The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 2, 1898, Page 24

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, OCTOBER 2, 1898. ‘9@0@@0@00@@@@@@@@@0@0000009000@00@0@9@0@090@@000@0000000@@’ G LIFE AND LIMBS TO FIND GOLD IN ALASK.A. Terrible Adventures of a Party of Luckless Prospectors Who Faced Blizzards, Floating Ice, Star- vation and Death While Chasing Mere Rumors That Gold Had Been Located in Certain Districts. LCRCRCOR 'RISKIN & ® @ @\“Q‘@@@@Q‘@@®@@6‘@@@00000@@@00&@0@0@@@0@0@@9@@@0@@@@@@@@@0000 ROSPECTING in Alaska during the winter is a succession of hardships and horrors. For verification of this state- ment it is only necessary to con- sult ithe diary or logbook of Captain W. Coffee that his wife recently re- ceived from him, Tt is a closely written book of nearly 200 pages and covers the of eight months in Alaska. ns of the dlary relate to happenings, = but that which. refers to the prospecting trips st thrilling kind of reading. Coffee, with a party of ten, neisco on August 23 of last Larg unimportant @ T The party had chartered the sdline schooner Bessie 'K to take and a steam launch to St Michael, ‘at the Yukon. It had been represented -that the gasoline schooner wag.a f sel and would reach St. Michsel in.time for the vovage up the Yukon to.Dawson City to be made in the. steam launch before the river froze “the winter. choone: dppoftitment. ~The e ly. most of the ti was_ 1ot reached u however, proved a dis- . worked bad- at St Michael the end of October. The harbor was full of ice, and it .v onl. the greatest good luck that the hooner escaped ‘beforé.the winter blocks Of course up the Yukon at this time of out of the question. So v went into winter € down to several mioriths monotony to await the spring ‘break up and free water on the Tiver. -ois happened, though, that at s0 N DRAGGING FROZEN MAN that time the full of rumors of | wondrous go! . Each day| who told a tale | s the size of | the exact spot | been found and there for a consid- E kne where old had | would be | t for San | ad of having Yukon before 1ade three L"in\" h trip had its | vy could home hair Three me excépt the Indian gu iffered ir- reparable dama As a result o nothing to show these trips there was | pt a few location | monuments on - only the Indian guid s an indication | that gold r found by digging. | The_expense of th derably | cut into the finances of the prospectors, and when spring came and the trip up | un it had to be un- the Yukon wa dertake: b -r - propitic Bette would it have been for every member of the they had remained | warm Michael until thy specting trips taken by | Captain his party were somewhat s As r as the routine of travel was concerned and general - results, but the first trip was the most dangerous and disastrous. Under ordi- | on another prospecting tri enormous crack, with the icy water raging through it. Beneath his feet the ice was cracking and heaving. He | turned to make a crossing further to | his left, but was violently thrown down by the trembling ice. When he jumped to his feet he saw that he was alone on a cake of ice not more than ten feet square. Water was | all around him and the wind was rising to a hurricane. Out toward the sea he could see huge ice blocks tossing about and grinding in a swell that was grow- ing wilder and wilder. It was an awful situation, and the captain confesses, in his diary, that nei wished himself safely out of it and back in the rude shelter at St. Michael. There was nothing the captain could do to help himself, although he knew that if he drifted out to sea it meant instant death. At the same time he knew that to jump from the ice cake | and attempt to swim to the main body of ice that was only a few feet distant would only hasten the end. He could only wait and hope. Meanwhile the other members of the party who had reached the land at once formed plans for rescuing the captain. They ran ahead of the ice pack until near enough to throw him a rope. All the men who engaged in the rescue were tied together by a rope that was fastened to a tree on shore. After a number of futile efforts Cap- tain Coffee managed to catch a rope that was thrown to him. This he made fast to a corner of his ice cake and was pulled to a place of comparative safet; By this time the whole pack was break- up and it was only by the barest chance that the party safely reached shore. An hour afterward it was pitch dark and only flve miles had been covered since the start in the morning. Camp was made for the night, but there was little comfort. The cold was intense and the fine snow was blown through the | cracks in the tents and into“the beds | of the sleeping men. The snow melted | on the beds and in an hour or so all the men were wringing wet and shiver- ing. By 