somewhere in the action. There was forgetfulness down there, and for him, back on the hill, only the torture of memory. The long battle might end in that fierce corflict. He counted himself as a dead man. Why not have it over at once? He could wrench a gun from stiff- ened fingers and help himself to a cartridge bex without asking. An irrepressible im- pvise impelled him to plunge into that fiery vortex as a moth flies into a lighted can- dle. He ran down the hill through the pasture. Nobody noticed the passing of a shadow into the darkness. The men in th2 battery were too irtent on the vast 4is- play of pyrotechni By 9 o'clock the rear of musketry had siackened to an cccasional volley, which was prolonged by a few scattering shots, a littie flurry of stars—a spark here, a there, until silence and darkness settled on the valley Some time in the night Henry Price came beck up the hili in the mood of a man on whom a slight has been put. In his heart he envied the dead ana dying lying between the pickets in the dark valley. Beccuse he had come out unscathed, he knew that there was another day ef the battle before him. In his highly wrought condition he unable to rest. Others slept as if noth- ing had happened. Even the patient horses dozed in swaying lires against the film of smoke that overhung the charred timbers of the house, and started in their dream y. creaking a saddle here ané rattling a headstall there. Henry Price was neither glad nor sorry to see the rosy light of morning. Perhaps even then he saw y the red gloom of the sunken road as he stretched his stiffened limbs and muttered, “It was my work; I His physical strength sustained him won- y i at during which the stubborn lin were forced back from ridge to ridge until the third evening fonnd the whole army in erderly retreat. Throvgh it all Henry had kept his post at the muzzle of the gun. He showed no sign of weariness. He seem- ed Gazed rather than tired. After two sleepless nights and two such eventful days, it may reasonably be doubted if he was capable of subdividing the time that had passed since the dawn of his horrible self @onviction in the glare of the burning farm building: He had lost nothing of the presentiment that he was fighting his last battle, and when the battery made its final stand in the afterglow of the sunset, before leaving the field that was already lost, he sponged and rammed in a mechanical way and sprang outsijte the wheel like a well-drilled automaton. The hour was upon him. Every inch of is body was numb with the expectation of a blow. His scaip and his extremities were cold. He was a doomed man set against a wall, awaiting tne sure volley, only the file of riflemen was not yet told off, and there remained to him the merciful relief of activit When his quick eye caught the dribble of gray figures running and dodging through the hollows of the next field, mul- uplying among the scrubby cedars and swarming behind the stone wall, he recog- nized his grim executioners. He heard the cries for double canister, and laughed as he drove the two tin cylinders into the black throat of the gun. A little patter of bullets peppered the wheels, and some puffs of dust leaped up from the ground as the gray men sprang over the wall. He stood there at his post in the white smoke, as the old guns thundered by half battery and swept the field with alternate volleys of iron balls. As the torn and baf- fled regiment fell back, the cannoniers leaped on the wheels with yells of defiance —all except Henry Price. His plight was not noticed at first in the wild excitement followed by the sweep of galloping limbers; but in replacing the equipments he was found on the ground, grasping the rammer staff in his blackened hands. “I expected it,’ he gasped, and as he re- leased the staff he clutched at his wet and soiled shirt front. “It hurts me to breathe —don’t touch me—I'm done for.” There was no surgeon at hwnd, but in spite of his remonstrances he was lifted onto a limber chest and supportel there by a comrade, as the victorious battery left the field. He was resigned to his fate. He had no desire to live. It was the vengeance ef God demanded by that skeleton hand ex- tended from the shallow grave by the road- side. One memorable night had intervened between the night of his conviction and the night of his expiation. Was there a inys- terlous fatality about the number thre:? He spoke in broken sentences, for ‘he road was rough and the heavy gun car- riage, drawn by six powerful horses, rum- bled relentlessly over the stones, orly ewerving once with the column to avoid the blue forms which suddenly appeared in great numbers lying amazingly still on the hillside. It was dusk