Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, November 25, 1894, Page 21

CLARENC By Bret Harte. (Copyright, 1804, PART I.—Chapter 1. As Clarence Brant, president of the Robles Land company and husband of the rich widow of John Peyton of the Robles ranch, mingled with the outgoing audience of the Cosmopoli- tan theater at San Francisco he elicited the usual smiling nods and recognition due to his good looks and good fortun But as he hurriedly slipped through the still lingering winter's rain into the smart coupe that was awaiting him and gave the order, “‘home, the word struck him with a pecullarly ironi- cal significance. His home was a handsome one and lacked nothing in appointment and comfort, but Ie had gone to the theater to evade its hollow loneliness. Nor was it because his wife was not there, for he had a miserable con- gclousness that her temporary absence had nothing to do with his loneliness, The distraction of the theater over, that @ull, vague, but aching sense of loneliness daily growing upon him, returned with greater vigor. He leaned back in the coupe and gloomily reflected. He had been married scarcely a year, yet even in the illusions of the honeymoon the woman, older than himself and the widow of his old patron, had half unconsciously re- asserted herselt and slipped back into the domination of her old position. It was at first pleasant enough—this half maternal protectorate, which s apt to mingle with the affections of even younger women—and Clarence, in his easy, half feminine intuition of the sex, yielded, as the strong are apt to yleld, through the very consciousness of his own superiority, But this is a quality the weak is not apt to recog- ognize, and the woman who has once tasted equal power with her husband not only does not easily relegate it, but even makes its continuance a test of the affections The usual triumphant feminine conclusion: “Then you no longer love me!” had in Clar- ence's brief experlence gone even further and reached its inscrutable climax—'then I no longer love you’—although shown only in a momentary hardening of the eye and volce. And added to this was his sudden but confused remembrance that he had seen that eyo and heard that voice in marital altercs tion during Judge Peyton's life, and that he himself, her boy partisan, had sympathized with her. Yet, strange to say, this had given him more pain than her occasional other rever- slons to the past—to her old suspicions of him when he was a youthful prctege of her husband's, and a presumed suitor of her adopted daughter Susy. digh natures are more apt to forgive wrong done to themselves than any abstract injustice. And her capricious tyranny over her dependents and servants, or an unreason- ing enmity to a neighbor or friend, outraged his finer sense more than her own miscon- ception of himself. Nor did he dream that this was a thing most women seldom under- stand, or understanding, ever forgive. The coupe rattled over the stones or swirled through the muddy pools of the main thoroughfares. Newspaper and telegraphic offices were still brilliantly lit, and. crowds were gathered around the bulletin boards. Ho knew that news had arrived from Wash- {ngton that evening of the first active out- break of sccession, and that the city was breathless with excitement. Had he not just come from the theater, where certain insignificant allusions in the play had been suddenly caught up and cheered or hissed by hitherto unknown par- tisans, to the dumb astonishment of a ma- Jority of the audience comfortably settled to money getting and their own affairs! Iad he not applauded,.4ibéii Falt scorntully, the ¥ dciress—his old playmate Susy—who audaciously and all incongruously waved the American flag In their faces? Yes! he had known it; had lived for the last few weeks in an atmosphere electrically wurcharged with it—and yet it had chiefly affected him in his personal homelessn For his wife was a southerner, a born slave- holder, whose noted prejudices to the north had even outrun her late husband's politics. At first the plquancy and recklessness of her opinionative speech amused him as part of her characteristic flavor, or as a lingering youthfulness which tha maturer intellect always pardons. He had never taken her politics seriously —why should he? s But when he was compelled to listen to her words echoed and repeated by her friends and famlily; when he found that with the clannishness of her race she had drawn closer to them In this contro —that she depended upon them for her intelligence and information rather than upon him—he had awakened to the reality of his situation. He had borne the illusions of her brother, whose old scorn for his dependent childhood had been embittered by his sister's marriag and was now scarcely concealed. Yet, while he had never altered his own political faith and soclal creed in this an- tagonistic atmosphere, he had often wondered, with his own consclousness and characteristic self-abnegation, whether his own political convictions were not merely a revulsion from his domestic tyranny and alien surroundings. In the midst of this gloomy retrospect the coupe stopped with a jerk before his own house. The door was quickly opened by a servant, who appeared to be awaiting him. ‘Some one to see you in the library, sir,” HE BULLIED REDSKIN SPEED. md the man, ‘“‘and—" ed toward the coupe. 