Evening Star Newspaper, July 23, 1898, Page 16

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JULY 23, 1898-24 PAGES. SOLER OLD, OLD HEAR WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY P. Y. BLACK. oo by 8. round the wire aborate air of one t he turned his » men kicking about en parade ground, in | pe surpris the major’s I cannot dwell ther joined r the welfare drum major he might ha thread of cott wooden shacks, eneeia ores ray ng eruption » corporal, almost k a step forward . ore conciliatory. “Will you have ff the booze,” z he hangin’ >; with most a-gun off to all at the dicke: & blessed cook stuck } = farrier soliloquized, jérowningly, as he strode to the post t 1 over his glass he e drank a se (pondered long, until, alien TS AFLAME S. MeClare.) anyway. Give me a beer, John, my boy, and good luck to | both of us!" I'll do it tonight or burst! 11. Once Healy was safely away, his long legs quickened their action until he al- most ran down the sldping, slippery trail to the creek, across the unrailed dangerous bridge over the creek, and, with almost the hopeful spring of youth, across the plain to the outskirts of the mushroom town. It neared sunset when he reached the first ‘ing houses, and branched off across lots to one little two-storied cottage which stood quite by itself, very s 1, very neat, and very unprotected. fifty yards from it, drew » blew it out again with ex- ve determination, and charged the lit- © front duor as if it were an Indian out- pest. Yet, when he reached it his knock s lest and the martial red of to a flickering pink. A s neat and unprotected look- woman as her house, opened the door. Per- haps it were more explanatory of her ap- rance to say t he looked as if in- viting protection, such a slip of a woman, yet not devoid of plumpness in the cheek, yet not without a blushing wom: twjnkle her eye. 2h, Mr. Healy,” said she, “I hardly ex- cied—I am glad to see you. Won't you What has brought you into the come in? town again today?” Au, Mrs. Bell, Mrs. Bell,” said Healy. gal What wud be afther bringin’ me but jist a soight o’ thim swate oyes?” ter Healy, I'm sur said the litle widow, twinkle of | those dangerous I don't be- lieve you. You people at the post all say the same thing, and none of you mean what you say—not one.” “Who—who—who's been darin’ to say that same thing?” cried Healy, in angry ghed gleefull ul,"” she who said. id “Do you anything to passion of jealousy which maddens at times the stags of the mountains, the tigers of the jungle. For the sake of a woman's lip the comradeship of a score of years was forgotten. The corporal found his voice first. “Axcuse me, Mrs. Bell,” he said, with a hoarse voice, “fur Gishturbin’ yez. It’s business I'm afther havin’ wid Farrier Strait. Will ye come out?” He shot the last words angrily at his old friend, and as quickly as the deflance reached his ear Fin took a step forward. Healy turned to the widow and bowed with stiff, soldierly formality. “I'll be likely in town tomorrow,” said he, “on the matther av the business be- twixt us.” At once the farrier faced the widow. “Mrs. Bell,” said he, “tomorrow I'll seck an answer to my question.” But the widow made no answer; she was now pale and trembling. “Corporal,” she stammered, ‘‘Mr. Strait!" They were swiftly gone, however, the farrier closing the door behind him, and the widow sat down, no little frightened at such sudden mutual wrath. The smart- est and most amorous youthful lovers she could have managed, playing one against the other, but the white heat of these vet- erans was beyond her power to cool. She warmed her pret: white hands at the stove, and cried a little in turn. “The two silly old things,” she murmured. “To go and fight when one’s just as nice as the other.” I. The snow had ceased falling and the air was colder, as the two soldiers strode away trom the little house, up the trail to the post, in grim silence for many minutes. If the landscape, the unutterably solemn calm of the snow-covered plain at eventide, had affected them, the same great plain, with its broad breasts yet more deeply blanketed in purest white, glimmering shadowily in the light of an uncertain, cloud-chased moon shculd have now restored peace to their hearts. Nothing of nature’s calm could yet do that. Healy, his chin sticking out, his thin lips rigidly tight. marched on blindly, clenching and unclenching his great bony hands. A pace to the corporal’s rear Fin followed, but he, after the first few hundred yards, so far conquered his pas- sion as to attempt nonchalance. He forced kimself to whistle, and lessened the angry determination of his stride. They were near the old bridge, and at the sound of that apparently merry tune Healy stopped in the deep shadow of the cottonwoods and faced his old crony. Many a time had the two followed that road waveringly, late at night, stumbling against each other, singing loudly and stopping to laugh, on days when they had been in the town together for a frolic, before the widow had given each a ret to keep from the other. Always then y had chosen the bridge and the shadows of the cottonwoods for the last halt before their nearby bunks should re- “WILL YE COME our?” and have you eating the poor Do come in!” fox afhter_call- Bell. Swate at this be Mrs. yez to look widow, Is it an in the soldier; suddenly anf- ite to a hop 5 to give throwing “Whin I'm ther av business, me de ora) an answer tonight. Mrs. Bell.’ * widow murmured in his arms Lit it Healy cau her a hear Mr. Healy u n. Lit it be the roight wan, Bell,” the corporal repeated and ran away, himself a shamefaced red, and fearful to jlook round to see if any one had noticed them. The farrier, being a privileged character, was excused from tattoo roll call. There- tore was nothing to hinder him, an reat, from locking his room troop stables and speeding through a slight fall of snow,. on ure bent. So it happened, while Cor- poral Healy was standing stiffly to atten- tion along with his troop, answering the all of his name at tattoo, with the snow hering thickly about them, that Fin } it was comfortably seated in the neat little unprotected house, protecting from all comers the neat Ktue widow. “But I must be going,” he said, for the tenth time. “It’s getting late ‘and the snow gets deeper every minute. If I want to get home at all tonight I should be go- ing now, Mrs. Be! ne oeried, and swate Mr: in the Yes, Mr. Strait.’ vas thiak'ng you must be very lorely ince—you know: ne widow’ es ceased to twinkle, and nked ay & tear or two. “It is lonely, Mr. Strait,” she answercd him. Fin shuffied his feet nervously and looked out bencath the red window shad “It's sull snowing, said he. “Mrs. | Ben." “Yes, Mr. Strait.” “It's not lonely up at the post,” said Fin, and rubbed the crossed brass sabers on his hat with sudden fury. The wido ighed. “But I can't live at the post, Mr. Strait,” she answered, and stood in the middle of the floor, thoughtfully playing with her ‘tage ring. The farrier looked at her idly, tenderly. “git down, Mrs. Bell,” he cried, desper- “If you can’t find a chair, sit down here. And he pulled the widow on his knee. “Oh, Mr. Strait!’ said Mrs. Bell, but re- sisted very gently. “Will you come and live at the post as my wife? the farrier whispered, but the wicked widow, conscious of an offer from the corporal now in her pocket, played with the farrier. At that there came a modest rap at the r, and the widow jumped to open it. It is probab'2 that she knew who it was, for the twinkic of her eyes betrayed a love of mischief, but she evinced great surprise at seeing Corp. Healy standing in the snow. She threw the door wide and hospitably open. Why, Mr. Healy,” satd she, “to think you'd come through all that snow—for the second time today, too. You must like the town. Come right in.’ “If it had snowed baynits and saber: me Gariint.” cried Healy, entering, * haye come for the—" He did not finish the sentenee. He caw his old friend Fin, and the corporal’s face turned red and white and darkly purple in quick succession. The farrier had risen to his feet at the sound of the soldier's voice, and the two faced each other in the coz: little parlor, with, for the first time since they were both recruits, flerce anger in their eyes. The widow closed the decor and began to laugh and chatter. “How funny, now!” she cried. “Here's you two, whom the folks at the post call the brethren, you're so thick and such old friends, aml you've never met at my house before. How funny!” So she chattered, while her lips were yet red with honest Fin’s kiss, and Healey's appeal crumpled in her pocket. Old hearts are more slow to flame to either love or anger than those that are young, but once afire they burn with the’snap and glare of fury. Healy heard nothing of Mrs. Bell's chatter; his ears were full of a savage humming like the buzz of a Kaffir impli. The farrier did not look at her; his eyes ‘ere fixed on the corporal’s. In the breasts “Tl take no chances ‘of both there blazed the same primitive them, to finish the bottle and ex- nge the last reminiscence of their far- youthful days in the war. Now they d here again, and Healy threw off his We're no recrooties, to want the whole troop to see us, Fin Strait,” said he. “We can trust each other fur fair pla Vin laughed uneasily, and did not take off his coat. His ani Ss apt to cool than the in’ you, Heal he ve ain't recrooties, as you say 1 fight, 1 want to “know w fightin’ about. It’s i; it is, said me an’ go fur y whip you, sure, the woman, of ¢ Healy, shortly. r answer tomorrow. is other way.” oo, man, I've a right to court her, an’, now the blood’s cooled, ll grant youe the same. But what's’ the use of cur fightin’ about a thing’s settled. She had her choice, free and fair, an’ she's ed. What's the good of kickin'?” 8, she's choosed,” said Healy, fierce- ‘An’ whin I've whipped yez fur yer in. terfarin’ tonight, tomorrow she'll say ‘yls to me.” “Ye're inspection, Healy, my bo; he said. ‘Twas tonight she sat on my knee and kis: as Saying ‘yes’ i You He!” ed me. Isn't that as good sy! Ye'd better take that back!” “Ye're a dirty liar! She wuz in me arrms this very day! Wull yez fight, ye Mar?” In a second Fin’s coat was thrown on the snow, and then, of a sudden, the two be- came outwardly caim. The shadows of the branches flitted across their faces, but the moonlight was quite good enough for each “I Thought I Killed You,” to watch the other’s eyes. These, though still vengeful, were the eyes of practiced boxers, for indeed there were few among the younger men who could beat the brethren at the gloves. Also each man re- membered that if he