when the battery floundered through the run above the wreck of the eld stone bridge, and the wounded? man on the limber was tossed like a leaf as the heavy wheels ground over ammunition chests and boxes of bread which had been shaken from the wagon trains in the hur- ried retreat. The companion who had supported Henry thus far managed to keap him upright on the folds of the big canvas that cushioned the limber chest, but the jolting was too much for him. At a sign from the ser- geant, deaf Spence, who was huge and good natured, dismounted, and, having Placed Price in the saddle, walked like a great, faithful dog at his side. “It's no use, Spence, iugging a dead man along with the march,” said Herry. “For God's sake, lay me in the fence corner there, and leave me to my fate.’ He stretched out his open hand as he spoke toward the place that he coveted on a bank by the roa “I'll bet ye do, piece of navy plug from the tottom:of his pocket. “Take a big chaw, Henry. I knowed ye wanted it. Henry waved the proffered tobacco away with disgust, and, despairing of making himself understood by the deaf man, rest- ed his eyes resignedly on the long line of drivers swaying and tossing in front, until thelr bobbing heads were lost iz the dust and — of the advance. et headers guidly the parallel battery s! with his own, and the shadowy lines of in- fantry marching rapidly in the fields at either side, with a soothing, rhythmical clatter of loose equipments, their bayonets catching an occasional glint of moonlight. He was swept along in the irresistible swirl of the current, for the sky itself med to be retreating with the defeated ‘my. The skurrying clouds, flying before the light wind, were chasing each other in ragged, derisive battalions above the hurrying columns, as if they were racing with the jaded men, or fleeing in affright from the ghastly scenes on the great bat- He felt no pain fromr his wound, but a great weariness came over him. — As they passed over the-brow of « hill he ide. ‘ said Spence, clawing a saw a dark mass of figures in the neighbor- ing field, intermingling Iike objects in a swirling eddy, crowded to one side by the strong flowing current. Then he saw the dark lines of teams streaking the stope be- yond, and knew that the shadowy men ‘were planting guns to cover the retreat. The big deaf man was lumbering heavily at his side with une hand on the horse’s bridle. The drivers were swaying in their saddles and nodding strangely over the creaking collars. A bowing cap came in contact with the neck of a horse and fell off’ into the road. The drowsy heat, the rumble of the carriages and the tramp of many feet had their effect on the wounded man, who was no longer conscious of the stifling dust or of the rank smell of the demp fields mingled with the salty odor of the galled teams. He was not disturbed by the occasional halts, when the men slid dcwn to the ground and slept with their heads on the saddles, or by the extra scrambling and clatter of hoofs when a general and staff with headquarters flags and cavalry escort hurried by to the front. It may be that he was dreaming of Jim and that his vision had brought him to the death scene, when he lurched and would have fallen but for the strong arm of Spence, which put him back into the sad- die and remained with a precautionary curve around his back. ‘he deaf man uttered an oath at his own drowsiness. He had been munching hard bread at the moment to Keep. himself awake. When the column halted they were clese to a little stream where the road dip- ped between two hills. The smell of water reminded Spence that he was thirsty, and he led the horse up to the bed of the rivu- let until they were out of the crowd, with the intention of taking a drink. Instead of dcing s0, he sat down on tie ground, and was overcome in a twinkling by the demon of sleep that he had been fighting so long. The horse put down his head and drank through his gurgling bits and then betook himseit tc cropping the grass which grew conveniently at a level with his shoulder. In good time, Henry Price, unsupported, teppled over on the side toward the bank, but with the instinct of a soldier who had slept in the saddle before, he clasped the horse about the neck and let himself easily to the ground. To breathe out his life un- disturbed was the one boon he had craved from his deaf keeper, who now muttered in his sleep more oblivious than ever. It was Lot so painful to be shot, cr so dreadful to @ie as he had believed, and with this grate- ful thought whieh he half shaped into a prayer of thanksgiving, Henry Price lapsed into unconsciousness. The drowsy cclumns moved on, lurching and dozing through the close August