11" sald Clarence, impatiently. @ sald, sir, as how you were not to away the carriage.” ndeed, and who is it?" demanded ence, sharply. Mr. Hooker. Hooks The momentary annoyance In Clarence's ‘h‘l.l. changed to a look of reflective curi- “He sald he knew you were at the theater, And he would wait untll you came hom continued the map, dubiously watching the Mmaster's face. ‘“‘He don't know you've come hthu—l can easily get rid of him." ‘No matter. I'll see him—and,” added r with a faint smile, “let the car- turned toward the Library he was | INTO HIGH he hesitated and Clar- He sald I was to say Jim by Dret Harte.) by no means certaln that an interview with the old ‘associate of his boyhood under Judge Peyton's guardianship would divert his mind. Yet he let no trace of his doubts nor his past gloom show in his face as he entered the room. Mr. Hooker was apparently examining the elegant furniture and luxurious accommoda- tion with his usual resentful enviousness. Clarence had got a ‘“soft thing.” That it was more or less the result of his “artfu ness,” and that he was unduly “puffed u by it, was in Hooker's characteristic reason- ing equally clear. As his host smilingly advanced with out- stretched hand Mr. Hooker's efforts to as- sume a proper abstraction of manner and contemptuous indifference to Clarence's sur- roundings, which should wound his vanity, endd in his lolling back at full length in the chair with his eyes on the cziling. But, remembering giddenly that he was really the bearer of a age to Clarence, it struck him that his supine position was, from a theatrical view point, infelicitous. In his experience of the stage he had never delivered a me ge in that way. He rose awkwardly to hls feet. “It was 80 good of you to wait,” sald Clar- ence courteously, “Saw you In the theater,” sald Hooker brusquely. ““Third row in the parquet. Susy said it was you and had suthin’ to say to you. Suthin’ you ought to know,” he con- tinued, with a elight return of his old mys- tery of manner, which Clarence o well re- membered, “You saw her—she fetched the house with that flag business, eh? She knows which way the cat is going to jump— you bet.” He stopped, glanced around the handsome room and added, darkly, ‘‘mebbe belter than this.” With the memory of Hooker's characteris- tic fondness for mystery in his mind, Clar- enco overlooked the innuendo and* said smilingly: “Why didn't you bring Mrs. Hooker here? I should have been honored with her com- pany. Mr. Hooker frowned slightly at this seem- THE OMAHA DAILY BEE: SUNDAY, NOV CIMBER 25, 1804, her husband; “I reckon he guesséd why— though 1 didn’t tell him—I don't tell Jim everything.” Here Jim arose, and, looking at his watch, “guessed he'd run over to the Lick house and got somé cigars.” It he was acting upon some hint from his wife her simulation was so badly done that Claronce felt his first sense of uneasiness. But as Hooker closed the door awkwardly and ostentatiously behind him Clarence smil- ingly sald he had waited to hear the message from her own lips: “Jim only knows what he's heard outside: the talk of men, you know, and he hears a good _deal of that, more, perhaps, than you do. It was that which put me up to finding out the truth. And I didn't rest till 1 did. I'm not to be fooled, Clarence—you don't mind my calling you Clarence, now we're both married and done for—and I'm not the Kkind to be fooled by anybody from the low countries—and that’s the Robles _rancho. I'm a southern woman myself, from Missour, | but I'm for the union first, last and all the time, and I call my secesh.” His blood had stirred quickly at the men- tion of the Robles rancho, but the rest of Susy’s speech was too much in the vein of her old extravagance to touch him serfously. He found himself only considering how strange it was that the old petulance and impulsiveness of her girlhood was actually bringing back with it her pink cheeks and brilliant eyes. “You surely didn’t ask Jim to bring me here,” he said smilingly, “to tell me that Mrs. Peyton”—he corrected himself hastily, as a malicious sparkle came into Susy’s blue eyes—"'that my wife—was a southern woman and probably sympathized with her class? Well, I don’t know that I should blame her for that any more than she should blame me for being a northern man and a unionist.” “And she doesn’t blame you?" asked Susy, sneeringly. The color came slightly into Clarence's cheek, but befora he could reply the actress added “No—she prefers to use you!" “I don’t think I understand you,” Clarence. rising coldly. “No—you_don’t understand her!" retorted Susy, sharply. *Look here, Clarence Brant, you're right; I didn't ask you here to tell you—what you and everybody knows—that your wife is a southerner. I didn’t ask you here to tell you what everybody suspects— that she turns you around her little finger. But T did ask you here to tell you what no- body, not even you, suspects, but what I know. And that is, that she's a traitor— sald P “LOOK HERE, CLARENCE, YOU ARE RIGHT. ing levity. “Never goes out after a per- formance. Nervous exhaustion. Left her at our rooms in Market street. We can drive there