were so beaten as to be ashamed to show himself next day at the little house In the town, the rival suitor would have won the widow. ‘Therefore they fought, in spite of their rage, with science and self-control. It was no roman- tic duel, there was no clash of swords, the men were no courtly knights, the lady no high-born maid. The affair was a very vul- gar oneé—two common soldiers of an age to knoW better, of a friendship which should have been above such folly, battering each other brutally with fists for the hand of a Yoman whose late husband had been a sovernment teamster, It is to be conceiv- ed, however, that the sneering moon never looked down upon a combat fought by young lovers with honest wounded hearts more fiercely afiame. In utter silence they fought until the spbw was beaten and scattered by their Gancing feet. There was no need here of’ seconds, no need of an arbiter of the code. Feint, parry, smash; a moment's play for breath, a close, a wrestle; up and come again. The old boys were strictly honest, and, though none saw save that flying moon and an occasional jackrabbit Startled in its tracks, each would have scorned to take an unfair advantage, to be guilty of a foul. Round after round, with all memory of their former comradeship sarnotien, ae no setae = the mad ones of @ lous rivalry, they struggled together, was little ‘Giterense in their weights, but Healy was the wirler, and neither man’s wind was as good as in the days of early campaigns. So it hap- pened that, after half an hour's fierce fight- ing, when both were bloody, and both more full of wrath than ever, they fell together, and rolled in the trampled snow, too blown to spring “¥p. Healy had the upper hold, and he criég in Fin Strait’s ear: “Tek it backébout)the kiss! Tek it back an’ swear yéll laye the widdy be!” Fin gasped a sturdy fierce defiance, and Healy’s hand over him, whe there came fainffy thfilling over the snow the first clear n@te of a bugle. Healy's hand dropped harmlessly and he raised his head and pricked_his gars like a dog at the call of the mast&. More loudly rang the bugle, and suddefily the rivals were apart, sitting in the show, -listening intent, Clear and shrillat lat, loud, command- ing, blood burnifg, oat sang the bugle boldly, so that the cold air thrilled through the cotton woods, and. every living thing on the plain stood to listen, Ere the trumpeter was half through with the call, the disciplined soldiers were on their feet, as they would have struggled to their feet at that call if a sword had passed through the body of each. Al! love and jealousy and hate must wait when thus the trumpets call. “Tis boots an’ sa@dies!” cried Fin. “An’ me not at the et With that each ad his coat, and, all regardles of their bruised faces and blood- stained shirts, they ran swiftly to the post. There was rushing of men to the corrals, the sharp commands of officers, the click of revolvers as they were hastily loaded, saddling of horses, curses of men belated, hasty issuing of ammunition, and at last the cool, clear voice of the captain of the troop: “Prepare to mount! ranks!"" The corporal their accustomed places, flushed and bloody, but ready—ready as any lance corporal there, the pride of a first sergeant’s heart. Then a whisper ssed from man to man down the line of semen. “There’s an outbreak on the Suckeriver reserve. They’ve killed the agent, and the reds have massacred a ranchman and his family.” The moon had disappeared. Great gray clouds had been blown up by the gather- ing wind, and once more the snow fell, but now more fiercely, more heavily than ever before. Through it the little bluecoated column proceeded at a determined trot to the place some twenty miles away, where the uprisen Indians were supposed to be gathered together. A plainsman, who had brought the news of the massacre and the regular government scout attached to the pest, led the way. As ranking corporal, Healy rode on the right of the first set of fours; the farrier was back in the column, so that for a time the rivals were ef- fectually separated, But this midnight ex- pedition, although it thrilled the hearts of younger men, troubled the minds of the two veterans little. They rode on as a matter of duty, just as they would, if or- dered, have gone through the manual of The unfinished fight had left them too full of jealousy and disappointment and hate to do morg than brood over the fancied treachery of each. Mount! Form and the farrier were in breathing hard, pa Gone now were all memorigs of stirrup to stirrup charges, of friendly frolics, of pains and pleasiires shared together. True ades once they were bitter foes now. ter and faster the snow drove in their faces, deeper and deeper it lay on the trail, sd high by the laboring feet of ses. To right and to left, one yard from the column, nothing could be distinguished; a trooper could but faintly see the man in front of him. Only the half- breed guide and the trained plainsman could devise an unerring path through that storm. In their hands the captain had to leave his troop and himself, There was no pause, for revenge on,the tribe must be swift to be sure. At every clearer space, where the free: wind had swept the trail clean of drifts, the guide turned to the captain, and he ‘raised his hand, pressing his knees to his