night; trampling the dust of the road with blis- tered feet and beating parallel paths in the fields. As the hours passed the flying cleuds, thickened into a blackness that ob- scured the moon, and then came the warm rain to make the march and the steaming clothing of the soldiers heavier than ever. The two men by the rivulet were not dis- turbed by the rain, until the horse gave a tug at the bridie, which woke the deaf man, who sat up and shook himself. He remem- Lered that his comrade was wounded. He feared that he was dead. There was no longer any moving infantry in the fields, and on the road only a few spectral figures drifting across a break in the clouds and further discernible in the darkness by swathings of white. “Great heads," muttered the deaf man. “Them fellers ain't givin’ up like Henry and layin’ out on the damp ground to calch celd a-purpose. He crept over to the body under the tree ard groped about in a scared way for a hand. The hand was encouragingly warm, and he pulled at the limp arm, at the same time calling the sleeper by name. Henry Price groaned, and opened his eyes onto the brow of the hill over which they had come. Its black rim cut sharply against the sky, which was beginning to clear, “Who are you that disturbs me?” he asked. He was:evidently in some doubt as to which world he was resuming conscious- ness in. “Wake up, Henry,” replied the deaf man, who was vaguely conscious that his com- rade had spoken. “I'll put you on the herse, snd we'll fetch up with the battery by mornin’. The sound of voices on the bank of the stream arrested the steps of a tall soldier who was hurrying along the road. “What are you fellers doin’ in there?” he cried. “The divil will be after ye afore long if ye don’t git up and move on.” “Pm well enough where I am, Henry. “Go on yourself.” “What kind of an idiot be you, anywa: Browled the strange soldier, striding over into the company of the two men and the hors: He had a bandage about his head which was stained with blood, but he carried his gun with a jaunty swing and appeared to have no uneasiness about his own ability to get away from the devil whenever it pleased him to proceed. “Say, what's’ the matter with you, any- way?” the strange soldier continued, !ook- ing down at Price and touching him with the butt of his gun. “Hurt? “I'm shot through the lungs,” said Henry. “I've got to die, and I don’t want to be bumped along on a horse—” “Sorry,” said the stranger. ‘What's the other feller got to say about it?” “He's deaf,” said Henry, with a deep groan, as he tried to shift his position. Spence came a step nearer to the tall soldier, in order to make a closer examina- tion of his bandage. “Got plugged in the didn’t ye, stranger?” be damned,” returned the tall soldier. ‘My name's Smith. He motioned Spence to one side and addressed himself to Price. “If you're shot through the lungs you better be set up on end, young feller. You'll breathe easier that way. We can’t all of us get off with a scratch like I did. Come, now,” he _ continued, straddling Price's body and lifting him by the should- ers. “It won't hurt but a min », and ye'll feel a heap better.” Henry winced with pain an against the tree with 4 groan. “Had it dressed?” “No, no!” said Henry, with a gurgling in his speech. “It’s no use. It’s all up with He had forgottef for theamoménht that the clotted rag was not a.cap, and the effect on his expression was, grotesque in the ex- treme. “You boys ‘better get a move on ye,” he said, as he s pfor the road. There was another rum! Of.wheels and the shifting and turning @ pursuing sec- tion on the brow of the iis time the black figures were swalloWed ub among the trees on the ridge direttly ®verbanging Price.and the deaf man. -Micks“ropped the butt of his gun to the ground With an oath and came back on his toe listéning to t1e voices up above him ahd ‘to-the tramplivug in the timber. When h® hes! the gun trails fall on the hollow ground with a rat- tle of chains, followed by the scrambling of teams and the bumping of ‘wheels over obstacles, he squatted doWn in his tracks without speaking, and the deaf man, ob- serving his action, lay down hy his side, keeping a hold on the bridle reins. The lid of a limber chest creaked ana fell with a bang. Somebody if authority swore frightfully. The twigs crackled under run- ning feet, and the rammer.heads beat on the shells like striking blows with a wooden mallet in a barrel. 