in ten minutes. That's why I asked the carriage to wait. Clarence hesitated..Wthout caring i the least to renew the acquaintance of his old playmate and sweetheart, a meeting that night in some vague way suggested to him a providential diversion. Nor was he de- colved by any gravity in the message; with his remembrance of Susy's theatrical ten- dencles, he was quite prepared for any capricious, futile extravagance. “You are sure we will not disturb her?” he said politely. “No." Clarence led the way to the carrlage. It Mr. Hooker expected him during the journey to try to divine the purpose of Susy's mes- sage he was disappointed. His companion id not allude to it, possibly looking upon it as a combined theatrical performance, Clar- ence preferred to wait for Susy, as the bet- ter actor. The carriage rolled rapidly through the now deserted streets, and at last, under the direc- tion of Mr. Hooker, who was leaning half out of the window, it drew up at a middle-class restaurant, over whose still lit and stream- ing windows were some ostentatiously pub- lic apartments, accessible from a side en- trance, As they ascended the staircase together it became evident that Mr. Hooker was scarcely more at his ease in the character of host than he had been as guest. He stared gloomily at a descending vis- itor, grunted audibly at a waiter in the pas- sage, and stopped before a door where a re- cently deposited tray displayed the haif- eaten carcass of a fowl, an empty champagne bottle, two half-filled glasses, and a faded bouquet. The whole passage was redolent with a singular blending of damp cooking, stale clgarette smoke and patchoull. Putting the tray aside with his foot, Mr. Hooker opened the door hesitatingly and peered into the room, muttered a few in- distinct words, which was followed by a rapid rustling of skirts, and then, with his hand still on the door knob, turning to Clarence, who had discreetly halted on the threshold, pushed the door open theatrically and bade him enter. “She {s somewhere in the suite,” he added, with a large wave of the hand toward the door that was still osclllating. *Be here in a minit.” Clarenec took in the apartment with a quick glance. Its furniture had the frayed and discolored splendors of a public parlor which had been privately used and mal- treated; there were stains in the large me- dallioned carpet, the gilded veneer had been chipped from a heavy center table, showing the rough, white deal beneath, which gave it the appearance of a stage ‘‘property,” the walls panelled with gilt-framed mirrors re- flected every domestic detail or private re- laxation with shameless publicity. A damp waterproof shawl and open news- paper were lying across the once brilliant sofa; a powder puff, a plate of fruit, and a play book were on the center table, and on the marble-topped sideboard was AMr. Hooker's sccond best hat, with a solled collar, evi- dently but lately exchanged for the one he had on, peeping over its brim. The whole apartment seemed to mingle the furtive disclosures of the dressing room with the op@&r ostentations of the stage, with even a slight siggestion of the audiforium in a few scatférad programs on the floor and chairs. The inner door opened again with a slight theatrical start, and Susy, in an elaborate dressing gown, moved languidly into the room. She apparently had not had time to change her underskirt, for there was the dust of the stage on its delicate lace edging as she threw herselt Into an armchair and crossed her pretty slippered feet before her, Her face was pale; its pallor incautiously increased by powder, and as Clarence looked at its still youthful, charming outline he was not perhaps sorry that the exquisite pink and white skin beneath, which he had once kissed, was hidden from that awakened recollection, Yet there was little trace of the girlish Susy in the pretty but prematurely jaded actress before him, and he felt momentarily relieved. It was her youth and freshness appealing to his own youth and imagination that he had loved—not her. Yet as she greeted him with a slight exag- geration of glance, voice and manner, he re- membered that even as a girl she was an actress. Nothing of this, however, was In his voice and manner as he gently thanked her for the opportunity of meeting her again. And he vas frank—for the diversion he had expected he had found; he was even consclous of thinking more kindly of his wife, who had supplanted her. “I told Jim he multu(-lchl;‘ou. l‘l.