horse, when at once the troop broke Into a gallop, with jingling of bridle and clash, of steel and thunder of hoofs. So they rode, ‘each man grimly si- lent, swiftly through the night and the storm. They reached the place before daylight, seeing nothing before them, but all at once they heard the yapping of dogs and the shrill voices of squaws, and the chant and yells of blood-frenzied savages. In the fancied security of the storm, the reds in their tepees were celebrating thelr hideous triumph to the monotenous beat of the drum and the sbrill song of the warriors and the dance of the warpath. The grim captain halted his column and gave his orders, and in a minute every man was tense, revolver at the ready, his bridle hand firm. The guide had reconnoitered in front and came back whispering. Then lowly on the whistling wind came the soft command along the line: “Forward, mareh! ‘Trot, march! march!" And loud and clear there followed the stir- ring yell, “Charge!” and the clean-cut note of the trumpet, that one long heart-thump- ing note that sends a man to death as will- ingly as to the dance. Down they went on the camp, into the blackness of the night, into the whirl of the blizzard, and at once it was impossible to see one’s right-hand man or keep aligned. It was each man for himself, with the thought of a murdered woman and child to steel his heart and nerve his hand and direct his alm. The In- dians were not all unready. Their arms were at hand, and very quickly they real- ized that the white men had braved even the blizzard to seek revenge, and were upon them. In a tumult of yells and hasty or- ders the chiefs sprang to repel the attack. In a moment all was a corner of hell. Shout and curse and dying yell, continuous crack of rifle and revolver, ‘screech of squaw, bark of dog and crash of falling tepee as some headlong trooper charged madly into it. Over it all, round it all, the deadly wind shricked and ‘the snow fell un- ceasingly. in the midst of it, right in the center of the camp, two men came crash together, and in that instant recognized each other. In neither’s mind was even that charge the uppermost thing. With a sudden mutual curse their rage was let loose. Healy ex- tended his arm and fired, not two yards from his old comrade. Old Fin, the farrier, gave a terrible scream, and’ Healy saw him drop. But even in falling the veteran sought revenge, and his pistol was dis- charged. The corporal felt a sting in his side; the noise all suddely ceased, and he also dropped inanimate from his horse. Iv. In a little separate room In the post hos- pital the old campaigner came out of the fever, out of the delirium, weeks after the fight on the Snake river. The doctor was with him, and a stiffly upright and martial attendant. “You've the constitution of a horse, Healy,” said the doctor. ‘You ought to have died, you know. Take this and go to sleep, and don’t bother about the widow you've been raving over for two weeks. A man of your age ought to know better. Never mind, if you'll keep quiet, you can go @o see her, whoever she 1s, before very long.” They left the veteran alone in semi-dark- ness, but the drink the doctor gave him did not send him to sleep. He lay think- ing, thinking, thinking, until at last, with shuddering horrer, he. had the facts clear in his mind. The widow? He shrank from the thought of her. She was but a woman he had known for aqittle while, whom he had gone crazy over Ike any young fool, and—and for love»of ber he had become a murderer. A dexer! Poor old Fin! Good old Fin! ait had nursed him after the fever in the’ Bad Lands; could any widow have done it fore carefully? Fin and he had held @f a ‘band of Ogaliaias all one afternoon in Wrifié pit, until help came, and Fin had risked ‘h’s scalf twice that day to get water?’ Weld any widow have stuck to a pal lke that? Fin Strait—the best friend, the wartfest-hearted, closest comrade, a ‘soldiér evér had—he had killed Gallop, him. Homicide! }4t w%8 worse than that— fratricide. Had y Tot always been nick- named “the bi What was the ~ lant, ame in again,-old Healy was very see For many days longer he lay, feverish, but still, asking no qyestions. He knéw that no man could have seen the deed in that whirl of snow and blackness; that Fin’s death would be credited to the Indians. But that thought gave him no ease. With the honest sim- Plicity 07 « child, he felt it would be some relief to confess, to go to the major and be court-martiaied, tried, hung. Hour after hour he spent in recalling every incident of his twenty years’ friendship—the war, the fierce Indian fighting after the war, the comparative ease that had come to them when they were privileged characters with the officers’ of the regiment, because of their long and faithful service. He feit a scornful horror of himself, and a terrible ag a for the laughing woman who would kiss two men on the same day and send them out, frenzied, to Kill each other, Yet he got well pretty quickly, Yor, as the doctor said, he had the constitution of a horse. One warm torily ordered out, much against his will, day he ‘was peremp- to take the air on the broad veranda which fran around the hospital. He got himself comfortable in a low chair in a quiet cor- ner and began for the hundredth time to go over all the murdered man had done for