08 : One gunner cried, ‘“Ready—fire: There was a rushing overhead like the passing of a giant rocket, but this Was aothing to the strange vision that appeared to the eyes of the three men by the brook. A halo of light enveloped the gun and showed the four numbers “broken back” outside the wheels. The arms of the gun- ner were extended above his head like a letter ¥Y. Number 1 with the sponge—No. 2 ever opposite, the man with the thumb- stall and the man with the lanyard (which was still writhing like a snake above his head), flashed out for an instant revealing distinctly their solemn faces, and as the light faded they sprang on the wheels to roll the gun up from its reeoil. Smith ut- tered a low exclamation of surprise as the struggling figures melted into the dark- ness, but Henry Price bounded from the ground like a rubber ball and yelled at the top of his voice, “Jim! Jim Price!” Even the deaf man heard him and understood. Henry's call was answered promptly by a voice from the hill. “Is that you, Hank? My G—o—o—!" and with the last word there. was the crash of @ body through the bushes, which made it plain that Jim was coming with leaps and bounds for an interview. Such amazing activity in a dying man, coupled with the surprising events which had preceded and were following it, struck Smith and Spence dumb. They could only stare open-mouthed at the dancing fig- ure before them, uttering inarticulate sounds of joy, which served to guide Jim through the brush to his brother. The other gun was fired at the instant Jim burst on the scene, so that he seemed to be swept out of the darkness by the undercurrent of the shell that rushed through the night overhead. “Dogon it!” exclaimed Jim, shaking Henry's hand limply and experimentally, as though he doubted if it was real flesh and blood. “I thought I killed you when you rolled down that bank.” “Jim,” said Henry, “I've tried my best to get killed for three days, because I thought I'd murdered you, and here you turn up fat and sassy, with not so much as ‘thank ‘You're another,” cried Jim. “Sound as a@ nut and aggravatin’ to the last. ‘I'm shot through the lungs,” said Henry ‘You are? You ain’ cried Jim. Let me feel of ye,” and he began fumbling about Henry's breast. “You fool; there ain’t a scratch en you. You always had too much imagination. Come, smarty, here’s the ball rollin’ about in the slack of your shirt, above your belt.” Sore devil!” said Henry. “I ain't wound- ‘Strike me dead,” cried Smith, project- ing himself into view with the gory band- age cocked over his right eye, | Jim had believed that he, was ,alone with his brother, and at the appearance of such a menacing third party he,fook, a precau- tionary step backward. qt “How are they at home, sonny? How's mother’s rheumatics?" if “Come and see,” cried ry, and with a quick leap he fastened his. grip on Jim’s collar. At the same moment the flying sec- tion which had passed so recently opened fire irom the opposite hill, “¥ 2ply to the. confederate guns. For a space'the dark- ness overhead was By, with burning fuses, and between the shricking of the shells and the rodr of the gins ‘Smith was unable to catch a word the argument that was passing between the brothers, who were flopping about the ground like two chickens with their heads chopped off. As nature became exhausted, the two com- batants rested In each Othér’s atms, mak- ing an occasional spasmodic flop’ and then subsiding. ai USS eas “I always was your match, Jim Price,” gasped Henry, “and now I ain't, wounded— like I thought I was, I'l sénd you,home to mother—if it takes— What the proviso was did not appear, for Henry's perky sentence was swallowed up in the rush of two Shells trailing fire ,over- head, and the whites of Jim’s eyes looked bloodshot in the light of the guns. Henry never relaxed his grip on his brother until the firing ceased, and then he handed his prisoner over to Smith and deaf Spence, who tossed him on the back of the horse. Jim was Yoo exhausted to talk at first, but before the party had pro- ceeded far on the road he began to remon- strate against such unbrotherly treatment. “Now, you shut up, Jim,” said Uenry. “If you knew what I've been through in the last three days on account of you, you'd know I'm fond of you. I'm a little beat myself, but there are some things I want you to explain to my captain.” replied ae Elastic Advertising Rates. From the Chicago Times-Herald. - When the advertising agent of one of the greatest shows on.earth—for in the circus business “greatest” is not a superlative term at all—visited a small town in Kansas last summer he called upon the editor of the local paper and inquired the cost of a double-column display advertisement in the next two issues. “Two hundred and eighty dollars,” wa? the reply, without a second’s ‘hesitation. “Great Scott! Are you crazy?” cried the agent. “What would you charge us for a full page?” “Two hundred same?” —* “But how do you figure it?” expostu- lated the