Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, May 27, 1894, Page 19

CHASE OF TRESL AVER “CORA’ The Last Blave Ehip Oaptured by the United Btates, 700 HUMAN CHATTELS IN THE HOLD One of the Truoe Romances of the Sea Told by the Commander of the Pursuing “ Constellation "—~A Leaf from the Past. One of those true romances of the sea that put to the blush the best efforts of a Captain Marryat, a Fenimore Cooper, or a Clark Russell, was the chase and capture of the American slave ship Cora by the United States steamer Constellation. The Cora was a stanch bark, freighted with no less than 720 slaves, and she was commanded by a bold, resolute and re- sourceful man. At the time of the capture the captain gave his name as Campbell, and claimed that he was an English subject, and merely a passenger on the bark. By Masonic friend:hip he managed to escape from the Constellation at St. Paul de Loando, and in after years he met the young naval officer who was detailed to command the prize. Then he was a painted and spangled performer in a circus, the cele- brated clown, Willlam B. Donald:on, and he confessed that this was his real name. Says his captor: “He had been sailor, lounger and pseudo-gentleman of leisure on Broad- way, negro minstrel, clown, slave captain— perhaps the list had better be closed, but he had a faithful, generous heart. He was a brave man even though a statutory pirate.” The Cora was the last slave ship captured by the United States and the young officer who played 5o prominent a part in the affair was Lieutenant Wilburn Hall. As soon as Lieutenant Hall, who was in command of the Cora, landed his prize in New York, he cast his fortunes with the confederacy. After serving through the civil war he became one of the American staff/ officers on the staff of the khedive of Eggpt. He is now the American consul at Nice. Major Hall has written a graphic account of the chase and capture of the Cora for the May number of the Century. An extract from his story follows: In President Monroe's administration the United States and Great Britain by treaty agreed to maintain each a squadron carrying at least eighty guns, on the African coast, to suppress the slave trade, which to that time had received no real check. Each na- tlon could search and might capture the merchant vessels of either, upon proof which satisfied the naval officer of the violation of the laws. In point of fact, while this right was occasionally used by British men-of- war, still they seldom exercised it against American vessels, and it became almost the rule that American men-of-war should per- form the duty. This fact came about be- cause the slave trade was largely carried on by American vessels. And strange as it may seem, by way of parenthesis, the Amerlcan vessels were invariably fitted out and despatched from northern ports, only one in many years immediately preceding the war having southern ownership—the schooner Wanderer, which landed slaves cn the coast of Georgia; but these slaves were at once gathered in by the United States government and sent back to Africa on the steam frigate Niagara. Engaged in thie duty the Constellatiop Wwas crulsing on the African coast, the men find- ing relaxation only at long intervals in a short rest at Madeira or the Canaries; or perhaps on one of the islands in the Bight of Benin. After one of these cruises, when off the Ambriz river, near the Congo, in August, 1860, the calm gave way to a re- freshing breeze and the Constellation, with all squaresail to royals, had just shaped her course for St. Paul de Loando. It was about 7 p. m., the sea was calm as a floor and a beautiful moon lit the waters with a splendor Tarely seen. The crew and officers were all on deck. enjoying the refreshing change. ®ongs were heard forward, messenger boys were skylarking in the gangways, officers were pacing the lee quarterdeck. Suddenly Zrom the foretop sail yard rang out the cry: ail ho!™ Instantly laughter ceased, songs ended, men jumped to their feet—all was now ex- pectancy. ‘‘Where away?’ came sharply through the speaking trumpet from the of- ficer of the deck. ‘“‘About one point for'ard of the weather beam, sir.” Every eye caught the directfon indicated. Sure enough, bright and glistening in the re- flected moonlight, the sails of the stranger were seen, hull down, with the upper parts of the courses in view. Lieutenant Hall describes the alacrity and bustle with which all of the officers and men of the Constellation sprang to their ts as the steamer started to overhaul e brig: Soon the ship was dashing along on the atarboard tack with royals and staysails drawing. This evolution brought the chase on our weather beam. The Constellation ‘was a remarkable sailer by the wind, and few ships were ever known to equal her when everything was braced sharp up and bowlines taut. The yards were now so sharp that ~ she ran nearer than the usual six points to the wind. In no long time the courses of the stranger began to rise, show- ing the galn we were making; and in an hour she was mearly hull up. It was as clear as day, but the light was that wonder- fully soft light which the moon gives only in the tropic:. The stringer's sails were ns white in that light as a pocket handker- chief. The breeze had freshened so that we were running at least nine knots. Men had been sent aloft to wet down the topsails, and avery thread was stretched