him in those long, active years of fun and fighting. His head drooped on his breast and he dumbly thought of suicide. Round the corner of the house came the unmistakable thump, thump of a man on crutches. Healy's eyes sought the corner vacantly. In an instant they opened wide with fear and he rose to his feat, spreading out his hands to fend off something horri- ble. The man on crutches stopped. He was pale with long sickness when he turn- ed the corner, but now his face colored and his eyes lit up with sudden unspeak- able relief and joy. ‘Howly mother, defind me!” cried Healy. “Aw, fur ma sins, it's thrue I killed him, but I'm near crazy fur the sorro’ uy it. Ill confess it all, Fin, an’ be hanged like aman. Ye can have the widdy, d— her, if she’s any good to yez now, but go back to your grave an’ lave me be, fur the sake uv ould toimes.”” “Healy! Healy!” gasped the man on crutches, hopping toward him. “I've been feared to ask. I thought I killed you. Healy, you d— old chump! Healy! O, Lord! I’m thankful for this!" “Fin,” said Healy, slowly, ceasing to tremble. “Is it rale filsh an’ blood yez are? Me God, but I can't believe it But touch of familiar hands reassured the veteran, and in another minute the two sat side by side, and—there were no recruits to see—their hands were clasped in each other's and their eyes were wet. They did not refer, save briefly, to their nearly fatal quarrel, understanding that each, in a moment’s madness, had fired on the other, and each, when convalescent, had been afraid to ask for news of his friend. For a long time they were silent, until old Fin looked slyly at the corporal. “She's married!” he sald, abruptly. “Chuh!"" said Healy. “To the schoolmaster, Graves,” said Fin. “The divil!’’ said Healy, and suddenly laughed loud! “Healy,” said the “weemin is frauds.” “Ye're roight, so ye are, Fin,” said the corporal, and hitched up his chair more closely to Strait’s, with a sigh of content. A RESPONSIBLE POSITION. farrier, solemnly, Importance of the Navigator of a Ves- sel and His Duties. From the Philadelphia Times. it {s doubtful if any office in the navy, aside from an absolute command, invo! So vast a responsibility as that of nav tor of a man-of-war. The duties of this important station in former years fell to officers of the rank of master, but with the abolition of that grade its affairs de- volved upon the lieutenants holding the highest numbers on the list. Upon the navigator of a warship depends not only the task of shaping the vessel's course for any point across the seas to which her destinies may direct her, but also the re- sponsibility of piloting her in and out of harbor and of selecting a safe anchorage for her in every port visited during the period of her cruise. Hence it follows that, combined with a thorough nautical ing, the competent navigator must be sessed of a vast fund of geograph meteorological and hydrographical knowl- edge. While at sea he must know the ves- sel's position to a degree, which neces: tates his taking frequent observations «f the celestial bodies and making solutions of intricate problems in geometry and trigonometry, such as constantly arise through deviations brought about by in- numerable causes from her given cour: Unquestionably the most important ¢ ment in navigation, because of its infalli- bility under ordinary conditions, in dever- mining the latitude, longitude and error in the ship’s compass, is what is known in maritime phraseology as “nautical astron- omy.” With the aid of a sextant or quad- rant for measuring the altitude of the heavenly bodies above the horizon or their distance from each other, a timepiece to mark the instant of an observation, a chro- nometer to show the time at the first meri- dian, a nautical almanac and an azimuth compass, the navigator can readily de mine his position with the utmost exacti- tude, thus obviating uncertainties result- ing from the more simple but less accurate method of dead reckoning. The average voyage is more or less char- acterized by erroneous estimates in di tances sailed, {n varying currents, careless steering, deviation in the compass and numerous other obstacles, and upon the navigator rests the responsibility of ad justing such errors. In long passag across the open sea the navigator is gov. erned by a rather complex combination of motives, which may be summed up as fol- lews: To cover the required distance in the shortest space of time, with the smallest expenditure of fuel and the least wear and tear of the vessel that is possible. With these objects in view, the navigator must, prior to sailing, superintend person- ally the stowing of the hold, the arrange- ment of ballast, water, provisions, stor &c., and the inspection and adjustment of the motive appliances of the ship, all of which features, severally and collectively greatly affect her speed and seaworthiness If his vessel possesses the facilities fo making sail he must, while at sea, exercise the keenest judgment and foresight as to utilizing the same, for sail used to good ad- vantage is a great saver of coal, while otherwise, {f used indiscriminately, it may entail much loss of time. The expert navi- gator draws the line with exceeding fine- ness between a high fair wind and a gale, making the most of the former as long as his vessel is not