circus man. “Haven't you any settled rate for space advertising? “See here, mister,” earnestly remarked the editor, “I don’t pay any attention to space in this deal, but I do know just what an advertisement in this paper will cost you. You may have a column, or a page, or the whole blamed paper, just as you like. There’s a mortgage for $280 on this shop, and your circus has got to help me out with it. If it doesn’t, I'm a goner, that’s all. You may move right in here and run the whole shooting match for a couple of weeks to sult yourself, but we've got to ante up $280 before next Saturday night. Now, then, are you a friendly In- dian or are you a hostile?” All the “dates” and extra posters used last season by that show. throughout the west were printed in a little one-horse newspaper office in -Kansas. The paper is still issued regularly,-and its editor shows every evidence that he is at peace with all the world and is prospering. * ———_ ++ _ It matters little what it ism! t you want —whether a situation. or‘ @ ‘sérvant—a “want” ad. in The Star -will-reach the person who can fill your need. sat back ‘Bleedin’ inside,” said Hicks. “I see. Mebby it can’t be helped, but it certainly goes agin my grain to leave you here to die—Sh! Hold your tongues, boys, there’s something comin’ on the road.” Smith caught Spence by the arm and held up a warning finger. At the same moment a mass of figures rose above the brow of the hill and two guns of the cavalry with mounted cannoneers came dashing down the slope with din of galloping hoofs, jing- ling sabers and clattering tools, through which the heavy breathing of the horses could be distinctly heard. A scramble down the hill, a double rumble over the bridge, and presently only the babbling of the brook above an undercurrent of rapidly re- treating sound. The rush of the flying section quickened the pulses of the three men, and the heavy silence that followed was eloquent of peril, imminent if undefined. The horse, whicn had been frightened at first, sidled against the deaf man and threw up his head with an appealing whinny that was prolonged in a succession of hoarse bleatings in his throat and chest. A heavy sigh came from the ground where Price was lying. “Save yourselves, comrades,” he said. “It's a dying man against two useful lives. The country needs—" Here his words endedj in a gurg- ling cough. “T believe you, young feller," said Smith, swinging his rifle to his shoulder and shov- ing up the bandage on one side of his head. and eighty—just the SAMSON AND DELILAH. Be Like. He Does It. (Copyrighted, 1897, by Frank G. Carpenter.) Written for The Evening Star. I tol building of the second city of the world. I refer to the city all, which is to be the center ef the government of the greater New York. The greater New York contains twice aS many peo- ct) ple as either New Jersey or Iowa. «it has nine times as many souls as Rhode Island or South Dakota. All the people in Nevada would rattle around in some of its smaller wards like the dry peas in a pod, and its inhabitants are more, with a few exceptions, than those of the greatest of our states. New York city is surpassed by only one place in the world as to Its population, and it is an easy second among the world’s cities in business and wealth. There is no town but gray-haired London which will compare with it, and with lusty strides it is fast tramping on London’s heels. During my visit to the English metropolis not long ago I heard a great fuss made about a sale of business prop- erty there at a priceequal to $10,000,000 an acre. A lot was sold within a stone's throw of the city hall only a year or so ago for a price amounting to $5,000,000 an acre. This lot was on the corner of N: sau and Liberty streets. It contained con- siderably less than a quarter of an acre of ground, and it brought $1,250,000. There is scarcely any property on the Island of Manhattan which can be bought cheaply today. There are lots along lower Broad- way which are worth a price equal to a carpet of silver dollars over their entire surface, and tiere are some, I venture, which you could not buy by offering to stand silver dollars on edge, side by side and end to end, making a two-inch plating over the whole lot. The tendency of prices here is ever upward. One-twelfth of the total assessed value of the United States exists in New York, the real estate assessment alone amounting to more than $2,098,000,000, Still, when the Dutch bought the Island of Manhattan of the Indians they paid for it only $24 worth of glass beads and buttons. It was the big- gest real estate deal on record. Twenty- four dollars then—worth billions now. Think what the Indians lost. t Mayor of New