with its duty, the leeches of the topsail just quivering. this time a gun from our weather bow was fired—a signal for the stranger to heave to, but on she sped, silent as a dream. We could now plainly see through the glasses that there was not a light about the ship, a most significant sign. Another gun was fired. As the white smoke came pouring over our Wleck we lost sight of the chase, but as it was swept to leeward, there che ran silent and glistening, with no tack or sheet started. Suspicion now amounted al- most to a certainty that we had a slave ship at hand. Our distance was yet to great to reach her with a shot. Soon her jib fluttered, her bow swung to the -wind, the main-yards were hauled—altogether she scemed to turn upon her very heel, and with the quickness, and almost the precision, of a man-of-war she had gone on the other tack, hoping, doubt- less, to beat to windward. The Con- stellation followed her movement, and again fired a gun. We were both doing our ut- most, and the two ships cut the brilliant waters on an apparently even course; but the Constellation was gaining. Nothing could prevent our overtals m the chase, unless a sudden squall should arise. This, possibly, was the stranger's hope. Again and again she tacked ship: wo followed like Fate itself. About 11:30 we had the fleeing vessel within long range, and began a steady fire from one or two guns, shotted, and full of command. The orders were (o fire at her upper spars, as all were now convinced that the hull was filled with slaves. The slaver was well on our starboard bow. Mr. Fairfax called me to go with him on the gun deck, where wo ran two heavy 32's out to our bridle ports ready for a chase dead abead, which soon occurred. I was directed to carry away the upper spars and rigging, and under no circumstances to hit the ves sel’s hull! “Aim high and make your mark he continued. I touched my cap and smile it was so0 like the admonition of an amb tious mother to her son. Soon one gun was sending round-shot whirling through the TIgEIng. Suddenly our attention was attracted by dark objects on the water ahead of us. The slaver was lightening ship by throwing overboard casks, spars, and even spare masts. The sesa appeared as if filled with wreckage in long line. All at once boats were seen. ‘‘They are filled with negroes,” I heard some one ery on deck. “Steady on your course I heard the flag officer shout on the fore- castle just above my head. Sure enough they were boats, and as we sped they seemed to be coming swiftly to us. My heart beat with quick emotion as 1 thought I saw them crowded with human forms. Men on deck shouted that ‘hey \were crowded with people, but we swept by, pass- ing them rapidly. The slaver hoped we would stop to pick up his boats, and thu gain more fhme. but this ruse made us even Jore eager. Now, our guns redoubled, we up knew the end must come soon, but there seemed no way to stop the chase without sinking ber, and bumanity forbade a shot in her hull. Her captain realized the sftua- ;loln, but even then his courage was wonder- al. On we went. Suddenly I saw her course begin to change; she was coming to wind- ward—her studding salls came fluttering down, her skysails and royals were clewed up, her foresail also, and as she rounded up to the wind and bicked her maintopsall, the Constellation had barely time to get in her canvas, and round to under her main- topsall, scarcely 200 yards to dward “Away there, first cutters, away!" called the boatswain's mates, as their shrill whistles ceased I had barely time to get on deck, after the guns had been secured, before 1 saw the first cutter, with our gallant first lieu- tenant {himgelf as the boarding /officer, speeding like an arrow to the ves- sel, her oars scattering sparkling dla- monds of phosphogescent water & they rose and fell. Every officer and man was lean- ing over our low hammock-rails, breath- lessly waiting and watching. We saw the cutter round up to the gangway. “In bows; way enough!’ we could hear Fairfax say distinctly, though his orders were low Then came the rattling of the oars as the were tossed, and the grating of the cutter alongside Fairfax's active figure could be seen quickly mounting the side, and then he disappeared as he leaped over the gangway into the waist. For two or three minutes the stillness was painful. One could hear men breathing in their excited anxiety Suddenly there was a hail, In tones which I can recall as if heard today—clear, di tinct and manly: ‘“Constellation, ahoy You have captured a prize with over 700 slaves.” For a second quiet still prevailed, and then the crew forward of the mainmast spontaneously gave three loud,ringing cheers. Only the sanctity of the quarter deck pro- hut vented the officers from joining, they shared the feelings of the crew. Aside from the natural feeling which success in a chase brings, there was large prize money in prospect, for in every such cap- ture tae law divided among officers and men a sum equal to half the value of the ship and her outfit, and an additional sum of $25 for each slave captured, amounting in this case to at least $30,000. To a practical mind there was reason for cheering. The prize, however, was not surrendered by her captain, but by the crew, who In terror of our guns hove-to the vessel. It was about 2 a. m. when, by order of the flag officer, 1 went on board the slaver with a prize