The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 14, 1898, Page 31

FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, AUGUST 14, 1898. 31 BONNIE i = GIVES 3 M THE PRI = e R DITED BINNIE AND NED IN CUBA. [Synopsis of prec Ned, the Calitc troop of Cuban Julia, who has Wwhich was suj d ' not to hold their combined weigh CHAPTER IV. HILE Julia awaited the com- ing of Binnie and Ned and their Cuban followers her heart was heavy. She tried to escape that she might give them warning and turn them back be- She reached the owth of tre upon the d been brought prisoner by click caused her to look arc fore her stood the Spanish ca “So,” he said sneeringly, young Cuban girl would lea guard, tie this young lad fast; for she might get away. tight and Do not forget to put a gag in her mouth, for she might be able to call aloud at a She time when we might prefer s has tried to escape and her "1l be treated like any other prison Some hours pass Julia saw and heard all that took place, but she was helpl A sentinel, who had. been stationed in a tree overhang- ing the trail, some distance from the -.tamp, gave t signal—"The Americans are coming.” Bvery Spaniard looked to his rifle and pistols. The sharpshooting of Binnie had already inspired wholesome respect for his prowess. Qn Americans and their follow easy canter. They saw the enemy and halted for counsel. Seeing this and afraid that his plans might fail after ‘all, the Spanish captain schemed quick- A certain Spanish soldier.had a e like & woman’s. Him the captain 4 _for instruction. Help, oh, help me or 1z Will be too . late.” " These were the words that Binnie and Ned ‘heard. Not doubting that they ‘were spoken by Julia in appeal to them, and fearing lest she might be under- going some form of torture at the hands of the Spaniards to force her to ‘glve up Cuban secrets, Binnie gave the tommand in a ringing tone, “Forward.” Forward it was. Along tae dusty trail and onward to the bridge swept the friends of the imprisoned girl, with _ipistols in hand, ready to die for her if At the head of the array was with all spurring on his hors wpatience of youth. Th the bridge as the hoof: ‘and Cuban horses struck sharp “the planking at the farther Through the thick foliage of th: rez,.the s he watch comrade: ng on to « But he How ans are already more than across the bridge and the s does not fall! stronger in numbers than fards. .tain, *One. minute and we shall the Span- “Dolts,” hissed the Spanish cap- the bridge does not even jar. be beaten. curiously from above, his wicked eyes sparkling with a baleful light. No sign betrayed his presence to the cap- tain; no hand was stretched forth to help him, although it was evident to the spy that the captain was badly hurt. Slyly, like some loathsome beast of prey, the sny now began to descend the trail to the bottom of the canyon, a path which few knew. Half way up the dizzy wall of the canyon the cap- tain was clinging to a projecting bush, which was ned with his blood; there he was stri g to rest that he might go on upward. Before him, face to face, suddenly stood Ramirez. An flashed into the captain’s face. “Dog,” he cried, ve you not come to my heln; when you saw my toil, did you not assist me to find the trail?” “I came down to say, captain,”’ re- marked the villain, coolly, “that you and I are the only survivors of this day’s foolish work.” ‘Fooli How do you dare to in- sult a Spanish officer? Dog, begone! I will see that you meet with your de- serts! ©0 more, no more,” the words came sternly from the spy. ‘No one shall call Ramirez a dog! THE BUMPKING There was a flash, a sharp cry and the captain Iost his hold and with a pitiful cry fell back into the canyon, dead. The spy replaced his smoking revol- ver in his belt and rapidly retraced his steps and reached the top of the can- von once more. The idea came to him on his upward path that some one might have seen his act. He leaned over the side of the canyon and watched intently, with his pistol in his re y hand. be to any one who then manifested life in the depth of the can- von. Spaniard, American or Cuba: would have fared alike. The only thought of the spy was to destroy any itness who might yet arise to tell of All the troopers were his awful crime. seemingly dead. In truth they were all dead with the exception of the two American boys and they were uncon- scious of all that was happening. “It is well,” at last said the spy, turn- ing away. “I did not mean to kill the PUZZLE—FIND Ho'there, guard, charge!” So the Spaniards, one and