‘ho’:;: to carry you," she sald, striking of her hand with her fan, and glancing at and more, a spy. And that T've only got to say the word—or send that man Jim to say the word—to have her dragged out of her copperhead den at Robles rancho, and shut up in Fort Alcatraz this very night.” . Still_yith_the pink glowing in her round- ing cheek, and eyes snapping Mke splintered sapphires, she rose to her feet, and with her pretty shoulders lifted her emall hands and white teeth both tightly clenched, and took a step toward him. Even in her attitude there was a remi- niscence of her willful childhood, although still blended with the provincial actress whom he had seen on the stage only an hour ago. Thoroughly alarmed at her threats, in his efforts to conceal his feelings he was not above a weak retaliation. Stepping back he affected to regard her with a critical admiration that was only half simulated, and said with a smile: “Very well done—but you have forgotten the flag.”” She did mot flinch. Rather accepting the sarcasm as a tribute to her art, she went on with Increasing exaggeration: “No, it Is you who have forgotten the flag—forgotten your country, your people, your manhood—everything, ~ For while you arc standing here your wife is gathering un- der her roof at Robles a gang of spies and traitors like herself. “Yes! You may smile your superior smile, but I tell you, Clarence Brant, with all your smartness and book learning you know no more of what goes on around you than a child. But others do. This con- spiracy is known to the government, and the federal officers have been warned; General Sumner has been sent out here—and his first act was to change the command at Fort Alcatraz and send your wife's southern friend—Captain Pinckney—to the right about. Yes—everything is known, but one thing— and that is where and how this precious crew meet. That I alone know, and that I have told you.” “‘And T suppose,” sald Clarence, with an unchanged smile, ‘“that this valuable in- formation came from your husband—my old friend, Jim Hooker?” “No,” she answered sharply. “It comes from Cencho—one of your own peons—yho is more true to you and the old rancho than you have ever been. He saw what was go- ing on and he came to me to warn you.” “‘But why not to me directly?” said Clar- ence, with affected incredulity. “Ask him!" she said viclously. ‘“Perhaps he didn’t want to warn the master against the mistress. Perhaps he thought we are still friends. Perhaps—" she hesitated, with a lower voice and a forced smile, “Perhaps he used to see us together in the old times.” “Very likely,” sald Clarence, quietly, “‘and for the sake of those old times, Susy,” he went on, with a singular tenderness that was quite distinct from his paling face and set eyes, “I am going to forget all that you have just sald of me and mine, in all the old willfulness and impatience that I still kesp with all your old prettines: took his hat from the table and gravely held out his hand. Sho was frightened for a moment with his impassive abstraction, In the old days she had known it—had believed it was his dogged “‘obstinacy”’—but she knew the hopelessness of opposing it. Yet, with feminine persist- ency, she again threw herself against it, as a wall. “You don't believe me! Well, go and see for yourself. They are at Robles now! If you catch the early morning stage at Santa Clara you will come upon them before they disperse. Dare you try it?" ““Whatever I do,”” he returned, smilingly, “I shall always be grateful to you for giving me this opportunity of seeing you again—as you were! Make my excuses to your hus- band. Good night! ““Clarence!” But he had already closed the door behind him. His face did not relax its expression, nor change, as he looked again at the tray with its broken viands before the door, the worn, stained hall carpet, or the walter who shuffled past him. He was apparently critically consclous of them and of the close odors of the hall and the atmosphere of listless decay and faded extravagance around him as before the Interview, Had the woman he had just parted from watched him she would have supposed he still utterly disbelieved her story. But he was consclous that all that he saw was a part of his degradation, for he had believed every word she had uttered. Through all her extfavagance, envy and re- vengefulness, he saw the central truth—that he had been deceived, not by his wife, but by himself. He had suspected all this be- fore—this was what had been really troubling him, this was what he had put aside, rather th his faith, not in her, but in his ide He remembered letters that' had passed be- tween her and Captaln Pinckney—letters that she had sent openly to notorlous southefn leaders, her nervous anxiety to remain at the rancho, the Innuendoes and significant glances of friends which he put aside—as he had this woman's message! Susy bad told bim Bothing uew of his -u..l elf & match for any lazy | | inquiry | both were in. but the truth of himself. And the revela- tion came from people whom he was conscious were the Inferiors of himself and wife. To an independent, proud and self-made man it was the culminating stroke. In the same abstracted volce he told the coachman to drive home. The return seemed Interminable, though he never shifted his position. Yet when he drew up at his own door and looked at his watch he found he had been absent only half an hour. Only half an hour! As he entered the house he turned with the same abstraction toward a mirror in the hall as it he had ex- pected to see some visible change in himself in that time, Dismissing his servants to bed, he went into his dressing.roam, completely changed his attire, put on a pair of long riding boots, and, throwing a .seeape over his shoulders, paused a momenty topk & pair of small der- ringer pistols from m box, put them in his pockets, and themglipped cautiously down the staircase, A lack of confidene In his own domestics had invaded hime fon the first time. The lights were out. ‘Hetapened the door and was