3 o'clock next morning, another start was made. It was pitch dark ex- cept for the faint light of the aurora | borealis. Good time was made . for some distance and then Captain Coffee stepped on a thin sheet of ice on a river over which the trail lay and sank into the icy water. Fortunately the LR RCRRRCRCRCRCRCR R X TEL/ 7 DRFTING T /1o SEA A CAKE 1CEC 4 The third trip was much like the preceding ones. One man got lost from the party, and his dead body was found some weeks later-by an Indian. The party found no siggs of gold, and returned to St. Michael. By this time the river was beginning others were not far behind him at this | time and soon caught up and pulled him out. This accident, however, ne- | cesgitated a stop and the building of a big fire to prevent the captain from freezing to death. The next day the party was caught in | a blizzard and after an hour’s aimless | traveling were compelled to halt. For hours the band huddied together in the | vain effort to keep warm. When the storm died down a little a fire was built | and attempts were made to resuscitate | two of the party who had succumbed | to the cold. One man was restored to consclousness, but the other was buried fn_an unmarked grave. | Next day it was noticed that John- son, the man who had been resuscitated on the previous day, was lagging be- hind. _ Soon the othe half a mile ahedad, and when soriebody looked | back Johnson was seen halt buried in | the snow. | His comrades hastened back and i found that both of Johnson’s feet were | frozen. He was dragged over the | snow for the whole half-mile, when he | was put on to a sled and so carried the | rest of the way It took ten days from the time the | ¢ left St. Michael to reach Un- alaska, an average of about six miles a | da For a few d s the party rested and the mission pr amputated John- | son’s frozen leg. All the men were made comfortable in the Indian huts, and after the hardships he had bee through Captain Coffee said the ru habitation was a veritable palace. When the much talked of gold pros- reached it proved to be only ledge of very refractory ore e. Nuggets, » Were not to | a and the most doubtful” even of the smallest s be found. | small Eight days w turning to St. Mic reduced to tw consumed in r el. The party wa Johnson being left with the Indians at Unalaska until the stumps of his amputated legs should | heal. All the other men were com- pletely worn out and suffering from in- Juries or frostbites. But as soon as they recovered they all promptly and anxiously started out | , lost an- | other man, who froze to death, and | came back half-frozen, spiritiess and without any gold. | to break, and preparations were made for the trip to Dawson. Not a man of the party but was sorry that he had attempted to prospect in Alaska during the winter season, and all had hopes of eventually finding color. An English Witch Doctor. STORY that comes from Somer- setshire, England, probably the most superstitious county in Eng- land, shows what sort of rivals medical men have to contend with. One Chambers, alias Elliot, enjoyed a large and lucrative practice among the coun- try people as a witch doctor. Hundreds of peasants used to visit him from all around for the purpose of having “‘devils cast out” of either their sick children or their cattle. Chambers used to charge a fee of half a guinea. The simple rustics used almost to worship ng him as r’” and fol- directions without question. lowing h: The man was arrested through the in- | | strumentality of a Mr. Blackburn of Mortlake, who makes a specialty of hunting down this class of impostors. During the hearing a number of let- ters were produced from patients. One was from a farmer thanking the witch doctor for having cured his cows and mare of some mysterious disease. An- other asked how to make love, and an- other if the writer would shortly be a widow. Still another was from a clergy- TR s Wi / | | | | man who had been seeking for Inrormu»‘ tion concerning the black art. The pris- oner pretended to consult strange in- struments and books of cipher and to effect his cures by burning drugs at midnight and so on. Chambers was condemned to two months’ imprisonment for obtaining money by “subtle craft.” Hairdressers, School-Teachers the Coming Girl of California. RE blondes diminishing in num- | ber in California? Interested observers say ves, decidedly. PPPOPPIPPPOICOPOS® BURIED UNDER N AVALANCH... nary circumstances it would have de- terred them from a second trip, but they reasoned with the superstition of the gold-hunter that they had had their ghare of bad luck and now things would come their way. Instead of warning them the horrors of the first trip merely served as a stimulus to further efforts, because they felt ¢ that