York. It is‘a big thing to be mayor of a city like this. The office much responsibility as that of the Presi- dent of the United States. There are, I believe, about four thousand policemen now. in this city, and there will be seven thousand in the new New York. There will be, all told, an army of city officials greater by that which Xenophon led on his re- treat to the sea than the army of the United States, and the salary list will amount to more than thirty-three million dollars a year. The property interests of such a city are enormous. The business carried on is of every kind. There is more manufacturing done here than in any other town in the United States. The shipping interests are so great that three thousand ships come from forcign ccuntries to these wharves every year, and two- fifths of all the products we ship to foreign countries are sent here to be loaded. The banking interests are the greatest on’ this hemisphere. The New York clearing house does a business of twenty-five bil- lons annually, while the stocks repre- sented in Wall street affect every country town in the United States. There are in the greater New York one hundred and six- ty thousand dwelling hcuses and business houses, which the mayor must see are in sanitary condition. The streets which have to be looked after would make a line longer than the distance between New York and Chicago, and the mileage of the surface railways would make five tracks from New York to Washington. I don’t know the ex- tent of the sewerage of the greater New York, but four years ago New York proper had more than four hundred miles of such works, aud the bill signed by Gov. Black will largely increase this nimber. All of these things have to be looked after. In every part of the vast city there are men scheming to get money out of its treasury or to evade its laws. All sorts of axes are brought to the city hall to be ground, and the mayor has to be a very smart man if he keeps the wheel turning in the right direction and uses it solely for the good of the people. A Morning With Mayor Strong. I believe that Mayor Strong does this, He. has no ax of his own to grind, and he is the mayor of all the citizens. He has brought civil service rules into what was cone of the most corrupt spoils cities of the world, and ke has really worked won- ders in reforming the government and the pelice. I spent @ morning in his office ard I was struck with the free American way in which he does things. Whatever there may be about the other departments of New York there is no red tape about the city hall. The mayor's office is open to all. You walk in and take your seat and wken your turn comes you step up to the maycr’s desk and state your case. When I arrived at the office that morning it was 9:30. Mr. Strong had already been there a half hour and he was still engaged in answering his mail. He had received at this delivery one hundred letters and more than half of these were already disposed of. He went over the letters rapidly di- recting his secretary how they should be answered, and later on the secretary took the mail and dictated the proper answers GREATER NEW YORK ‘Some Idea of What the Big City Will AN HOUR'S CHAT WITH MAYOR STRONG He Tells About His Work and How HOPEFUL OF THE FUTURE SFENT A MORNING recertly in the capi- carries almost us- ANHEUSER-BUSCH The Original Budweiser The Michelob The Muenchener Served on all Pullman ap3-s,m&w39t (BREWING ASS'N, THE LEADING BREWERY IN THE WORLD. ewers of the Most Wholesome and Popular Beers. The Faust The Anheuser The Pale Lager Served on all Wagner Dining and. Buffet Cars. Served on all Ocean and Lake Steamers. Served in all First Class Hotels. Served in the Best Families. Served in all Fine Clubs. Carried on nearly every Man-of-War and Cruiser. Served at most of the United States Army Posts and Soldiers’ Homes. The Greatest Tonic, ‘‘Malt-Nutrine” the Food-drink, is prepared by this Association. ask him as to his habits. He replies that he has no habits to speak of, that he lives simply, works hard, and thrives upon it. In’reply to my questions he answers that he dces not drink much, although his friends tell me that he is not averse to a finger cf good old whisky now and then. He tells me that one of the secrets of his vitality lies in the fact that he never wor- ries, and his assistants say that ne sheds 's back sheds water. He to him at the time, and then forgets about the matter until it again comes up. He puts his full force upon the thing befo him. Nothing seems to rufle him. A man may ccme into the office and denounce the city government. He may storm at the mayor and say things which might be considered unpleasant. The mayor pas! upon his case