crew, consisting of nine men all told, one being a negro servant. The deck was covered with articles of all kinds, which were to have been cast over- board to lighten the ship. The crew could only be seen as called to me. They were a set of cutthroats—bearded, dark-looking, scowling Spaniards and Portuguese, not a native American among them, The slaves were nearly all on the slave deck, shouting and screaming in terror and anxiety. I leaned over the main hatchway holding a lantern, and the writh- ing mass of humanity, with their cries and struggles, can only be compared in one's mind to the horrors of hell as pictured in former days. But I paid dearly for that «ight. The sickening stench from hundreds of naked beings érowded into a space so small, in so warm a climate, without ventila- tion, was ‘rightful. Overcome by horror at the sight and smell, T turned faint and sick at heart, and hastened to the stern. — THE COLONEL'S LATEST VICTORY. A Story for Memorial Day. He, Colonel Swordsley, had entered the civil war as a mere lieutenant, but he had fought so well and so persistently, remain- ing alive while officers above him were killed by dozens, that when the great conflict ended he wore a silver eagle on each shoulder. His friends Insisted that if the fighting had lasted a few months longer Swordsley would have been made a brigadier-general. Be that as it may, when he was mustered out at the close of the war he carried into civil life with him, in addition to a high military reputation, a dignity and a mustache which were the envy of ail of his subalterns. Such of his friends as were in business hesitated to offer anything so small as a clerkship to a fellow who carried himself with the air of a man who should have an immense establishment of his own to man- age. Sometimes his periods of lelsure were S0 long that observing persons told one an- other that Colonel Swordsley really ought to marry, if only to have some one to tell him when his coat and hat were becoming shabby. Suddenly, however, he would make a modest, yet quick and brilliant hit, in the way of business, always honestly, and finally, his habit of suddenly recovering himself, while the details of each operation became so interesting that his acquaintances fell into alluding to them in about the same form of words: “Have you heard of the colonel's latest?" There came a year, however, in which the question was scarcely asked; instead of it, male gossips wondered to one another whether the colonel might not be losing his &rip. Had not winter come to his assistance and brougiit his faithful and indestructible army overcoat to the front agatn, he would scarcely have dared to appear in the streets by daylight. As soon as the warm weather succeeded the winter of the colonel's discontent, the ex-warrior hastened to a summer resort near which he had made quite a hit the year before by building a temporary bridge in a very few days, earning a large premium for each day saved from the specified time of canstruction. The so-called improvement company for whom he had done the work had been gen- erous of praise as well as of payment, and expressed the hope that the colonel would be within call should they ever again get into a hole, and as the colonel started for the locality a second time he could not help hoping, without wishing harm to any one, that a hole would be ready when he reached his journey’s end. At the little summer hotel to which he had gone that year when he built the.bridge, he met Miss Mirlam Coynbee, the first woman who had ever given his heart any serious uneasiness. Although not a marry- Ing man, he was quite fond of women, and 80 deferential that any girl who was ac- quainted with him would cheerfully go whole city squares out of her way to receive a bow from the colouel. Miss Coynbee, however, was no mere pretty girl; she was a handsome woman, with a great deal of heart, which she was just old enough to display on proper occa- slon without running any risk of losing it or having it stolen, and the colonel had felt s0 honored by her acquaintance and her manner toward him that he felt it a mat- ter of honor to make a pilgrimage to the place where he had met her. There was no likelihood that he would meet her again, for she was practically the nurse of an invalid mother, who seldom could en- dure any summering place two years in succession. The colonel had spent many winter hours In cursing the carelessness of habit which had kept him from accumulating money, for had he possessed a moderate competence he would have proposed to Miss Coynbee—pro- posed even had he been almost sure of re- jection, for even to be rejected by so glorious a creature would have been an honor. He knew that she would have listened kindly, that her great, deep eyes would have seen his heart's honesty, and that her handsome, sympathetic face would have been full ‘of tenderness even had she said g The colonel was 50 poor when he made his socond trip that the ‘‘valuables which he deposited In the safe of the little inn con- sisted of only money enough to pay the fixed charges of a fortuight and take him back to the city. He had brought clgars enough to last through his stay; he had about $10 in his pocket, and, as he had stopped drinking, he felt sure of a fortnight of peace. After that—well, he did not know what might happen. If only that improvement company might once more be in & hole? But