fortune was about to shine on them. The start for the first trip was made shortly after daybreak on December 3, 1897. This was about 10 o’clock in the . forencon. The weather had been quite cold for some time and it was thought perfectly safe to cross any of the rivers on the ice. Unalakleek was the destination of the party. From this point the Indian gulde was to,show the way to the gold pile. The distance was only about sixty miles, and with gcod dog teams there seemed to be no reason why the trip should not be made in two days. But trouble came quickly. Although the air was caim when the start was made it soon began to blow and a fine snow flew through the air. The cold gradually became intense. As is usual in traveling through wild ‘ countries the party gets pretty well separated. The best and strongest get to the front and the others follow as they may. It so happened that Captain Coffee was bringing up the rear, as his dog team was not as strong as the one Hairdressers who of all people have the most excellent opportunities of judging are unanimous in the decla- ration that blondes are becoming ex- tremely rare. ; America never was & fair-haired na- tion. Peopled from every quarter of the globe, there was naturally a diver- sity of coloring that made it impossible to picture either blonde or brunette as | typical of this broad land. Mention | Germany or any of the lands where shines the cold midnight sun, and a | fair, flaxen-haired Gretchen fits nat- | urally into the panorama that rises in | the mind. For Italy, Spain and all the sun-kissed south there are glways the black-eyed, olive-tinted senéritas. But what traveler ever left America with any one distinctive type safely pigeon- holed in his memory? The American girls run the entire gamut of shade and coloring. Nelther the dark girl, | fair girl nor she of auburn hair may | claim priority for her type. Artists who would picture the “American Girl” | draw a deliclous cross between all| three of these. Time was when Amer- | ica was noted for the striking effect | produced by every type thriving side by side. But now travelers are comment- | ing on the striking absence of the blonde type. There are scientists who say the blonde tvpe is doomed the wide world over. They insist that it is only a question of time when golden-haired pegple will be regarded as the mythi- cal creatures of an imaginative people, The decrease of blondes will naturally first be noted in a country where re is primarily not a preponderance of the blonde type. The followers of this in the lead. The party was crossing the mouth of the Yukon River and had almost reached the shore, when Captain Cof- fee, to his horror, suddenly came to an theory have compiled statistics show- ing that slowly but surely the ratio of blondes in America has decreased with a proportionate increase for the other types. There .are those who take a more A2 A2 22 22 2 2 A A A R A R I TR R RN R RN ARE BLONDES * @ L3 @ @ ON THE DECREASE? : @ L4 ® and Others Who Have Good : Reasons to Know Say They Are, and That the Dark-Haired Girl Is & 4 hopeful view of the case. They claim blondes will never disappear entirely from the world nor yet from any one country: but that there will be infinite- ly fewer blondes than there are even at the present day. All sides, however, are agreed on one point—that is, that particularly in America the blondes are decreasing. They go still further and assert that in California more than any other State is this change apparent. Whether they reach this conclusion by reasoning logical or otherwise the fact remains that local opinion bears out their assertions. Hairdressers who have been plying the brush and comb for a quarter of a century in San Francisco declare posi- tively that natural blonde hair is be- coming a novelty, Moreover they claim that almost all the children of their fair-haired customers are dark. While | the children may not be strictly of the brunette type they can rarely be classed | as even demi-blonde. School teachers are another class of people who can observe the decreasing number of blondes. A teacher who has grown gray in the serviee said: “Each year I notice that the number of blonde children in the classroom decreases. Years ago as I sat at my desk and looked over the heads of the children fully one-quarter were blondes or demi-blondes. Now there are seldom more than three really blonde children in a class of forty. There will be a dozen, perhaps, of that uncertain blonde order that never outlasts child- hood, sometimes changing into brown hair, once in a while even to black. I have visited the schools in the East and in Germany and especially in the latter place I was struck with the monotonous sameness in the coloring of the children. B “In the