tien and there. r he has decided it he dism' it from his mind, and the face which he turns to the next caller is as clear as a May morning. I am told that Mayor Strong is ve fond cf humor. He has a homely way you cf President Lin- He can see a joke as quickly as cculd Lincoln, and he enjoys a funny story amit the most solemn cir¢umstan People who come before him are surprised to hear him burst into a laugh and tell a funny story in the midst of a most serious con- sultation. Some of them cannot under- stand how it is in this love of humor that he rests his mind. The laugh breaks the strain which his position necessarily en- The mayor is a good story teller, and his best stories are the reminiscences of his own life, which has been a typically American one. Conquered New York. Mayor Strong’s life-story is that of a ccuntry boy who came to New York and succeeded. He was, you know, born in Ohio. His early years were spent upon a farm, and one of his first business ven- tures was in a small store at Mansfield, Ohio. Mansfield is now a town of twenty thousand peop'e. When Mayor Strong was ycung I doubt whether it had three thous- and, but among its young men it included some of the brightest minds of the United States. One of Mr. Strong’s associates and friends was John Sherman, who had come to Mansfield from a school at Mount Ver- non to study law with his brother Charley. It must have been during Mr. Strong’s mer- cantile experience there that Sherman be- came a candidate for Congre nd can- vassed the district, going about with an old white horse, and stopping at the coun- try cross-roads to make speeshes. Anoth- er young man was Amos Townsend, who afterward went to Cleveland and made a big fortune there. He was sent from Cleve- land to Congress, and was for years cne of the soundest advisers of the republican party. I think that Townsend and strong were partners at Mansfield. Another man who has done much since he ieft that part of Ohio is Gen. Tom Eckert, who is now the president of the Western Union Tele- graph Company. During my chat with the mayor, I asked him how he happened to leave Mansfield. He told me thit he was ambitious, wanted to see something of the world, and concluded to try New York. He began his work here as a clerk, receiving at first a hundred dollars a month. Then he was sent out west to collect bills for his firm, and succeeded so well that his salary was increased right along. In those days there were no collecting agencies. The ed on time, the wholesale dealers nad to send their collectors out west to get the money. They sent them much as they now send drummers out to sell goods. Young Strong soon got a large acquaintance in the west. He was a good mixer, and was so popular that it is said that he would often take din- ner with a man in the evening or ¢o to church with him, the man knowing that he would the next day appear against him In a law suit. He did so well, in fact, that he was soon able to go into business for him- self, and he is now one of the rica men of New York. He is, I am told, worth con- siderably more than a million dollars, and in addition to a big commission business, he has other interests of many kinds. When he was elected mayor he was one of the directors of the New York Life insur- ance Company, president of the Homer Lee Banknote Company and the confidential ad- viser of other institutions. Before he took the office, however, he said to his asso- clates of the different boards: “Gentlemen, for the next three years you will have to get along without my aid. am now in the employ of the city of New York, and will have to work for them.” Mayor Strong has carried out this resolution. - His commission business is managed by His son, Putnam Bradlee Strong, and the mayors whole strength is devoted to the city. ‘Will Lead the World. I asked Mayor Strong a few questions about the greater New York. He said he had no doubt that the city would pros- per even more than It had done in the past, and that it would eventually be the great- est city of the whole world. His ideas on this subject are those of an optimist. He has faith in the United States and in New York. He does not believe the country is going to the dogs, and evidently does not think the days of prosperity are past. One of my questions was as to whether he thought young men had a chance of succéss in the great metropolis, and whether the business chances would be good in greater New York. The ” young-man who expects to ”” replied | “ y New od i i | ; FI Ra i i i i i ; j icf lis t Hi ; i E : Hs Fag | i i 38 ‘ : : } # i | ‘ i Z EE al; i i i i § git ete a New York at any hour of the night? Many people of the country are afraid of this city.” “I