the company was In no such condi- tion; it had sold & great many villa sites, the landlord of the fnn told the colonel, and had reached the dignity of having an en- ginser of its own. Not everything was disappointment, how- ever, for the host also told the colonel that the Conybees had returned to him, the old lady having bought some of the improve- ment company's stock and preferred to be where she could think berself looking after her own interests. The colonel bhad a loug snd delighttul ! THE _OMAHA DAILY BEE: SUNDAY, MAY 27, 1894 TWENTY PAGES. chat with Miss Coynbee that very evening chat so delightful that when he retired €0 his own room he abused himself for half an hour in language which he wouldn't have cndured from any one else for half a minute, From swoaring he changed suddenly to praying and solemnly promised heaven that thereafter, if he might have another chance in the world, he would be industri- ous, methodical and saving untll he felt Justified in asking the woman of all women to let him fight all of life's battles for her. B®Rween the intensity of his profanity and protestation the colonel became so ex- cited that he passed a restless night, and was on the hotel plazza by sunrise. He found his host having a difficulty with a spirited saddle-horse. “Fact is,” said the landlord, “the season's been 80 cold and wet that there's been hardly anybody here and the horses haven't been used any to speak of, and they're so full of oats and spirits that I'm afraid to let a guest use them. 'Twouldn't do my business any good to have somebody thrown and brought in with a broken leg or scratched face.” “I wish,” sald the colonel, as he looked the horse over with a professfonal eye, “that 1 had some of my old cavalry horses here. They'd cure your horses in short order, and not harm them any, efther.” “1 wish to goodness you had,” was the reply. “But, say, colonel, don’t you ride yourself any more? Last year you com- plained that 1 couldn't glve you a horse with any spirit- in him, now, here's the very beast you're looking for, and if you'll ride him all bu like it won't cost you a cent and I'll say ‘Thank you' besides. Of course I don't expect a guest to train my horser down for me, but this particular caimal would make you feel like old times, I've got a military saddle, too; I remember that you didn't like ordinary saddles last year. The offer was just to the colonel's taste. A long dash—somewhere, anywhere, would perhaps dispel his blues and brace him up; 80 promising to try the animal after break- fast he entered the dining room, where he was greeted by a grinning waiter, who re- membered him and placed him at a table besides Miss Coynbee. “Oh, colonel! how delightful—and unex- pected! Mother, you remember Colonel Swordsley?” In half an hour the colonel was deeper in love than ever. He silently remewed his vows of the night before, but he also looked the situation honestly in the face, told him- self that he was destitute of everything ex- cept hope and determination, and there- fore the honorable thing was to retire in good order and thereafter make such dem- onstrations as courtesy might require. But the colonel, like many another sol- dier of approved valor, had neglected to think of what might be done on the other side. Miss Coynbee left the table with him, walked to the piazza, and heard the landlord remark: “Here he is, colonel—just dying to get away with you and have a grand old time." Oh, colonel,” Miss Coynbee exclaimed. “You hicky man! ORN for a long ride, of course?” “Yes,” replied the ex-warrior, lengthening a stirrup leather, “and I heartily wish I could ask you to join me. Unfortunately, our host says that all of his horses are too frisky just now to be safe.” ““Colonel,” whispered the landlord, loud enough for Miss Coynbee to hear, “if you'd like to have the lady with you she may have my wife's pony, which has been used every day for a month. I'd trust my youngest child with it."” The colonel thought of the resolution which had hurried him away from the breakfast table. and also of the small amount of money in his pocket. Were he to take Miss Coynbee out this morning he would be bound in honor to ask her afterward. He had no banker, he hated debt, he had no remaining assets, for the winter's stress had borne heavily upon him. On the other hand, to have Miss Coynbee at his side— He looked at her, raised his hat, and asked: ‘Won't you do me the honor?” Nothing would please me more—I shan't keep you waiting five minutes,” was the re- ply as the lady hurried away to dress for the ride. Ten minutes afterwards the couple seemed, to the colonel, to be as far from the hotel as if they never had seen it. They talked of everything, like well bred people, ex- cept the subject nearest the colonel's heart, and meanwhile they rode farther and farther from the inn. Miss Coynbee succeeded in luring the col- onel into conversation about the war, which seemed an unending subject of interest to persons who had nothing to do with it, and in some way the colonel had got upon the subject, incomprehensible to the clvilian mind, of the wide gulf which separated offi- cera from the men in the ranks. “The truth is, my dear Miss Coynbee, said the colonel, ‘‘the private soldier, although a man, with feelings and rights like other men, must be regarded in war as a mere machine. I always saw to it that my men were as well fed and otherwise