East there is a far greater variety, but nowhere can one see more types than in the schools of California. B Artificial Diamonds. In order to produce true diamonds by artificlal means, iron is melted in an | ored wools could instantly impart to | upon her horse’s gray side, while the | electric furnance, with a large quantity of carbon powder, and when the mixt- ure has attained a high temperature— over 6000 degrees Fahrenheit—it is sud- denly plunged into cold water or a bath of molten lead. The lead, being a bet- ter conductor of heat than cold water, more suddenly deprives the mixture of its heat. On examining the slag small colorless crystals of carbon are found, which are identical in their properties with natural diamonds. BEAUTIFUL TAPESTRY Made Here IN THREE YEARS. T seems difficult to assoclate the woman of this nineteenth century with tapestry making; neverthe- less, Mrs. C. H. Webb of this city can show as the result of industry and talent, which, by the way, is of no mean order, a plece of tapestry that has been pronounced a perfect work of its kind by no less an artist than the late Marsden Brooks, who spoke from the knowledge of one familiar with tapestries of the Old World. The subject which this piece of Cali-~ fornia manufacture shows Is the “Morning of the Chase,” and a print from Sir Edwin Landseer’'s famous painting, bought by the Marquis of Hastings, served as a copy for details and figures. The coloring is entirely the selection of this artist in wools, and her skill as a colorist is attested by the mellowed tints and deepened shadows shown in the front wall of Haddon Hall, which for a thousand years has been the show place of Leeds. Stone itself could not look more cold- ly gray than the reproduction of that lower step upon which so firmly rests the russet buskin of the lord of the castle, and which the tourist at our slde mentions is at the present day worn down to a thickness—or thin- ness—of three inches by the feet of the curfous who have crossed it for cen- turies; for the main entrance is depict- ed, and above the lintel the escutch- eon shows as clearly cut as though fresh from the stone mason's hands. Unlike an ofl painting, there could be | no retouching, no covering up of mis- takes, and the linen canvas foundation of the tapestry bears very little tam- pering with, so far as ‘“picking out” stitches is concerned; yet in spite of the | extreme difficulty with which this work | was performed, the expressions, atti- tudes and dress material of the seven personages interested in the contem- plated sport could not more nearly ap- proach our conception of the original subjects. | The placid look of the golden-haired | mistress of the castle, who stands upon the broad step beside her dark lord, and the leer of the jester just doffing | his hat, and doubtless Indulging in some pleasantry, attract and hold the attention; while one reads in the coy and downcast glance of the maiden seated upon the gray hunter that th2 handsome cavalier at her left, whose eyes dwell admiringly upon her face, has been murmuring some compliment, or possibly reminding her of a new plighted troth, and the assiduous a tention of the footman, in plush livery, } glven to the stirrup of the lady on the | bay mount, assures us that under the eyes of his master there will be no neglect of duty. | The longer one gazes at the scene the | deeper grows the wonder that dp!mess‘ of fingérs and an adjustment of col- the mind of the beholder the fact that | the lady’'s green gown, as well as her lord’s purple doublet, was of velvet, and that the material of her red bodice and petticoat i{s satin, or show the flesh tints of the maiden’s plump right arm through the lace frill of her sleeve. In the hand showing beneath this frill she gracefully holds a slender whip, which throws a tiny shadow left wrist sustains her falcon—a sulky | bird—whose three hooded companions are still chained to their bench. A more accurate expression of pro- | testatlon than that which the red and | white retriever shows, at being com- | pelled to submit to the adjustment of | his collar by the falconer, could not well be portrayed; and one fancies the | head of the little bay, in whose eyes is | a look of wild surprise, dropping lower | and lower as it intently watches the | rebellious creature, which has cast it- | self, with paws outstretched, upon the flags of the court. “I found the greatest difficulty in giving the desired effect to the hollow of the falconer's horn,” said Mrs. Webb, when the perfect details of that { ment for recalling the servitor's charges was remarked, “for it is one of | the objects in the picture which claims | attention as it lies—the great flare out- ward—encircled by its scarlet cord, be- side the owner’s