all, all ex- .Cept’ Ramirez, rode recklessly forward to meet th foes, firing as they rode. “What the issue of that day wouid have ::been if the forces had met in battle ¢an mever be known. The combined “ ‘welght of the Spaniards and their ene- mies made the bridge break. . .The structure shook like a man with -the ague; then there was a loud and .fearful crash and the timbers that had been’ cut partly through dropped down into-the abyss that yawned below. Men ‘and frightened horses, arms and aec- : couterments went down with the wreck, - with the sound of shouts of alarm in the air and the final cracking of Span- “{sh and Cuban rifles, for the Cubans had opened fire as soon as they saw “‘their enemies advancing. The bed of ~.the mountain stream that brawled thréugh the deep canyon two hundred . feet ‘below the trail was strewn with iharp, jagged rocks. These recelved ..many, victims. To the edge of the can- . .yor, peering over, crept Ramirez, the 8py. Of all the men who not long be- ;fore Had been so full of life, not one, \With the exception of the Spanish cap- in, was seen by Ramirez to move, roaning and bleeding the captain rose d tried to climb up the steep side the canyon. The spy watched him THE HOSTLER. captain; only to bargain with him that I should have all the reward for the capture of the Senorita Julia. I thought that I had the captain then in a place where he would not haggle about the terms—but he would quarrel with me, Ah, well, it cannot be helped now. I will now, take possession of Julia. With her as a prisoner and with my knowl- edge of the secrets of the Cubans I will yet be a great man. First to see that the girl does not escape me.” Ramirez * reached the abandoned Spanish camp, expecting to find Julia there. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw that she was not. Where was she? Had she witnessed the kill- ing of the Spanish captain? Of all per- sons on earth she was the most dan- gerous to. his existence at this. time. She knew of his treachery to the cause of Cuba. He had sat quletly by, giv- ing no warning when his countrymen had rushed forward to their doom. He was a double traitor—and she knew it. His first thought was to'seek her. His second was that she might even now, enraged by his acts, be in ambush, ready to shoot him down. He mounted the fleetest horse and turned to flee, He must put miles between himself and the girl before she could arouse the whole countryside to hunt him. He had given no mercy and well he knew that he need not expect any mercy at the hands of the Cubans when they learned the truth about him. He thought no more of his personal ad- vantage; safety was his first and only aim now. When he had departed, forth crept Julia from her place of concealment. There she had seen all that had taken place. She made her way easily down to the bottom of the canyon, taking the most dangerous but quickest way. There might remain life in some of the unfortunate men. She had no thought of her own danger; her duty was to reach the wounded as soon as possible. Tears flowed down her cheeks and stifiing sobs shook her frame as she found her dead friend: But she went resolutely forward, ling for a flut- tering listening for the feeble beat of :art; smoothing tenderly the hair from the foreheads of dead Cuban patriots; sobbing as she found them—father, brother, cousin, friends— all dead—all except Binnie and Ned. She at first thought that the two Amer- icans were dead. Upon the lips of each of the devoted band of patriots she placed a kiss of farewell. ““Holy martyrs to the deathles of freedom,” she said, “G Z peace is yours.” Seized by a sudden impulse she, standing erect, surrounded by her dead countrymen, took up a machete which had fallen from a trusty Cuban hand and held it aloft toward heaven. Above the hush of the forest, marred only by the sound of a brawling moun- tain stream, rose the voice of the hero- ine, thrilling with its path 1s she ut- tered the magic words, ‘‘Cuba Libre.” She seemed like the spirit incarnate of liberty. Her eyes, filled with tears, still glowed with enthusiasm for her native land. She once more resoived to consecrate all her life to Cuba’s cause. On the blade of the machete was a stain—the stain of a brother who fell in an early battle for freedom. The sunlight, shining upon the wreck of all about her, kissed the hair of the hero- ine and rested lovingly upon her. Through the aisles of the forest sped the sound of her voice; and Ramirez, the spy, traitor to hi ative land, and traitor to the friends