believe,” replied the mayor, “that life and property are as safe here as in any place in the world. There is no more dan- ger of a man being robbed or killed in any part of New York than there is in the wilds of the west, or, in fact, in any coun- try village. Of course, robberies occur ev- erywhere, and the man who acts the fool and does not mind his own business, who gets drunk and goes into bad places, is la- ble to get into trouble in any city or any- where else, It is the same in New York, but not more so than in other places.” Mayor Strong and the Poor. There is one thing Mayor Strong has kept before him during his term, and that is that the mayor of a great city like this ought to pay especial attention to the complaints of the poor. He said not long ago: “I am here to look out for the poor people; the rm will take care of themselv: He does look out for the poor. I don't think he would like to have it told, but I know that very little of his salary goes into his own poc . He is always giving to one charity or another. Every morning when he comes e of- tice he has a lot of one and o-dollar notes with him. These he places in the drawer at his right hand, and when wo- ™men come in with their tales of woe which the city can't remedy, he gives them a dol- lar or so apiece to ease the refusal he bas to make. He watches the streets of the poor parts of the city, and sees that the t houses of such quarters are more ca inspected than those of other Not long ago a_ poor woman parts. came into the mayor's office and took her seat on one of the sofas. She waited several hours until the other and bolder lers who pushed their way before her had been ispesed of, and then timidly came to yor Strong's desk. She drew a small bottle of a blue chalk-like mixture from under her shawl and said: “Mr. Mayor, I have brought you a little bottle of milk’ to show you what the dairies are selliag to the poor people of this town. I boaght this bottle in a grocery as I came here. It is what we have to use for fool for our babies, and we cannét get anything bet- ro ter.” The mayor asked the wom-n leave the bottle and he would He sent for the heaith officer. said that the milk was undoubtedl but that they had not enough inspec*ors to enforce the laws. “How many more do you want?” yor Strong. We need fifty or sixty,” was the reply. ‘Well, get them, and make them pay at- ked tention to the poor,” said the mayor. This was done, and the mayor saw that the laws were carried out. He saw that the fines were paid to the full extent, and showed the milkmen that they would be in prisoned upon a second offense if they did not carry out the laws. The result was that the poor people got good milk. FRANK G. CARPENTER. paces ONE MILLIONAIRE’S START. Bank and Got the Money. From the Chicago Times-Herald, A young German :mmigrant, who had not a dollar in the world and no relatives, friends, or acquaintances in America, ke reached a small town in Ohio, where he secured a position as ckrk im a flour and feed store and went to work. In almost an incredibly short time he learned the Engush lenguage and had mastered the few details of the business he ws in. One day he walked int another feed store a few blocks away, said that he had heard that the proporietor of the piace desired to sell out and inquired the price. The feed dealer wanted $1,500. After a few inquiries the caller said: “All right. I vill call tomorrow at 10 and ve'll go over to the bank and get the mon- rood "No one knew anything about the young German. The feed store man who wanted to sell jumped to the conclusior the prospective purchaser must have considerable money from Germany rext day, promptly on time, the German called to take possession. “Come on,” he said, “ve'll go right over to the bank now and get the money.” ‘Together they entered the bank. The Ger- man approached the cashier's window, in- troduced himself and said: “Dis is Mr. Jones, who keeps the feed store on Main street. I baf bought out his place for $1,500, and ve haf calied io get the money. I beg your pardon, replied the cashier, itand, marked the German. “I don’t vant an ac- count at all; I vant only the money.” “But you have no money in this bank,” explained the official. B “Of course not,” assented the caller. “If I had money I vould pay dis man myself. But I haven't any money at all, so I must come to you to get it.” “But we can’t let you have money unless you first give it to us.” * why is a bank?” excitedly demand- ed _ the would-be borrower. The colloquy which ensued waxed so loud that the president of the bank came out of his private office to see what was the mat- ter. He took the young German in hand The latter told the banker all