jeopardized, heaving her to at just the proper period and getting under way again at the first sign of moderation in the weather. The commander of a war- ship reposes the utmost confidence in a skilled and careful navigator and rarely interferes with his plans. Another of the numerous details coming under the nayi- gator’s supervision is the keeping of the ship's log. This {s commenced by him at the time the vessel is placed in’ commis- sion, and its pages record the events of each succeeding day. There is absolutely nothing which transpires, officially, on board of a man-of-war that is not written in the log, and each day the navigator must carry it to the commanding officer for his inspection. At the expiration of every six months the ship’s log must be closed and forwarded to the Navy Depart- ment at Washington, where it is placed among the records. The navigator is provided with a large and varied assortment of instruments and appliances designed to facilitate his work. While in pert he is often detailed to make surveys of portions of the coast line which may be defective upon the charts, or to de- termine the exact location of rocks or shoals which hitherto have, not been mark- ed with sufficient accuracy. The hydro- graphic office at Washington is largely in- debted to the scientific achievements of the navigating officers of the navy for the val- uable data it is enabled to furnish to the maritime world, and much praise .can- not be accorded them for the infallibitiy which invariably distinguishes their re- ports. The navigator has charge of all the various weather indicators of the vessel, and must render quarterly reports of all meteorological observations. These are taken at regular intervals by the qutarter- masters of the watch and fully entered upon the ship’s log. The navigator must regularly inspect the steering gear, com- passes, anchors and chain cables of the ship, and daily report thelr condition to the commanding officer. He must also keep a separate book in which are record- ed all calculations relating to the naviga- tion of the vessel, and in which no erasures are permitted to be made. At the expira- tion of the cruise this book is forwarded to the bureau of navigation. The duties of a navigating officer are more than sufficient to fully occupy his time, but, notwithstanding this fact, he frequently stands his watch at sea, while in port he is eg-officio the executive officer during the latter's absence from the ves- sel. The Nlustrious Dewey was, during the earlicr period of his career, an acknowledg- ed expert as a navigator, and to his ex- cellent ability in maneuvering may be largely accredited his recent splendid vic- tory at Manila. —eee. A Clouded Life. — From the New York Weekly. Mrs. Biiffers: “Your old friend has such asad tace. Why is it? Mr. !2liffers: “Sears ago he proposed to a very beautiful girl, and——* Mrs. Bliffers: “And she refus2d him?” Mr. Bliffers: “‘No; she married him.” 00 In the Schoo} of War. From the Chicago Record. “Strange what good fighters society men turn out to be.” “Not at all; wearing a high collar makes @ man ferocious,” ~ [PRICE OF PEACE Defeated Nations Always Find War a Costly Experiment. BIG BILLS THAT HAVE BEEN PAID Some Notable Precedents Set by European Countries. CHARGES AGAINST SPAIN —-____ Written for The Evening Star. PAIN'S FRIENDS in Europe have come to the conclusion that = = her power of resist- \ ance to the United States is ended. “Peace at any price” is the advice that is given to the states- men at Madrid from all European capi- tals. But what shall the price of peace be? Uncle Sam must an- swer that question. It is for him to name the amount of the indemnity. Since na- tions first began to fight the rule which ccmpels the defeated to pay roun defeat has prevailed. “So much of your territory and so much of your money” has been invariably the final word of the con- aueror to the conquered. In the earlier wars of the century some notable precedents have been made from which an idea may be formed of the size of the bill shortly to be made out by the United States against Spain. The principle followed has been that, both in territory and in cash, the defeated nation is Mable to pay for its experience. A far-off but famous illustration of this principle is found in the terms of peace dictated by the allied powers of Europe to France, after the fall of Napoleon at Waterloo. Not only were various pie of French terri- tor »propriate her important but frontier fortresses were held for five years occupation,” was by an French support. “army of treasury which the made’ to pay and 1857 and 156) the € ides ced ing Hong K 7 us British and opening several of her ports to tra Was made to pay an indemnity amounting in all to about 3; In the case of the war between United States i Mexico, when the terms of peace ed by our government, ensation was taken wholly in territory. Mexico was too poor at that time to pay a cash in- demnity equivalent to the cost of the w which was about $100,000,000. So we took ew Mexico instead mon and considered the bargain so good that we paid $15,000,000 to the Mexican gov- ernment as an additional consideration for the transfer. The Alabama Award. Although not strictly a war indemnity that paid by Great Britain on account of the depredations of the Alabama