in the street. He walked hastily i few squares to a livery stable, whose proprietor he knew. His first was for .ono. Redskin—a particular horse; the second for its proprietor. Happily The proprietor asked no qu tion of a customer. of Clarence's condition. The horse, halt panish, powerful and iras- cible, was quickly ;saddled. As Clarence mounted, the man in an impulse of sociability sald: W you at thestheater tonight, sir.” “Ah,"” returned Clarence, yatetly gathering up the reins. “Rather a smart trick of that woman with the flag,” he said tentatively. Then, with a possible doubt of his customer's politics, he added, with a forced smile, “I reckon it's all party fuss, though—thar ain't any real dan- ger."” But fast as Clarence might ride, the words lingered in his ears. He saw through the man's hesitation—he, too, had probably heard that Clarence Brant weakly sympathized with his wife's sentiments—and dared not speak fully. And he understood the cowardly sug- gestlon that there was “‘no real danger.” It had been Clarence's one fallacy. He had believed the public excitement was only a temporary outbreak of partisan feeling—soon to subside, Even now he was conscious that he was less doubtful of the integrity of the unfon than of his own household. It was not the devotion of the patriot, but the indigna- tion of an outraged husband that was spur- ring him on. He knew that if he reached Woodville by & o'clock he could get ferried across the bay to the embarcado and catch the down coach to Fair Plains, whence he could ride to the rancho. As the coach did mot connect directly with San Francisco, the chance of his surprising them was greater. Once clear of the city outskirts he bullied Redskin into irascible speed, and plunged into the rainy darkness of the high road. The way was familiar, Tor a while he was content to feel the buffeting caused by his rapid pace, of wind and rain against his depressed head and shoulders, in a sheer brutal sense of opposi- tion and power; or to relieve his pent-up ex- citement by dashing through overflowed gul- lies in the road, or across the quaggy, sod- den edges of meadow land, until he had con- trolled Redskin's rebellious extravagance into a long, steady stride. Then he raised his head and stralghtened himself on the saddle—to think. But ta no purpose. He had no plan; everything would depend upon the situation; the thought of forestalling any action of tne conspirators by warning or calling in the authorities for an instant crossed his mind, but was as instantly dismissed. He had but an instinct, to see with his own eyes what his reason told him was true. Day was breaking through drifting scud and pewter-colored clouds as he reached Woodville ferfy, checkered with eplashes of the soil and the spume of his horse, from whose neck and flanks the sweat rolled like lather. Yet he was not conscions now intent had been his pwpose-Zuul he felt a sudden in- stinetive shock on seeing that the ferryboat was gone! For an instant his wonderful self-possession abandoped him; he could only gaze vacantly at the feaden-colored bay with- cut a thought or expedient, byt in another moment he saw that the boat Was returning from the distance.: Had he lost his only chance? He glanced hurriedly at his watch; he had come quicker than be Imagined; there would still be time. He beckoned impatiently to the ferryman. The boat, a ship's pinnace, with two men in it, crept in with exasperat- ing slowness. At last the two rowers sul- lenly leaped ashore. “Ye might have come before with the other passenger.’ We don't reckon to run lightnin’ trips on this ferry.” But Clarence was:himself again. “Twenty dollars for two more oars in that boat,” he sald quietly, “and $60 if you get me over in time to catch the down stage.” The man glanced at Clarence's eyes. “Run up and rouse eur Jake and Sam,” " he said to the other hoatman; then, leisurely gazing at his customer's travel-stained equipment, he said: ““There must have been a heap o' passen- gers got left by last night's boat, You're the second man that took this route in a durry.” At any other time the coincidence might have struck Clarence. But he only answered curtly: “Unless we are under way in ten minutes you will find I am not the second man, and that our bargain’s oft.” But here two men emerged from the shanty beside the ferry house and tumbled sleepily into the boat. Clarence seized an extra pair of sculls that were standing against the shed and threw them into the stern. “I don't mind taking a hand myself for the exercise,” he sald, quietly. The ferryman glanced again at Clarence's travel-worn figure and determined eyes with mingled approval and surprise. He lingered with his oars uplifted, looking at-his passen- er. %t atn't no business o' mine, young man,” he said, deliberately, “‘but I reckon you un- derstand me when I say that I've just taken another man over there.’" “I do,” said Clarence, impatiently, “And still you want to go?” “Certainly,” sald Clarence, stare, taking up his oar. The man shrugged his shoulders, bent him- self for the stroke, and the boat sprang for- ward, The others rowed strong and rapidly, the tough ashen blades springing like steel from the water, the heavy boat seeming to leap In successive bounds