hat and gloves, thrown hastily upon the frame. “That the effect, which my old friend was kind enough to style perfect, could only have been attained by observing details is proven by the fact that in| the foliage about the castle, the Ivy| upon the wall and that in the distance, | which defines the course of the river A BLIZZARD. Wye, I blended seventy-six different shades of green,” said our modern ta- pestry maker, “and the construction of the gray horse required twenty-four shades of color in the body alone, re- gardless of trappings.” ) The various colored dresses of the seven people, the hair of the six ani- mals and the landscape, in perspective with glimpses of castle, hills, sky and water, all consume a variety of shades iwlflch required the most perfect blend- ng. ‘The wool for this plece of tapestry was specially imported from the Hotal des Gobelin, Paris, and is warranted to last in color for centuries. It has already hung for years upon the walls of its owner, who assured us that the colors are as bright to-day as when the parcel in which they arrived was first opened for inspection ————— New York has developed a new indus- try for young ladies of attractive appear- ance—whose faces, indeed, may be said to be their fortunes. This is the profes- sional bridesmaid. e advantages of having the support of\an expert on.so important occasion are said to be so much appreciated by well-to-do families that the new ‘professionals” are much in in request, and are very well paid for their services. One young woman, of re- markable beauty, which makes her great- ly in request on these occasions, is sald to have appeared as bridesmaid at over two hundred weddings, and has made d d quite a little fortune.—London Chronicle. + AR R R R R R ‘BAUBLE, SALUTE!" CRIED SHE, AND 4600606 & & & © @ ® @ R4 © k4 @ € ® ® ® © & @ @ @ & @ L4 £ ® R4 4 @ ® & £ & @ L 4 @ ® @ @ & POCVRPOPPOOOPPVPPPOPPPEPVOPP09PPIPIOPPVPVPOPP299909900P90P0PCVPPIOGOCOPOGOGSG FLUNG THE ROSES AT ME. R. BENOIT and I were in the middle of our game of chess—he is good enough to say that I, the Fool, play the best game of all the chateau's company when_cam e of the Demoiselle Alys to say that his m followed upon him, and bade us attend to speak with her. “Go tell thy mistress, my butterfly, that when sage and holy men are In council—" I began, bravely enough, when the arras parted again behind the stripling, and a rose, flung smartly, struck me on the mouth. @ great nosegay of her weapons, it being June and her birth month. She bore the of it on her cheeks, and in her eyes, which were blue as pansies, and, clad in her green ‘silk frock, she seemed but another rose. For the Demoiselle Alys was the merriest of ladies. When was no longer than my bauble T held her upon my knee, and I remember that she laughed long before ghe learned to speak—though she learned that early too. She burst out laughing now, because we stared at her. “Bauble, salute!” cried she, and flung all her roses at me. I went down on my knees to pick them up, and Fr. Benbdit, chancing to smile at me, she turned on him. “Thou, too! Tonsure and Cockscomb together!” And down he had to plump and helped me remake the bunch. When it was complete the Demoiselle Alys made us sit, and stcod before us, leaning against the chess table. Seeing Fr. Benoit peering behind her to see that she did not disarrange the pieces, she swept them all into a heap with her little hand—all except the red king, which she held, and turned round and round under the thoughtful gaze of her blue N o, who wast playing with the red?” 5 . “twas the holy man yonder; the inno- cent whitss were mine ever—' She turned to Fr. Benoit. “Didst ever think upon the red King, father? “Only when 1 castle,” replied the priest, wondering at the seriousness of her tone, “Or when he is sore pressed,” she went on slowly. “But 'tis strange how we choose our color and our King, not knowing if he be of stern stuff, to fight well—or of the kind that cowers In a corner. Was the red king win- nin fath ? e he was losing confoundedly.” T broke in, “and , he hadst thou not come chattering hither I would soon have hung another bell in my cap. She sighed and tucked the red king in the bosom of her frock. Then her fair little forehead cleared. *“Now attend, both of yo she commanded. *I come on an affair of—of state. “Dost wish me to shrive thee?’ Fr. Benoit asked little drooping head again. >erhap: , “it is the advice of worldly wis- dom thou T me, I will teach thee retorts to take all the win Cousin Isabel 1 “I can ma n for myself,”” she answered, then looked up-with brightened cheeks and ey “Dost’ know y bower-woman, Ro: d?"