during our clvil war is of timely interest as ex- emplifying the extent to which claims for California and X compensation may be built up and cut down. As originally put forward the American claims practically comprised every item in the expense of the war from the day on which the Alabama put to sea. The prolongation of the war was attributed entirely to her, and she was, therefore, made responsible for this, as well as for the loss suffered by American commerce through its transference to foreign vessel: and the increased rates of maritime tnsur- ance. The Geneva Tribunal, however, de- cided that such indirect results of the Ala- bama’s depredations could not be included in the bill and awarded an indemnity of $15,875,000 as an equivalent for the injury actually done to the United States through the fault or negligence of England. The recent war en China and Japan was terminated by the peace of Shimo- noski three years ago. By the treaty ‘hina agreed to pay Japan a sum equiva- lent to $ In addition, she ceded and of mosa to her conqueroi ed the independence of Corea an d to open four new treaty ports. ar between Prussia and A) 866 was rounded off by the payment of a notable indemnity by the vanquished Aus- trians. In addition to the territorial ag- grandizement of Prussia and the exclusion of Austria from the German bund, the treaty of Prague, which terminated the war, provided for the payment by Austria of an indemnity of 40,000,009 Prussian thal- ers, or about $30,000,000, From this amount, however, deduction was made of 15,000,000 thalers, representing Avstrian claims on Schleswig-Holstein, and 5,000,000 thalers as an equivalent for the free maintenance of the Prussian army in Austria, pending the ccnelusion of peace. An Enormous Sum. The heaviest war indemnity of modern times was, of course, that paid by France at the close of the war with Germany. The hostilities lasted over eight months, and the total cost of the war was estimated at $1,580,000,000. Beside the cession of Al- sace and Lorraine, France had to pay Ger- many five milliards of francs ($1,000,000,000) in installments which were allowed to ex- tend over three years. The original de- mand of Germany was six milliards, or $200,000,000 more. M. Thiers strove in vain to save Metz, but it was to his exertions that the reduction in the amount of the in- demnity was due. he cost of the Russo-Turkish war of 1877 has been estimated at $945,000,000. Be- tween the declaration of war by Russia and the treaty of San Stefano nearly eleven months elapsed. By this treaty the porte admitted itself indebted to Russia in the sum of 1,410,000,000 rubles (about $725, G0) as indemnity for the losses and ex- penses of the war. The items in the ac- count were as follows: Four hundred and sixty millions for war expenses, $205,- 00,000 for damage done to the south coast of Russia, her export commerce, industries and railways; 000,000 for injuries caused by the invasion of the Caucasus and $5,000,000 for injuries suffered by Rus- sian subjects and establishments in Tur- key. In consideration of the financial em- barrassments of the Ottoman empire, the czar consented to accept in substitution for about three-fifths of the total sum the various territorial cessions sanctioned by the treaty of Berlin. This left a balance of $225,000,000 due to Russia by Turkey, and a part of it is still unpaid. The latest and most lenient war indemni- ty was that levied by victorious Turkey on Greece last year. The sultan mg | obliged by the great powers of Europe fo cut it down to $20,000,000, which was net a fourth part of what it actually cost him. ~ Cost of American Wars. A few comparative figures, taken from official records, will serve to put the great ircrease in the cost of war as now conduct- ed, with all the’modern improvements, in a clear light. Our war for independence last- ed eight years, and its cost is officially re- corded as $135,000,000, using round figures. There were about 310,000 troops engaged in that war—one-third more than have been called out in the present confliet with Spain. It follows that, accepting Mr. Ding- ley’s estimate of $500,000,000 a year as the cost of the present war, it is going to cost four times as much to fight Spain for one year in 1598 as it cost to fight Great Britain. for the eight years from 1775 to 178. The war of 1512, which lasted twg years and e‘ght months, cost the United States a lit- tle over $107,000,000, and to carry it on we put in the fleld 576,000 troops, nearly three times as many as we have now under arms. ‘The Mexican war, which lasted two years aud three months, cost the American -peo- ple $100,000,000, and 112,000 troops were en- gaged in it. If the number of the troops who carried our flag victoriously to the capital of Mexico had been doubled, they would. have about equaled the number of the army now in the field agginst Spain, and the cost of their two years and three months of operations would have been bout $200,000,000. From which it is a plain deduction that, with the’ same number of men under arms, a year ot war in 1998 is 000,- J about five times as expensive as was a year of war in 1846. The cost of our great civil conflict has been put down at $6,189,929,000, but that estimate includes all expenses growing out of the war, as well as the