until they were fairly beyond the curving Inshore current and cleaving the placid, misty surface of the bay. iarence a1d not speak, but bent abstract- edly to his oar, the ferryman and his crew rowed in equal panting silence, a few startled ducks whirred before them, but dropped again to rest. In half an hour they were at the Em- barcado. The time was fairly up; Clarence's eyes were eagerly bent for the first appear- ance of the stage coach around the little promontory, the ferryman was as eagerly scanning the bare, empty street of the still sleeping settlement, “I don't see him anywhere,” said the ferry- man, with a glance, half of astonishment and half of curiosity at his solitary passenger. “See whom?"' said Clarence, carelessly, as he handed the man his promised fee. “The gther man I ferried over to catch the stage. He must have gone on without wait- ing. You're in luck, young fellow." “1 don’t understand you,” said Clarence, impatiently. *“What hias your previous pas- senger to do with me?"’ “Well, I reckon you know best. He's the kind of man, gin'rally speaking, that other men in a powerful hurry don't care to meet, and as a rule I don't foller. It's gin'rally the other way.” “What do you« mean?’ sald Clarence, sternly. *“Who are you speaking of? “The chief of polite of San Francisco!* (Tesbe continued.) —— “The new steamship St. Louls was chris- tened with Cook's Imperial Extra Dry Cham- pagne.” - thq authentic’and authoritative way of an English printithe word comes that when Mrs. Vanderbilt wants to eat the wing of & partridge she has:tem birds cooked and served from Which to choose. There are several Mrs. ‘Vanderbilts in this untry who might easily affor is method of selection, but the Lon- don newspaper dees not venture further than this wholesale statement. And why only ten irds? It doesn’t take millions to buy ten tridges, with a cold WAS LINCOLN'S BGDY GUARD Oolonel Nichols of This Oity Berved in that Capacity, HE BELONGED TO THE FAMOUS BUCKTAILS Incldents Connected with the Mardered President Reealled by a Man Who Was i the National Capis tal at the Time. Colonel John W. Nichols, residing at 2836 Charles street, who is superintendent of the Woodman-Ritchie Linseed Oil works of this city, was one of the in the late national drama which ended with the as- sassination of Abraham Lincoln and the sur- render of General Lee, of the famous body coln, having been a: actors jard to President Lin- signed to that important duty with his now famous company on Sep- tember 26, 1862, and was acting in that ca- pacity until about a week after the murder of the president by John Wilkes Booth, on | April 14, 18 Colonel Nichols enlisted in the federal service at Meadville, Crawford county, Pa., for a term of three years. He was mustered into the service at Harrisburg early in 18 and belonged to the One Hundred and Fiftieth Pennsylvania Volunteer infantry, company K, known as the Pennsylvania ‘“Buck- talls.” The regiment was ordered to Washington, and after doing service in that vicinity for some time was expecting to be ordered to the front, as the situation was becoming very grave for_the union In those troublous times. One day during the latter part of September the “Bucktalls” were ordered to Meridian hill, outside of Washington, and after doing duty there all day, received orders in the even- ing to march to the Soldiers’ home, where the summer residence of the president was then located. None of the members of the company (company K was ordered to per- form this especiaily important duty), knew what they were sent there for mor why, but supposed that It was to guard some offi of the army. The boys had had nothing to eat for about twenty-four hours, and when it became daylight they were getting pretty hungry. Soon after daybreak a colored “mammy,” who was the cook, came to the door and said: “All youse sogers who wan- ter enyfing ter eat, come right in, but youse muster come ten at 'er time, as d s all we'se kin feed ter once.” As it happened Colonel Nichols was in the first squad to enter for breakfast. When the soldiers were seated they noticed that a chalr had been reserved at the head of the table for some one, and pretty soon the president, Abraham Lincoln, entered and said: ‘“Good morning, boys, 1 am informed that your company has been detailed to act as my bodyguard.” This was the first intimation that the soldiers had as to whom they were guarding, and they were a mighty proud set of men to think that almost raw recruits had been assigned (o such an important post. They enjoyed that particular breakfast, and mone of them will ever forget it. President Lin- coln ate with them and enlivened the situa- tion by telling some of his droll stories and jokes. The news soon spread thai the “Bucktalls” had been appointed as speclal Bodyguard to President Lincoln, and the mem bers of the other regiments were almost green with envy at the good luck of company K. Thero were about 100 men In this company, and how they did strut around when any of the other soldiers came near them! This company had complete charge of the ground surrounding the white house and the presi- dent’s summer residence, and was glven speci?! rolice duty o levce nights when the president held the regular Friday evening