cared for as the government would allow, and I never allowed any of them to be sub- jected to-unjust treatment, but as to recog- nizing them as individual human beings— why, ‘twas simply impossible, and 1 never attempted it.” ““How strange!" murmured Miss Coynbee. “It seems positively inhuman.'” Relieve me from that suspiclon, please,” sald the colonel. “The distinction is en- tirely military, you know. In the abstract, I know a number of my men were at heart very much like me, for they were born farmers’ sons, and I was born on a farm myself.” Miss Coynbee looked sidewise and curi- ously at her escort. She had seen many young men from farms—some of them very fine fellows, too, but none of them had the dignity, the style, the effective manner of the colonel. . The colonel was oblivious to what was go- ing on beside him. The force of old habit always made him scan the road in front of him, and while Miss Coynbee had wogdered he had been greatly puzzled by a group of people in the roadway near a house about a mile distant. Finally he said: t's very strange, but if we were any- where but on a country road I should in- sist that a brass band was in front of the house yonder—the one nearest us.” “A brass band? Why, the nearest town must be several miles distant. I chance to know the geography of this country pretty well, have assisted mother somewhat in her new business interest. “It certainly is a band—and a hearse—and a flag. H'm. A military funeral; that is the funeral of some one who has been a soldier. “Indeed? To think that the Influenco felt in an out-of-the- like this." My dear Miss Coynbee,” sald the colonel, “I often think it was most feit in just such places. Soldiers' wives, mothers, sisters, sweethearts suffered more than the soldiers themfelves.” ‘““Tis very generous of you to say colonel.” “‘Not, generous, my dear madam; merely Just.” The paces of the horses were quickened, while the colonel ~admitted confidentially to Miss Coynbee that, although it might be very undignified, he never could see any imitation of a military ceremony without having his heart stirred by remembrance of old times. It certainly was a very shabby imitation which the colonel saw when he and Miss Coynbee stepped in front of the house and the old soldier raised his hat an instant in recognition of the veteran who had gone higher than he. The house was very small and plain; evidently the owner had been among the poorest of his class. A few neighbors, who also looked poor, stood near the hearse; evidently they had just placed the remains therein. A woman in dingy black looked furtively from a win- dow, and several chilren stood about look- ing clean, frightened and uncomfortable. One of the nelghbors seemed to be quarrel- ling wdth the leader of the band. “I leave it to this gentleman,” exclaimed ar made its ay oountry the man of music, who had noted the colonel's approach, ‘“‘whether it ain't an in- fernal shame. We've tramped four miles out here, supposing the engagement was fair and square, and now we find that we're to get only the walk for our pains. I'll take the law on you for false pretences or trying to swindle, or something." “Don't, mister, please,” pleaded the farmer, “It's Jest as 1 tell ye—honest. 1 heerd time an’ agin that the gov'ment paid for the band when an old soldier had to be burled, an’ I s'posed I was doin’ the proper thing in sendin’ for ye.' “And after making such a fool blunder you're not man enough to make it right and pay the bill, eh?” “How'm I goin' to pay when I ain't got nothin'—can't even pay my taxes! 'Tain't as ef L was rich; we're all dreadful poor folks along this ridge—bad land, fur from town—"' ‘ention, men!” exclaimed the leader. “I'd take the risk of; playing and suing for the money, but it doesn't appear that the Judgment could ever, be collected. Let's tramp back home: what do you say?" The band admit! that there seemed nothing else to do. Miss Coynbee, who had been looking at the woman in black behind the window, murmured: “Oh, colonel! Don't let them go! Look at_that widow—and the children.” The colonel turned pale. There was but one way to keep theé band; he had but $10 in his pocket; he might give his word and his card, writing at obee to the city to bor- row the money, bui to run into debt with- out the probabllity of being able to pay in a jong time, was too awful to think of, even to please Miss Coynbee, “Do keep them!" begged the lady. I'll cheerfully pay them rather than the poor fellow shan't have a military funeral.” “If they are to be retalned the expense must be mine,” the colonel replied, feeling very much as he did during his first charge, “but”—oh, lucky thought! “‘they’ll demand from either of us a price which will be a shameful imposition, and, which on princi- ple, we shouldn't endure.” “I wouldn't play now,” the band, shaking his fist at the farmer who was the innocent and stupld cause of all the trouble, “if you offered me double my price. "Tention, men! Forward, march!" “The brutes!” exclaimed Miss Coynbee, as the band marched away. As for the colonel, he felt so grateful, and also so mean, at being relieved of responsibility in the affair, that he explained that it really was a matter of business with the musiclans, who probably were feeling quite as disappointed as the family of the deceased veteran He turned his horse’s head, and was about to take the road again, when he ventured