actual cost of military and naval operations. The dir outlay of the United States government in carrying on the war for four years w 400,000,000, and in the course of the gle 32 Union troops were engaged is estimated that the number of troops ly engaged on the Union side averaged 2.326.168 for thre s. Hence, ttapy e war, counting i sis, was about $1 406,000,000 per year. But Mr. Dingley ha told us Uhat it will cost &500,000,000 to k 200,000 men fighting Spain for one yes which is more than one-third as mu it cost the government to keep 2. men fighting the confederate states for the same length of tim: Leading Items in the Bil It is easy to understand why modern warfare is so much more costly than the old-fashioned kind, if we turn to a few of the leading items in the military and naval expenditure of our time. The average cost of @ first-class battle ship {s $3,000,000, The cost of the never-to-be-forgotten Maine, which was a battle ship of the second cla An armored cruiser of the Brooklyn type costs $3,000,000, An armored ram like the Katahdin costs $1,- 000,000, A double-turreter monitor costs about $1,500,000. A turreted monitor ccsts about $500,000, A protected costs all the way from $1,000,000 to & 000; the Charleston cost the form: Columbia the latter sum. detroit typ d gunboat like pro $600,004 Conc cost the A composite gunboat 1000. A dyn like the s Vesuvius is A mat of the Far- Tagut pattern cos’ We of our vessels in in. The Maine, destroyed ar before the war began, tg ‘m of this kind that will tigure ming bill of costs. Ti laine cost about $2,500,000 io build. A more serious item will be compensation for the Mves of the 266 American sailors that were de- Ftroyed with her. This may well justify a claim of $5,000,000 more, be distributed among the surviving fami: of the’men who Were Unus treacherously killed. Other items in the bill will cover our general war expenses of all kinds; for coal used at sea for transportation of our soldiers by lan and sea, fur war supplies of all kinds, for the pay of our soldiers and sailors,and for ir nand not only with of the world. © qua: naster’s mated that $44,000,000 wi pay the transportation ci armies now e six months. be n ed to in time ment—ot —was nearly of war have cc with the c ammunition, or the te n things as coa Eto d Mps, rictly und. equipments.” sr the Guns and Am h cost of moc n will also b demnity bill. A complete m ion to fill on the ves: sea again about $4,750, 5 Gne battle supply of shot and The h ammunit and full shell costs about $400,000, time one of our moneter 13-inch guns is fired the charge costs $1,500; a great many of these charges are already included in our litde account ag: ain. The smaller guns are fired at a cost running all the way from $20) up to $1,000 for each charge. The guns themselves are costly, too. for 100 high-power steel guns for s defenses, hem, Pa., 0—averaging $35,000 apiec Mr. Dingiey's mate of 10,000,000 as the cost of our war operations against Spain for a year covers ail (hese things, and a calculation weli within the xpenditure. Even though Spain Peace quickly, it js not possible for our government to av arge portion of this estimated outlay, as the troops have been called out, and contracts of all kinds for many months ahead. Can Spain Pay &375,000,0008 The indcmnity demanded of Spain, there- fore, will probably be not s than the cost of nine months of war based on Mr, Dingley's estimate—$375,000,000. But, then, there is the alternative of territory. Where the vict lected to take large ry from the ation, been counte the indemnity. So that if p of the Pl Li and Porto Ric s from § Sam, or to the people of these i der the protection of the Unite that may be allowed to cut amount of the indur Made a Mistake. From Tit-Bits. A few evenings ago a gentleman stepped from a train at one of the London sta- ticns, when a young lady skipped up to him, threw her arms rapturously about his neck, and Kissed him many times, say- in: nation has ¢€ rious ‘Oh, papa, I'm so glad you have come!™ The old gentleman threw both arms around her and beld her firmly to Ms breast. Soon borror “Oh, she looked up into his face, stood in her eye my! you're ret my papa!” she said, trying to free herself from his embrace. “Yes, I am,” insisted the old gertlemar holding her tight y long-lost daughter, and I am going to keep you in my arms till I get a policeman.” hen the officer came he found the olf gentleman's diamond pin in the girl’s hand. “You wouldn’t do for a cable car con- ductor,” said the waterpipe to the gap meter. “Why?” asked the gas meter. —Harlem Lite. <= and “You register too much. = Love that Alters. “Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.” That is one of the sublimest lines in all literature. It is the final definition of love by the world’s greatest reader of the human mind,—Shakespeare. Nearly all women who truly love, love in this sublime way. Men seldom do. Woman's most glorious endowment is the pores to awaken and hold the = and honcst love of a worthy man. ‘hen she loses it and still loves on, no one in the wide world can know the heart agony she endures. The woman who suffers from weakness and derangement of her special womanly nism soon loses the power to sway the % gencral health suffers and she loses her od looks, her aiasijion gx ber amia-