and playmates of his/ childhood, heard an echo that seemed to chase him like an avenging spirit: “Cuba libre. Cuba libre.” Hardened as he was, wicked as he was, a chill crept over his heart. D. W. H, (To be continued.) A PRINCE OF THE BLOOD. SAY, Martin, stop that! How's a fellow going to drink with Niagara Falls coming down on him?"” Louis Ray, or Rufus, as the boys called him, rose up angrily, with a face as red as his head. “All right,” said Martin Stone, laugh- ing. *“Go ahead and drink. I'll pump easy for you.” Louls bent over again and put his thirsty lips to the spout. This time his tormentor moved the pump handle about as fast as the hour hand of a watch and about three drops trickled out. “Pump, will you?” cried Louis. “Oh, yes,” roared the other, and Louis was sputtering in a rush of the water, while the boys exploded with laughter. Louis sprang at Martin, shaking his wet head like & Newfoundland dog, and grappled with him fiercely. But after all it was only a friendly tussle; the bell rang, and they all went back to the schoolroom as good friends as ever. But Martin’s back-strap gave way in the scufflé, his books tumbled out on the ground, and a closely written sheet of paper went across the school’'s ten- nis court through the iron fence “Put up {our books, boys,” sald the teacher. “I shall let vou decide who shall get the English prize. 1 gave Martin and Louls each a composition to write and I'm going to read them and let the class award the prize.”. Louis got his paper out and stood ready to marchL up with Martin. But where was Martin’s paper? He was sure it was in his algebra. No; well, in his history; and so he went through every book. “Well, well, where are the papers?” demanded the teacher. “I have lost mine,” said Martin. “Then there will be less trouble. Louis, where is yours?" There was silence in the schoolroom. Louis turned red, then pale. Then he quietly tore his paper across the mid- dle and sald in a respectful tone: “I have none to hand in, sir. Instantly the class broke into Irre- pressible applause. * “Silence!” thundered the teacher. Then, in a tone of voice they had never heard him use before, he said: “Boys, I would rather have seen a generous thing like that among you than to have a prince of the royal blood in my school. That is what I call Jov- ing your neighbor as yourself and you all krow who gave us that command and set us the great example.” THE l:-;lANO BEWITCHED LVIRA certainly tried to do her best to learn her music lessons. Everyday for an hour and often- times more she would practice her five-finger exercises and plunge into her scales in a reck- less manner that was unfailingly sure to end in a hopeless confusion and tan- gle of fingers, pursed lips, scowling brow and temper not exactly angelic. Her music teacher, Miss Rose Wallace, said that she thought Elvira had talent ed concentration. E understand W but she did know one thing and that was that she couldn’t be victor in a scrimmage with her lessons every day, and that so far she had made a failyre. ¥ concentration” Helen Arthur, who lived across the street in a flat, was a fine player, and played at concerts. And Elvira used to feel in a humor that urged her to kick her naughty little heels together when she heard the praises that peple be- stowed upon the fortunate Helen. So she set herself bravely to work, LANDLADY AROUESTED BY ATUINKEY, but to no avail. One day it was hot and oporessive and Elvira felt indo- lent and unambitious. She had prac- ticed her Czerny over at least ten times until she could have played the thing by memory with her eyes shut. The windows were open to cool the room and the summer breezes blew gently in over her hot brow and she closed her eyes in a semi-drowsy state. No one was in the house but her mother and herself, and her moth- er was fast asleep upstairs. She settled herself comfortably down on the sofa in the spacious room and suddenly some one struck the piano. She opened her eyes. No one was in the parlor but herself, and—the piano played some elegant chords all by it- self. For some strange reason Elvira felt no especial inclination to get up and see what this meant, and so she just opened her eyes and watched. Her hearirg was very acute, and she thought she must be dreaming. But, no, she wasn’t. The piano was beginning to play the prelude to “The Mermaids’ Valse”— that hateful old prelude which she couldn’t understand and in which she found herself so often mixed. She had thought it the homeliest thing in the musical line that she had