upon a question of mere curiosity, saying to a farmer who had sidled up to look over the saddle horses ““Your friend was a private soldier,” I sup- pose 2" “Private? N was a copy As the explained, temptuous smile, that Miss have seen but little difference between the two grades had she known the army, the farmer hurried toward the hearse, took from it something in a frame and returned with it, saying “Ye needn’t take my word for it, but just look at that.” The colonel extended his hand carelessly; he wanted to be respectful to the dead in all circumstances, even to the remains of one who had been merely a corporal, but really this was no affair of his. The frame contained a ‘‘warrant’—the form of certificate given by regimental com- manders to non-commissioned officers, yet as the colonel's eye fell on the familiar form Miss Coynbee exclaimed “Why, colonel! What can be the mat- ter? “‘Matter? Oh, nothing. 1 beg that you'll excuse me, my dear madam, if I forgot my- self for an instant, but the truth is, the deceased {8 one of my own man. I don’t remember him, but this warrant bears my nearly twenty years said the leader of sir!” was the reply. “He with a con- Coynbee would And the band is gone of his friends play fife and drum?’ the colonel asked impatiently. “When I was & boy there was somebody on almost every farm who blew a flute or fife, and a drum could be found somewhere.” “There's an old drum over to my house that I used to hammer on when 1 was younger an’ the Fourth come 'round,” the farmer replied, “but Sence the big war the Fourth o' July ain'tias much of a day as it used to be. As for d'fife, Jim—that's him in the coffin there—he{'was the only feller in these parts that coyld blow one. He could blow it good, too, but I s'pose it wouldn't be fair_to expect him to play for his own fun'ral.” “But you at least:can get your drum, my friend, and pay him the tribute of respect which’ he would have most wanted. Ex- cuse my earnestness’in an affair which may not seem to concern me, but the truth is, T was his—I was in the army, too, and know how— “Yass, 1 heerd what you said to your gal thar, 'bout Jim's bein’ one of your own men. I alluz understood him, though, that his capt'n got kiHed” “Captains in the Fortieth were frequently killed,” said the colonel with a grim smile. “Do hurry home, though, and get your drum; I'll engage to find a fifer, somewhere. Is the corporal's fife in the house—would the family allow some other person to use e “I reckon they'd be mighty glad—they know he always wanted the nash'nal airs played over him when he was gone, an' the flag put over his coffin. We borryed a flag, an’ we s'posed we'd got the music, but 1 dunno where you'll git a fifer.” “Get your drum—get me the fife, and I'll see what can be done. My dear Miss Coyn- bee, 1 beg you'll excuse what must seem to you a most extraordinary interest in what remains of a fellow whom I can’t remember to have ever seen, but as he was one of my men—and doesn't seem to have had much but poverty and children since he left the service, and—" “No excuses are necessary, colonel. Your sentiment does you credit. Perhaps while you are looking to the affair I may be able to say a comforting word to the widow.” So saying, Miss Coynbee slipped from her horse and entered the house, while the colonel, with a desperate look on his face, tied both horses to the fence and asked once more for the deceased corporal's fife. The instrument was brought, and the colonel asked: “Is it possible that none of you gentlemen ever played the fife, flute, piccolo or flageolet? The fingering is the same in all these instruments.” “Guess nobody's ever done It, farmers answered, after aii “Can’t any " one of the e others had looked inquiringly at one another. “Can’t you remember any one within two or three miles who can play? I'll ride after him and bring him.” There was a general shaking o(‘ |huds in his the negative. The colonel set teeth, started toward the barn and grow: “Never mind; I'll find some oni 2% “Wonder who he knows over that way? asked one of the bystanders as the entire group sauntered to the corner of the house and followed the stranger with their eyes. The colonel went behind the barn, laid aside his dignity, brushed his mustache upward from his lp and raised the fife to his mouth. ) It was just as he had supposed; he had not forgot the fingering and mouthing of the instrument which had helped him while away many lonesome hours when he was a farmer's boy. He practiced softly several moments until the inmer surface of the fife became moist and the notes came clearly. Then he re- called the national airs and several dead marches to which he had often been obliged to listen, and he rehearsed them all. When he returned to the house the man with the drum was /there. Miss Coynbee came to the door and asked: “Did you succeed, colonel?” The old soldier locked somewhat shame-faced as he replied: “I aid, my dear madam, If the man has your permission to play.” “My permission?" - My dear Miss Coynbee, if you'll allow, I'll waive my rank and be the fifer. It s horribly irregular, 1 know, but when you come to think of it, the war is over and I am a civilian, and the corporal was one of my own men, and—" Miss Coynbee's eyes filled as “Colonel, you're indeed a hero. “Thank you,” said the colonel, averting his face. Then he turned to the group of men and said: “Gentlemen, at & trooper's funeral it is customary to have a saddled horse follow the hearse. Fortunately, my horse has a military saddle. Will cne of you kindly lead him?"” The friends of the deceased contended for the honor. “ls the cemetery far?' whispered colonel to the man with the drum. “Less'n mile,” was the reply. I'll guide you." Then the colonel turned his head, forgot himself an instant, and asked he replied: the “Is the command ready? Forward march,” after which he recovered quickly a dead march, as doleful as any dead man's friends could desire; in the meantime the colonel devoutly prayed that no other people from the hotel had strayed in that direction that morning. As for Miss Coynbee, she was a noble woman, and he was sure he could pledge her to secrecy, but what would his friends in the city think were they to hear of his extraordinary conduct? His distress of mind was somewhate alle- viated by the execrable work of the drum- mer, who evidently was long out of prac- tice; nevertheless the colonel was glad whes the lttle cemetery was reached and bhe stood at the head of the grave and rested while the cofin was taken from the hearse. Then he saw the! Miss Coynbee, the one woman in the world, had tramped that dusty mile with the other followers. There eeemed nothing irregular to her in the pre- ceedings, and the colonel became his diz- nified self as he saw her, as handsome and noble as his iden of the angel of the resur- rection, place her arm around the dingy, common looking widow and draw her to the #ide of the grave, and then drop her shapely head a little and whisper, probably, words of consolation The intermeut was quickly made, pre- ceded by a prayer from one of the men, then every cne looked expectantly at the colonel, and one man finally remarked: “Jim alluz sald he wanted the nash'nal air played over him when he was buried.’ The colonel responded, first whispering to the other musician that u drum dfd not har- monize with any of them but “Yankee Doodle,” with which he would conclude. At last the ordeal wus over. The colonel walked back to the house of mourning, lead ing his horse, for Miss Coynbee was still afoot and trying to comfort the widow. With all ‘possible haste the colonel got her away from the scene of so much that had been unexpected when the morning ride began, As they took the road again and the col- onel raised his hat to the mourners and friends one of the farmers shouted: “Three cheers for him!" and the response was quite noisy for so small a party. The colonel acknowledged the salute and theu exclaimed “Trot, march—I beg pardon, my dear Miss C e, but I seem to have lost my head this morning through the very unusual incidents of the past hour or two. I ae- sure you—! *‘Colonel,” interrupted Miss Coynbee with the grandest, most womanly expression that the colonel had ever seen even in her face, ‘You are the greatest man I ever met. You have lifted me entirely out of my little world—taken me so far out of it that I wish 1 might never be obliged to go back Into it. The goldier felt prouder—a thousand times prouder than when he had received his colonel’s commission, although it had seemed to him that day that hrs head was In the heavens and his feet did not touch the earth. That woman's approval, he told himself, should make a god, almost, of any man Then a daring impulse hurried from his heart to his lips, and he said: “My dear Miss Coynbee, if I am to blame for taking you out of your own world, may I beg of you to come into mine—and remain there forever?" The woman flushed only the least bit—shs was too earnest-hearted that morning to bn startled by anything. She looked fearlessly into the colonel's eyes and replied: “I will; here's my hand on it, with the understanding that you've the right to change your mind. Our acquaintance of last season was only a month long." “But I've had you in mind a whole year since,” the colonel explained. ““On the other hand, you also shall be free to change, and have ample time in which to do it, for I shouldn’t have spoken so hastily, being a very poor man. I must blame the unusual events of the morning “I must thank them, ‘80 no one else shall blame them. forever for you, if necessary But she didn't. A wide-awake, well-to-do, warm-hearted woman of 30 years isn't zoing to wait any longer than she likes for her wedding day. Miss Coynbee's mother’s hold- ings of the improvement company's stock were used to make a place in the company for the colonel, and there was a wedding in the following autumn. “Who is that remarkably handsome woman?" asked a new member of the club one day of an old member, as the two passed Mrs. Colonel Swordsley in the street. “She? Oh, that's the colonel's latest— Colonel Swordsley's." “Latest? I thought he hadn’t married un- til recently.” “Oh, did you never hear the story? Well” —and he repeated it as it was told to me. PUFFING FOR A PRIZE. said Miss Coynbee, I'll wait Two Hours Struggle for the Smoking Championship in Berlin. A smoking match was given recently by the Giftnudel Smoking club in its rooms in Manteuffel street, Berlin, says the Tage- blatt. The prize was a solid silver cigar case and 200 cigars. The entrance fee was $1, and the conditions were that the con- testants should smoke only the cigars pro- vided at the expense of the club, and should remain in plain view of the referee as long as they were competing for the prize, no con- testant