* she asked of Fr. Benoit. d a BE- et s _in love, the foolish wench.” she wishes to be gravely. who nodded. *‘And the Demoiselle Al was I w concluded it 1s right to speak to me of it said Fr. Benoit T will l’ln;_d the banns on Sunday. Whom doth FrcheTs looked at us with steady eyes. "The was newly become the cap- arqueb and was as_wild a good-for-nothing ever o a es of his doings had in a year's j 5D, come before him to the castle, for he was indeed but a stranger among us, and though I took note that they more concerned his conquests among the petticoats than victo- over mien with good weapons in their hands, yet Mon- celgneur, who thinks all that 18 in any degree a part of his family ( so he counted this young blood) have virtues 1 their very vices, had said that here was the man to make & valiant fighter. An untried captain in truth he was. Monseigneur would not wish his captain and kinsman to stoop to his daughter's bower-woman for -t, being penniless, and as I say penniless, it m that even poor Rosalind was t00 good for him. er- me ambitious since my r t, said I ower lip and said nothing. it is not a matter of the rack to marry ation,” snapped the Demoiselle Alys. ‘a, “it is good to see an arquebusier For, as I said, Rosalind was a good ries Father Benoit D T with a fine aim.” girl. Our demoiselle fi shone like angry sta ' Audilly? “All France and the maidens’ 1 like to sec thee defend thy ki “He is not my kinsman! ter married the brother of my uncle’s wife. kindred! No? It is well, perhaps, since he is to marry thy bower-worran She looked angrily at me, and drew in her breath hard, but did not answer me. ‘Father,” said she to the priest, “thou wilt marry them, wilt thou not? That is what I came to as “What! Wha cried Fr. Benoit, “thou art the mad- dest maiden! I marry thy father's captain to thy bower- woman? Get three back fo thy roses and let me talk with thy_father.” » In a minute she was on her knees by his side, his hand In both of hers, and her blue eyes and cooing voice hard at work. , if T must, T must!”” groaned the poor priest. . thou art an angel and a dear,” she cried. “I al- ways said thou wert indeed a saint! O, I will pray every night for thee to be made a bishop!—and—and promise me thou wilt marry them this night!’ H sald 1. “thy Rosallnd scarlet, and her blue eyes Vho dares say ill of the Sieur hed iy “His father’'s sis- That is not We both started. *“Of a truth, is not more hasty than a cat over the dalry s “To-night,” said Fr. Benoit, to show how valn it was to tr?’ to corrupt him, “is an utterly unsuitable, impossi- S ble time. S lffl’ler! Dost wish me to think thee no better than a beast? And thou so good. I think my heart will break!” And a tear fell upon the T’)m‘l priest’s hand, a tear dried directly by a palr of soft lgu. “0, there, theref” cried he, blushing very red. “I promise—] promise to marry the dauphin to the kitchen malid, and thee to the stable boy—only get thee gone out of this quiet place! Thou art the wilfullest, most shame- less maid! Get thee gone! I will make thee a discipline my next leisure!” “] will go straightway!” said the Demolselle Alys, springing up, with dancing eves, shaking back her brown hair with a ripple of laughter. “O, but thou art a very dear! 1 wili send thee a token to-night, and thou wilt find Rosalind “Am I to give away the bride?” I asked. “It will go hard {f T may not attend the wed(z* of my very child?” She drew her brows together, aid not answer me. “Thou needst not fear, father; there will be horses walit- ing, and the next day who will know if they have been married or not?” “Truly, a_fine plan!” I could not help saying. “And—and she will be very grateful to thee, father, all her life—and—and—that is all I came to say.” The Demoiselle A left us without another word, “Shall we finish the game, father?” haye forgot how the pieces stood. ‘Besides, she hath taken the red king.” ' ry true,” and he began to fumble his book of hours for the office of Tierce. “Rosalind,” quoth I, “Is a comely maid to look upon.” “T am not a fool {o hear such things,’’ replied r. Benoit, very quickly for one intent upon Tierce. “Biit it can do {hee no harm to hear that she is well- conducted maid, but quiet.”” He made no answer. “Well, father—a man can die but once—but he can be often whipped.” “I do not see how that concerns me,” returned Fr. Benoit, his eyes on his book. “Father,” I replied, *it is a pleasure to me to en- lighten so apt a scholar. God send thee a life as long as thy sermons, and somewhat more cheerful. And 1 went singing down the stairs to rally monsigneur, and get him in good trim for his next week’s visit from the Kfil& eside his chair stood the Sieur d’Audilly, teasing a great hound. As I came up the hair was beginning to rise along the creature's back, and the low thunder to rum- ble in his threat, and the gallant captain pushed him awa; with a