ever heard —but now she thought it was very pretty. Then a strange transformation took place. Looking down at the floor she saw she wasg no longer on a Brus- sels carpet with circular patterns on it, but that the waves rolled ovgr the floor in a soft, purling fashion,” and that her couch was no longer a sofa- chair, but a boat. She closed her eyes in bliss as she heard the rippling mu- sic of the piano pouring out of it cease- lessly. She opened her eyes again. Her boat was slowly rocking forward over the waters past what had once been a center table, but was now a rock. On it sat three mermaids, combing their long yellow locks and gazing at themselves in ivory mirrors, mean- while singing—or was it the piano?— the air of “The Mermaids’ Valse?” Then they faded from view, and she was sitting in a theater all by herself. All was dark around her, but before was a large stage, brilliantly illumined and gayly festooned. Rubbing her dazed eyes she saw—oh! what was that—a dainty little creature, much like a stray rose leaf, bound on to the stage as the plano was playing the beautiful strains of Leo Delibes’ “Pizzicatl.” Calcium lights from above threw on her little form all the colors of the rainbow, and her beautiful white, gauzy garments rose and fell like the wings of some great tropical butterfly and wound themselves into flamelike folds. So graceful and startlingly beautiful! Such flashing blue eyes; such mist of golden hair like the spun sunbeams flying around her like a stray web! Then the scene changed. Elvira was out in the forest under the sweet smelling pines and deep shadowing oaks. The moon was high and the stars were bright, but here there was a sense of mystery. The piano was plaving Mendelssohn’s “Midsummer Night's Dream.” Fairy forms flittel here and there, clad in silvery eerie webs. Eifish faces peered at her from beneath the shrubbery, and bats darted everywhere. Not far distant, away in wild glee, danced the fairies in a magic ring, and their sil- very echoing song broke the stillness of the midnight air. Then they all arose and circled about her. Then the tune changed and the scene v: -ished. She was in Scotland now. Dumpty- dumpty-dumpty-dumpty. The stac- cato notes of the Highland fling came shriily to her ear and she looked about to find where they came from. The piano she still heard. There was no other music, but it surely sounded like a bagpipe. group of a dozen or so of merry Highlanders, pic- turesque in their sturdy grace and pe- \ culiar costumes, were spending their leisure hours in indulging in favorite pastime. Then the scene, like that on the kinetoscope, was taken from her. She was in the parlor again, yet it seemed as if she had not been outside of the room, for she had been sitting there all the while. It had then been early morning; it was now darkest night. Through the room from the piano came the weird strains of the Witches' Dance, as & half-dozen witches flew in through the window astride broomsticks. The moon was half hidden behind the clouds and the wind blew rather loudly. The rose- bush outside the window rattled and swayed. Then they built a fire right in the middle of the floor, but it did not burn the carpet. They fetched in great logs and built the fire high until it roared and crackled, and still the piano played. What oddly beautiful music, yet it seemed distorted with. avarice and secret plotting. It crashed and hummed and sighed, and they gnashed their teeth and danced peculiarly and hopped and jumped about the fire. Then they put in queer-smelling herbs and the whole room was fllled with blue smoke. And then they disap- peared. - Now she was in Norway, yet she did not move from her chair. It was a win- ter day and the snow fell thick and fast. Outside all was white and cold; inside the fire roared with satisfaction. A Scandanavian mother was rock- ing her little girl to sleep. Such a fat, rosy, good-natured little flaxen- haired baby, with big, blue eves. It had on a thick blue wool coat and a little white cap, which it wore almost all the time, Its mother had it hugged up close in her great, strong arms, and its little head lay comfortably on her shoulder. It was going to sleep, for the piano was piaying McDowell's “Slumber Song’'—that most lovely of all cradle songs—and Elvira was fas- cinated with its deep and mellow melo- dies, so newly changing and express- ively beautiful. She heard the mother singing— Frozen is the ground, the stream’s ice- bound, Softly the north wind croons, softly croons; Drowsily, sleepily falls the