being allowed to take food, drink or medicine during the match. The prize was to be glven to the contestant who smoked down to one-inch butts the largest number of cigars in two hours. There were seventeen entries. Herr Knopf, who smoked without pause from start to finish, was declared winner. He re- duced ten large cigars to ashes in the allot- ted time, while his closest competitor smoked but seven and one-half. At the end of the first hour ten smokers retired from the match and left the room. None of them returned. Of the seven others three were pale and perspiring freely when the referee called “time.” Knopf felt well and pro- fessed his willingness to begin at once an- other two-hour match, but his challenge found vro takers. He says that he is ready to smoke against anybody in Berlin for 500 cigars a side, the length of the contest to be fixed by mutual consent between one and a half and five hours. ——— Shooting Round a Corner. The lines of the confronting forces at the crater front, says Blue and Gray, were 170 yards apart, and so accurate were the sharpshooters that a hat raised on a ram- rod ever so slightly above the crest of the parapet was sure to be soon perforated with balls; indeed, ceaseless vigilance was the only ‘guarantee against injury at any point along the lines, and, incredible as it mey seem, it s nevertheless true that soldiers facing to the front, and with the earthworks between the enemy and themselves, were frequently struck in the back by the bullets just grazing the edge of the parapet in pass- ing over with downward inclination, strikl some hard substance behind and glancing diagonaly forward. Hence there was not always discredit in being wounded in the back while serving in these trenches. Danger became of such hourly occurrence, that its presence made it jocular with the soldigrs. When a broadside would issue from a federal battery, and the heavy missiles come hurtling toward our works, the cr “More bread,” would go up from the near- by soldiers, which meant thet as soon as night or a flag of truce allowed, the fragments of metal would be exchanged for fresh bread with the junk dealer and baker from Peters- burg, and these loaves were indeed a relief from the monotony of hard tack and coarse cornmeal, called “grits,” and often sour. L = Mineral Blotting «Fape: Mineral blotting stone is a novelty. 1t was exhibited at the meeling of the Na- tional Academy of Sciences, recently in sion at Washington. On the desk of one of the scientists was a thin slice of light col- ored stone. He used it for a blotter, and it absorbed ink better than any bibulons paper. It was a piece of the new mineral blotting stone, soon to be put on the market by a Missouri firm. The stuff is a formation composed of sediment deposited by certain hot springs. It has been accumulating for ages in the locality mentioned, and is available in inexhaustible quantities. High- ly porous, it will take up a surprising quan- tity of k. The merchant will employ it incidentally as a paper weight, and_ occa- sionally the office boy will scrape it off with a knife—an easy task, the substance being very soft—making it as good as new. el His Idew of It. Henry Watterson tells of a politician who was _inveighing against Cleveland before a number of auditors in Washington “I'm going to quit,” says he. “I'm going to get out and keep out of sight for the next four years. 1 know a secluded spot mn the James river county where I'll go and live. It's an ideal home for a weary re- cluse. About 200 yards back of the cot- vage there's a springhouse and close by is a mint bed, while just across the creek a friend of mine runs a distiliery.” A Kentuckian was among the auditors and at this juncture he interrupted the speaker. “Excuse me, stranger, but that must be paradise!” The other day Johnnie saw a branded mus- tang on the street “Oh, mamma,” he shouted, “just look how they've gone and vaccinated the poor thing! e Sweet breath, sweet stomach, sweet tem- per? Then use DeWitt's Little Early Risers ABSORB THESE 18'S § ) £ ERS Correct in detail Beautiful in excculion An education in itself Cheaper than photographs Better than an offcial kistory Wortly a place in any library Writien by the men who built it A ; 7::11‘;‘;551'5 of the Fair Illustrated by America’s] eading artists Artistic and literary event of the age [l -~ ane 42 romaniic DIGEST THESE NOTS Is:Not: o A statistical serial A toy to be thrown away Lllustrated by photographs Egualed in the world of art To be classed with Portfolios A dry treatise on architecture Devoted simply to construction A rehash of other publications To be had except by our readers An unworthy rival of the Fair itself It IT IS CALLED E BOOK OF * THE BVILDERS: .AND IS WRITTEN, F. D. MILLET Director of Decoration. \'.FBV D. H. BURNHAM, g nen Director of Works. %Uu:rrr $1,000 is the price of the Standard Editon, but we control a limited number of the popular edition which will be sold to our readers at the ridiculously low figure of 25 CENTS A PART. PARTS ONE, TWO AND THREE NOW READY, BRING 6 coupons with 25 cents, or, sent by mail, 5 cents Address, Memorial Department, Omaha, Bee. extra, in coin (stamps not accepted.) Trya 5, NTILE » &5 By IMERC EXACT S“Zl ; . PERFECTO) % MERCANTILE IS THE FAYORITE TEN CENT CIGAR. For & by all First Class Deslers. Manufactured by the F. R. RICE MERCANTILE CIGAR CO., Faotory No. 804, St Lou!