look of relief that he had me to turn on. “Well, Cockscomb, where has been crowing now?" “Over a strange nest, Peacock!"” He drew his brows together, “True, it is midsummer!” he !x;eere('i& " “In midsummer, gossip,” sald I to monsigneur, ‘“‘pea- cocks mate wth doves didst know that?” = “Eh? How?" asked h But I saw by the e, smiling. captain’s angry eye that I was too‘ carefess, - AR R R R e R e e S b R e B THE RED KING. A Story of a Fool in Motley. D R R R S R e R S O O e E Rt b et g “The reason of that riddlé we, will lay before the King next week,” I answered, lamely enough. But he was silent, while the Steur d’Audilly. talked of.a new project he had for lightening his men’s gear. . It was with a beating heart that, as soon as the great hall was dark and quiet that night,'up Fr. Benoit's stalr I sped to find him pacing to and fro like a-bear in a pit. He looked up sharply as I entered, bt speke no word, and I flung mys®if into his great chalir, stretched out my legs and sighed. ‘‘Heigho! with such ‘a chalr as this to wait in, onder thy soul is stored with patience. “Fool!” said he sharply, “is it quiet below? “As quiet as thy consclence.” He ceased walking, and came to me and stood before me, opening and closing his lips as 1f he wished to speak; his'fat face was pale, his lips dry. : Before he could find a word, there was a light rap at the door. I sprang to fling it open, but no one was to be seen. A small object lay upon the threshold, and I brought it to the taper's flame and held it for Fr. Benoit to see. It was the chessman’s fed. king. He put it away from him so hastily that it fell and bounded on the floor and rolled away into a corner. - - “We had best go down now,” said he. I took the taper and went before, winding my bauble’s head in my mantle that the bells might not sound. At the chapel door a woman'’s figure stood geeflni for our light. She was wrapped in a long cloak, but the hood was pusiad back, and the taper’s flame lit up, clear and full, the comely features of Rosalind. My heart leaped up, and Fr. Benoit drew & long breath. ? “Let me light thee, good Fool,” said Rosalind, takln{ the taper from my hand, I began a smart-speech, out of my new learning, about a fair Psyche lighting a sorry pair of ;\!nsique Cupids—but all confused because my heart was so light. __Just as our hands met some one jostled me from be- hind, and I stumbled against Rosalind, ‘so awkwardly that my bauble Jlngled sulkily under my cloak, and the giri, to save herself from falling, dropped the taper and started back. A foot'was set on the light and it wdht out; we were all in the dark till I groped for the chapel door and flung it open. Even then the light was dim; and I 1d barely_ distinguish Rosalind’s figure; she had meekly covered her head with her hood on entering the and she did not fling it back, although the Sieur stepped forth to meet us. Su straight and tall a gallant he showed, even in the faint light of the that 1 could not but wonder again, though I v he should have stooped for wife to Rosalind. But then I, being but a fool, had no business with that, or aught else that concerns other men.” For a foal, look you, is but a caged fox, who ‘pa.ys for his scanty e kennel’'s leavings by yelping strange praises t went up to the aitar rail and kneit, and Fr. Benoit came out in surplice and stoke, and ‘motioned me forward. Never was so strange a wedding. No feasting, no flowers, no gay company, no witness but one, and that chapel, loved him not, w a fool; the groom a soldier of fortune, and the bride—O, may God forgive us for that night's work! They were soon married, and we four were again qut- side the chapel door, and stealing through the passages of the c 1 that led to the courtyard. For neither Fr. Benoit nor I were minded to let the young couple, hawever illmated, go forth into the great world without-.a word of godspeed nor a hand to wave adieu. The great door was guarded by a drowsy man-at- arms, but 1 thrust the other back in the darkness, and clapped the guard on the shoulder, with a shout, “‘Hola, _oys! Break tryst and let me out!” rang up with a howl of dismay down again with a grunt. y £ ' but; recognizin Thy' placs Is 1n me, se birds need no sleep, my there is a maid in the village gil for want of a song under her window.” ), O! And this a sober household!” “Leave homilies to the fat shaveling in the turret,” said I, relishing this prick at Fr. Benoit, which for omce he dared not return. “Thy business is to open doors.” “Or to keep them shut! “Eho il thee, I will not!” “Why should I, fool2" “Because doors are made to open, carrions’ meat, and ause bauble is as good 2 switch as the flat of thy Jord’s sword!” And I Tattled the bells of my bauble in his face with a shrill laugh, for I heard whispering in the shadow and wished not that it should reach his ears. He began to argue—that is, to curse—and I was at a loss what do_when something small hit me on the cheek and jingled on the door. It was a plece of money, flung by Fr. Benoit I was certain, and I began to grumble, -“There, I have lost the shining fellow that was to keep watch with thee till his brother flew to meet him on my re- turn!”’ Loys caught the Bit at once, and flung the door wide, letting in the moonlight, which fell in » great square on the stone floor, and showed me the gold plece’lying just below me. I put my foot on it as Loys went on his-knees to peer about, and began to talk loud and rattle. my bells, and point out nothing in the shadows, so that under cover of my noise. and his abstraction three might slip out. This they did while Loys' back was turnéd, and as soon as I saw them well across the court vard I kicked the coin into Loys’ face, sprang out, dragged the doer shut with a great noise, and sped after theni. . T was almost at their heels—thinking all .safe, for I knew that the Sleur d’Audiily had the key. of the postern in_his pouch—when a shout behind stobped me; and ‘I saw the door standing open and Loys running after me. shouting at the top of his lungs; “Treachery, treachéry! A’ mof, 2’ moi! Halt there!” o R The others had stopped short at the sound.of his voice, but it was out of sheer bewildérment. For .one. mo- ment their shapes stood out clear and sharp in the moon- light, then they turned and began to run again, the' girl between the other two, each with a hand in hers. Seelng that they would not stay, Loys, hurriedly adjusting. his arquebuse, fired upon them. Now, whether it was-that his aim, being without a staff on which to .fest his heaty arquebuse, was unsteady, or whether hé did this horrible thing with full intent 1 do not know=but the bolt sped straight at the siender, muffled, woman-shape between the two men. She flung up her two hands, and fell without a The blood hot in me, I ran back to Loys, and spra; upon him, forcing him £0 the ground under my knse. Waily I felt for my dagger. Excited as I was, I could not find - it, so T had to strangle him with my hands, he gurgiing horribly, and jerking out his arms vainly to reach his sword.” But I am a wiry man, and it did not take’ long, He caught at my arms once or twice—then. 1. shook. hin off and went to Fr. Benoit, who knelt alone, bending over: the girl’s bedy. Without a'word, but shivering like a man in an ague, he drew back her hood, and the mgosilight streamed full upen her face. It was the Demoiselle. Alys. She was not quite dead. Her heart moved feebly, and her evelids futtered, but there was a dark wet stain’ upon the broideries of her dress, wher “fell:] back, and it grew larger as we T s el “{vater,” sa r. Benoit. I went to where,. nid the postern-gate, played a little fountain wlfi'.iu::tu‘nan; a statue of Our Lady. I wrenched the cup fréc. Piled it and began to mutter prayers and curses, all .mingléd: to- - gether in my falling -tears. The gate was.opén and through it 1 saw a figure scudding down the hill like a scared rabbit. It was the Sieur d'Audilly.. So we had: married her to a craven and killed her into the -bargain: the one deed balanced the other. The.tears dried;on my hot face as I hurried back with the brimming cup.: - The alarm of Loys had awakened no as wnd 1 was as still as death as we bathed her white fac forced a little of the water between her lips. Down valley a Lorse neighed as it parted company with | low. In a momemt she Opened her eves and said clearly, . ;;e}:‘réfl,{:"g to recall everything at once: “I am dying. Where Fr. Benoit's fat face was working; and the = tears: chased each other down his round cheks. He lopked. at me in an agony. ? aogec at It was no time to count words. nd- a qo;?o‘@‘_’f’?".@fi@@?0000'600-00000009000000@@0’@@@@OOOO@@@?60000¢0@®@@@@®0OGOOQO@@OQOO9@909006009000@0000006600000000@@000‘0 k]sssey(llei:].e"e“l:led lsbdegd. madan%e.' g - e oubtes e. A bright smfte shone 1 little face, and her slefder. limhs relaxed. T Tifted l?erh'l my arms, and Fr. Benoit began the short .absolution through his tears. As he lifted his hand she.raised her . head on my arm, and lookéd straight up between us, and - beyond. She closed her eyes again, and we. thought her - dead. but she opened them once more and smile us."j‘ust as she had smiled over her roses that T hope you have not lost the red king. quite in her old voice. “You are both so careless—but los or ffl\;{l_d he is still the red king—was it not & “bravi token?” Perhaps she wandered, for all at once, befors wi knew, her blue eves grew misty, 3 in my arms, and it was over. 'EORGIANA EVANS, G Copyrighted 1898, +4 44444044444 her body hecame-heavy ‘g -