snow, As the north wind carves his runes, carves his runes. But the piano does it all; it did it all then, and the scene faded out of sight. She was back in_her own country now. It was in New York, for she heard the organ grinder playing “Down in Front of Casey’s.” Her room was 8o bare and small. The piano was playing “The Sidewalks of New York,” but she couldn’t see it anywhere. She was liv- ing in a tenement house. Her small room had no carpet on the floor, and there was only one window to it, and that opened on Mrs. O'Rourke’s shanty, in the back, where the clothes She looked out the door. The ragged little urchins and the tattered girls were dancing and singing. It was just dusk, and it was Sunday. Those little folks never knew what the inside of a church looked like. There was the old brown wooden stoop, too. Then the scene disappeared. She was in Arabian lands. She was sitting by her window looking down ns. The plash of the waterfalls and the ripple of the water came plainly to her enraptured ears. The sweet scent of tropical flow- ers greeted her nostrils. The great Southern moon hung low over the hor- izon, mellowing the landscape into gold. Below her she heard the pas- sionate pleadings of the piano as it burst into the Bedouin Love Song. Such implorings, such wildness! “From the desert I come to thee.” Arabian fire surged through the song. And then it djed away—no, it was a differ- ent scene, now. . It was a Ge man scene. She was in a great cathedral fllled with beautiful angels, clad in white robes so dazzling that Elvira could scarcely look at them. Such grandeur in their faces, such gladness and unquenched joy! What was that they were singing? Ah! It was the Hallelujah Chorus. Elvira felt her pulses quicken and her heart-blood stir, Then the song was ended. The vision faded, and the church, grand ia its ancient glory, dis- appeared. The piano played on—something so sweetly sad and solemn that Gertrude could have bowed in prayer. The wax tapers on the great altar in the dis- tance gleamed and flickered. And then were hung out. ( Three small boys n fiahi That it was not right. Two perch and a eaty it slowly disappeared from view. Now she was in Poland amid the mountains. The piano, somewhere by, was playing with its deep richness that beautiful piece so full of smoth- ered earnestness—Rubinstein’s Ro- mance. Then she was instantly trans- ported to Japa.. Three young girls in the curious fashion and garb of that country—the piano was playing, “Three little maids frgm school,” from “Mikado.” A big boWwl of ri.e was in the middle of the floor, which was cov- ered with matting. Then she was back in America—in dear old 'Frisco. Clear and loud she heard the shrill piping of the piccolo, INDIAN TALE OF AMOS QUITO. By M. W. L. ID you ever hear the true story, according to the Indians, of Amos Quito? Many years ago, so the story goes, the Indians of the Middle Atlantic coast were ter- rorized and suffering under the devre- dations of two monsters. The Tuscaro - ras suffered most. These two monsiers were as powerful as gods, but as wick- ed as demons, and they stood, one on PUZZLE—FIND THE SPANISH SHARPSHOOTER. “The girl I left behind me.” She saw the transports leave and then—it seem- ed as if a thousand pianos, all in differ- ent tune and time, banged away and then came a crash—: Elvira awoke! No, it couldn’t have been a dream, she thought! The piano was standing just as she left it— and she still works hard at her five- finger exercises. Estelle Baker. TWILIGHT FANCIES. BY CHARLES ELMER UPTON, PLACERVILLE The day is o'er, the cricket's trill Sounds cheerily without, But silent is my hearth, and chill— No forms are roundabout. Yet not alone am I to-night, For shapes unseen are her Upborne by airy pinions light, hey drift from everywhere. Dear phantoms of my childish friends, Dim emblems of a love That to mine earthly spirit lends A halo from above! I see no more the lonely hearth, Nor moan my cheerless lot; Encompassed by the children’'s mirth, My sorrows are forgot. Forgotten are the cares of life, And man’s inhuman wiles, For naught may be of sin of strife Where holy childhood smiles. So, as the ev'ning shadows fall, 1 sit in calm content, Gratetul to the King of all Who hath such biessings sent. And what if brainless men derid My life upon the hill? s I spurn them all, for at my side The children linger stii1! THE YOUNG HERO'S FLAG. HE following story about a patri- otic little boy who lives in San Francisco was sent in by M. S. D.: Walter B. lives in the Western