receptions. An older brother of Colonel Nichols belonged to the same company, but he was accidentally killed while on guard duty: In speaking of the death of Lincoln, Col- onel Nichols said: “When the president went out any place a detachment of our company was usually detalled to accom- pany him, and I believe that previous to his assassination we were instrumental in pre- venting his death. On the night that the president was shot our company was camped on the white house grounds. That day we had received the news of the fall of Rich- mond, and everybody was filled with ex- citement. _Public men had made speeches on the stréet corners, and I distinctly re- member that Andrew Johnson exclaimed tha it ho were president for twenty-four hours he would bang Jeff Davis higher than Haman. Well, that evening the president had been invited to go to Ford's theater, where Laura Keene was playing, to witness a performance glven in his special honor. It was ex- pected that General Grant and others would also be present, but something prevented them. Just before taking his departure for the theater the president came out to our commanding officer and told him that he had been under guard long enough and he didn't want any one to go with him that night. His request was acceded to, and in less than an hour we received word that he had Been shot. TELLS OF THE SHOOTING. “After the president took his departure we were ordered to turn in, and as we retired I remarked to one of my comrades that 1 felt as if something was going to happen that very evening. He called me an old granny for my prediction. It was not long after until our first lieutenant came running up, shouting: ‘Boys, for God's sake turn out; the president has been shot! I don't know how It was done, but in an in- credibly short time were lined up and going toward Ford's theater, about three blocks away, at double quick. When we got there we found everything in confusion. Men wepe shouting and women weeping. We pushed the crowd to one side, and on enteriug the theater I saw Laura Keene, the actress, hold- ing the head of the president in her lap and trying to bring him back to consclousness Mrs. Lincoln was In a dead faint, and Major Rathburn, Who was stabbed by the assassin, was trying to staunch the blood which was flowing from an ugly looking wound in his shoulder and arm. Miss Harris, who was with the presidential party witnessiog the performance, wWas trying to bring Mrs. Lin- coln back to life. “We cleared the theater, and some of the men were detailed to make arrangements for the removal of Lincoln to a room near the theater. Major Rathburn in the mean- time had stopped the flow of blood from his arm, and related to us how the murder oc- curred. He sald that Booth, who was a familiar character around Washiogton and frequently visited the white house, hung around the entrance of the box occupled by the president and shot him In the back of the head, and then started to jump down onto the stage. Major Rathburn grabbed him, and the assassin turned with a curse and stabbed him in the arm and shoulder with a big dirk knife. Rathburn released his hold, and Booth jumped over the low ralling of the box and fell onto the stage, his spur catching in the folds of a large flag that had hung in front of the president's box, In this flag was a large painting of George Washington. Booth's leg was broken In the fall, but with the ald of accomplices and during the con- fusion resulting after the shooting he was enabled to escape on a horse which was in walting for him at the stage entrance. “Lincoln was removed to a room across the street from the theater and in a short time the report that Seward had been stabbed by another assassin and that an attempt had been made upon Stanton’s Hfe was recelved, and the eity became a place of turmoll and the wildest of excitement. Our company was placed around the bullding and in the house where Lincoln's body lay, and I was detailed on guard In the room adjoining the one where the president wa About 2 o'clock on the morning of April 15, Mrs. Lincoln baving recovered fr the stupor in which she had been thrown by the shock of the shooting, came Into the rcom. She gazed long and earnestly at the pallid face of the dylng presidept apd then with the deepest emation crl “Live, live for me and your country.” Her grief overcame her and friends supported her from the room, That is the last timé that she ever gazed on the features of her husband. Lincoln died that morning at exactly 22 minutes and 23 seconds after 7 o'clock. An autopsy was performed tp trace the course of the bullet, The body ipn oved to the residence and Mr. Nichols was one | interment. _After. leaving the side of the president on the mofning of his death Mrs, Lincoln becamo delirious and for weeks her life was in danger, o that sho was not per- mitted to look upoh the features of her husband again. The funeral was the most imposing that I ever expect to see. The people were sincere in their grief, and the governors and thelr staffs from nearly every northern state attended the services. The procession was elght hours in passing a given point, and there were 1,300 bands in the line. Our company was detailed to march directly behind the funeral car