Addition. He is a loyal little fel- low and takes great interest in the sol- diers. He loves to go to the park and see them drill, and down to the whart to see them embark on the transports. Nearly every-day he wishes his flags to wave from the window, but, best of all, he loves to go up on the hill to see the great ships go sailing out of the 3olden Gate, bound for the far Philip- pines, and wave a parting salute to the brave boys who have given up all for their country. A few days since he went with his mamma to see the Mon- tana and South Dakota companies start. They each took a flag, and Walter’s was a beautiful silk one. On came the soldiers, tramp, tramv, tramp. As they passed a soldier cried out, “Lady, please give me your flag.” Of course she gave it. Directly another cried: ‘“Little boy, do please give me your flag. Oh, do, do, please give me Your flag.” Walter hesitated for one moment and then the beloved flag was held out to the soldler, but the fountain of tears came near overflowing, and it was a very sad little boy that reached home, saying, “I did want my flag; I did want my flag.” ‘Was not that an act of self-renuncia- tion for a little six-year-old? ‘We trust that soldier ‘will count that flag among his treasures. Withoat asking it they might, And their mothers all agreed Three small hoys casght three sinall Gehie Tommy fell into the brook, A0d Freddy lost his hat each side of the Seneca River, and slewt all that passed. But relief came. The great Hiawatha rose up and killed one of the creatures, but the other, huge in stature and swift of wing, escaped.. He was the father of all the small tribe that exist to-dayy and his name was Mosquito! Having lost his favorite pastime he raged along the shores of Long Island and New Jersey, and up into New York and down into Pennsylvania, but his home, remember, the home of this great mosquito, was at Fort Onondaga, New' York; and make it a point, you, to let the New Yorker know his claim to dis= tinction in this matter. To give you an idea of the ravages: of this monster, it is reported that at one swoop, uttering a shrill cry, of which the Siren whistle is believed to be a modification, he would seize twa of the biggest savage braves and eat them, and then use their ribs for tooth= picks. : So the people suffered. There was but one great and awful mosquito, but his bite meant complete annihilation, and while his victims were few, very few, compared to those of his offsprings their fate was infinitely worse. Moreover, this great father of stings was Invulnerable; the Indinas had na weapon that would not turn aside from him; they were helpless; whereas, the mosquito of to-day can individually be illed, but take him collectively, and wa are in as much need of a deliverer ad were the ancient redskins, to whom help came in this fashion: The Holder of the Heavens heard their despairing cries, and came down prepared to fight the insect to tha death. But Mosquito was swift of wing, and when he found that he had met hig match he turned and flew away. It was a chase that shook nature itself. The sun was hot; dull clouds of mist hung over the earth, and night brought no helief. Finally the two powers met, and Mosquito was slain, out upon the sandy shores of Lake Onondaga, where he had reigned supreme. In his death strug- gles he kicked up great sand hills, Wwhich are there even now, as proofs that this is a true story. But as his blood spread out upon the land each drop turned into a thousand small mos- quitoes; and that is the true history of the origin of the insects that now are found in the tules in California! To prove that the story of Amos Quito the first is true, there is a spot on the Seneca Reservation, so the In« dians say, where they can see the foot« prints of the first mighty insect and the prints are twenty inches long. B2 4y FLASHES OF CHILD WIT. Mamie, aged four, was accompany« ing her grandfather on a tour of in< spection through his peach orchard, and coming to one tree that had neither fruit nor leaves, she asked what kind of a tree it was., “It's a peach tree,” replied the grandfather, “but it's dead, the sap having all dried up” “Oh, ves,” said Mamie, “zat is ze tind ze dwied peaches gwo on.” Little Boy—Isn't fathers queer? Auntie—In what way? Little Boy—When a boy does any« thing for his pa he doesn’'t get any« thing; but if another man’s boy does it he gets a nickel. Three fingll bo¥ys came encaking bach At the clése &t day, $nree smai) boys sl that they would Ever after that be good. N NN N NN N NN NN XX,