and following us came Lincoln's favorite horse. Then came the family, friepds, civic military organizations and the peoplo who turned out en masse to pay their last re- spects to the martyred president, WAS A NOBLE MAN. and | | He had a habit of taking a ride during the “‘President Lincoln and his wife were the noblest people I ever knew, and they were always doing something for some one else. The president used to come out into the white house grounds and talk with the members of our company as if we were his brothers. And littlo Tad Lincoln used to come out and live In my mess, sleeping and assoclating with the men us if they were his big brothers, and he was the pet of company K. "I am satisfled that there were several un- successful attempts made on the president life previous to his assaskination. casion his coachnidn yas taken ill stranger was given teriporary emplo; The man acted in sich a sullen and s manner that he was discharged. after his discharge some of our this fellow sneak into the barn, short time the structure was di to be on fire. We rushed over to extingulsh the flames, when the president and members of his family came running out. Several persons tried to crowd up to where he was, but the men of our company surrounded him and kept everyone else back. “There was a scheme to Kidnap the presi- dent and gend him to Richmond, where he to be held as hostage for southern pris- oners In federal prisons. This scheme was frustrated by the merest accident. It w well known that the president was in the habit of golng over to the War department to talk with his secretary after a battle had | been fought. In order to reach the War de- On one o U Short saw in a | been partment headquarters it was necessary for | the president to pass through a park or el €0 around quite a distance. He usually se- | lected @ lonesome pass leading through the park, and here it was that the schemerw were to knock him senseless and take hij across the Potomaa into the rebel countrf, On the day of the evening on which attempt was to be made our captain tool & notion to move our guard tent down into this park, and that evening the pathway was guarded the same as the other portions of the white house grounds. The men detailed to kidnap the president came there, but seeing the danger, abandoned their plans. We did | not learn of this until some time afterward when a rebel prisoner gave the plan away. 'On another occasion I am satisfied that an attempt was made to kill the president. pleasant evenings on Marshal Lemon’s horse, On this particular occasion he was riding tos ward the white house when some one fired & shot, scaring the horse so that he ran away with the president. I stopped the animal near the entrance to the white house grounds and asked the president what was the mats ter. He sald that some one fired a shot and scared the animal so that he became un~ manageable. Lincoln's hat had fallen off, and we went back after it. When we picked 1t up there was a bullet hole through the crown of it, this I am positive of, but it has since disputed, and only a short time ago I received a lotter from some one who arranging to publish portions of Lincoln’s life, asking me for a statement regarding this matter, but I have no wish to be drawh into a controversy over the'matter. “Company K was put into fleld service when General Barly attacked Washington, and we held one of the roadways until the enemy was repulsed. A special order was issued to muster company K out of service in the latter part of April, 1865, but it was about the middle of June before our come any was sent to Harrisburg, where we were discharged.” Colonel Nichols came to Omaha fin 1867, where he has resided ever since. He has raised a family, most of his children being married, and as he Is hale and hearty he bids fair to live to a ripe old age. He is quite prominent in the state and national work of the Independent Order of 0dd Fels lows, in which he has gained the title of colonel. e came out of the army a private, but about six months before being mustered out was offered a lieutenancy, which he refused. He keeps track of his old army comrades and frequently receives visits from some of them. mmm»fln@flflmmn«—? A complete and beautiful line, all new design prices. In our s at very low art room and drapery department we show nice novelties trade. for Christmas DEWEY & STONE FURNITURE CO,, 1116-1117 Farnam St. CHEPFIPVO0NY SLY AS A FOX— SLICK AS A DUDE, SEE MIM] How is this for Mr. Palmer Cox’s Foxes ! DID YOU EVER SEE THE LIKE BEFORE? THIS IS A FAIR SPECIMEN OF HIS LATEST OUEER PEOPLE He Never was Born THAT COULD HOLD A CANDLE TO WORK Crammed as it is from cover to cover with the qu intest concep* tions in pictura and rhym), Enough to crack jour sides w.th with delight, PALMER COXI in picturing BEASTS, BIRDS, GIANTS, GOBLINS, eto., eto, a8 human beings up to every conceivable pleasure or mischief. THE BEE IS NOW DISTRIBUTING s. 1 and 2to thelr readers SPECIAL CHRISTMAS TREAT TO OUR FRIENDS. Bran New Books EACH COMPLETE IN ITSELF. By the most brilliant Juvenile Artist living WORTH 50c FOR ONLY 10c. RUSH CONTINUES--EVERYBODY DELIGHTED a week later the funeral gervices were held and the remalng ukx J lnglield, 1N, for CALL. NOW. * "R T T R