The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 17, 1906, Page 3

possible whe on elsewhere, the esponsibie powe has been Native needs t me in open t a spark to and e aggr e follow generat ika campaign. esi to the e her and I'll er horse.” e made his way to head of the e w sat epnd briefly made e nature of the message 1d b se hy menifested itself in e ( ts ndly face and s big hands ed out to the ban- ute He raised his Sorrow his mother and have left ey sat heir ker poured out his heart amon elp for es. heard hi Vaughan and Frank . as men of silver, X, appeared g preacher. Fhere was no reconciling no taking e to > other. Now in the light now in the darkness, he must go on and of the n an “‘You see,” he s " be no one now 1o th Delia. Mether ra$ going to try to— planned to take the te Gainsborough—the next week. end desperate —patch up was geing to irn T'd sent- otliers, the old parsen—and a friend over there. But the brothers, Dick Forington and Jol insulting. ey talked of taking vs, to protect her from Iy v » drew his hand over lis eyes. vere you,” said ¥Frank deliberate- I wouldn't think of that—now.” said Vaughan, “I mustn't. It like—desecratien—to eerr dupe t ment of centention—into— a grief 5 Ged knows—is—holy!"” He =ald no more. Nor did Frark speak until ist before they reached Eureka. Then he broke out abruptly, “I've been thinking, Clem, that you'd better keep Black Birdie as long as she's here. I'll speak (os Sykes, at the stable, about her board. He ewes me and I'm not likely to get it except in some such way as this.” Clement swallowed a lump which came up in his throat and must be gotten rid of before he could answer. The offer was so like that of a bey who tenders top or marbles te ease another boy's burt. “You're as kind as you can be, Frank he seid with emotien, “Netking of the sort,” returned Frank r Brother | ugh, | intro- | of so-called | The newcomer is| tive as a head- exterior of the luck and the p= In a word. the entire lias been treated with imost criminal. | it of Zulu unrest han within “the | Boers fear that a rebellion may burst be- | settlers at any moment, and are ed in the opin require a moxt con- | ing of the situation by 1d Colonial Government if s to be averted. strophe Remewed Fricndiiness of the Tribes. erto the grejtest safeguard h e innate and implacable jeai- ousy of s tribes, rendered a probable. This has tended to fac the handling of the whole question. e two great tribal sections, the the Zulu, hating each other Seminole and there have been ment between minor tribe: to contact of 1 as way at the on, and at the due min large center and augmented by ve ease with whi mplished no smal workir fostered b; aries who ha the coun dvantage of renders int B their them » from rfereace into frequently vearnings of the him | the pa- | rman | the Herero | thwest Africa. | | years a small of Hottentots | 4 looked | the Bantu defied the Kal- 4 fought an aston- successful campaign, in which ses to the German troops have oc- rred with a monotenous Z ? ire of $150,000,000, be sacrifice of veg, and the con- rival of reinforcements to aug- large army in the eady vet re as far frora sight ago. The Herero, alry totally unex- : being diseouraged, ind quite recently their chief, Marengo, cted, is sent a message to “the mighty general | of the great Emperor,” in reply to a| den s nder, seying that the| w gun, and that he had i German troops home if i If the Hotientot “jackal” can do this, what is not possible for the lion war- y tribes of the Ama- nothing of a score of ally warlike tribes? fMir, and the unrest portions and intensity. or some time past, starting e conclusion of the Boer from chief to kraal. M other places where | viewing the member the various clans, becoming silent or disappearing on the approach of a white man. There | | is an atmosphere of impending trouble. Letsea, but a few The * the TBAA n of Ceteway: wily Basuto chief, who| months ago succeeded, by ! unanimous voice of the tribes, the de- TIVEZULL-SH AQINZTE (aM¥ ‘A ceased Lerothodl as paramount head of the great Basuto.nation, has flung aside all prejudices and Is in frlendly com- munion with his brother chief, Dini- zulu, “‘son of Cetewayo.” Dinlzulu was banished by the Britlsh to St. Helena, where he was trcated as a potentate, allowed several wives, a large retinue, and a personal allowance of $5000 per annum. Under the shadow of the great Napoleon’s grave -he hatched fresh schemes for the overthrow of wi rule in South Africa. Subsequently by the efforts of mistaken philanthropists the Government was induced to release him and he returned to Zululand via Fngland. where he€ was petted and treated as an African prince. Tribal customs and traditions are no- where so engrained and binding as among the Zulus. The exiled chief was received on his return from his politi- cal incarceration with acclamation by his people, who looked upon him as a martyr hero, and his influence was rather enhanced than diminished by his prolonged absence. Dinizulu, who is a fine specimen of a savage chief, combines all the dignity and sagacity of his father, Cetewayo, with the feroc- ity and unscrupulousness of his grand- | sire, the terrible gaan, whose name, even to this day. is a bBogleman to white children in South Africa. He has by his contact with Europe- ans developed a shrewdness afdd fore- sight remarkable in a Zulu. $Gch is the ! man whose mere nod can throw a hun- | dred thousarnd fanatical warriors, the finest fighters in the world, into the field, and who, with Letsea, holds the destinies of the black, and incidentally | of the white, races in South Africa in | | the palm of his hand. | Dinizulu had not long returned and | been reinstated when he “got bu and made short work of some recal | trant petty chiefs and others who had | attempted during his absence to undet- { mine his authority and take liberties | not in conformity with his ideas. He | has been chafing all along and is spoil- | ing for & row. His ambitions and pra- | | tensions are fanned by the counselings | | of the cducated young chiefs from the | | colleges of Lovedale and Zonnenbloom, jand urged by the more turbilent in- | dunas (petty chiefs), he is by no means | unwilling to measure swords with the | whites, and, with the assistance of the wariike and unconquered Basutos, to bring to pass the prophecy of his fore- father Chaka. Bouth Africa, although a white col- ony, is really a black-peopled country, | with a comparatively smali number of whites living in isolated settlements or dispersed most sparsely in the midst of a huge black population that extends over a very large area. If such a pop- | ulation should form a combination | against the whites, obviously the dan- | ger of the total annihilation of the lat- | ter is possible. | The varfous towns, with the excep- | tion of the coast one, are small and iso- lated. Only in comparatively few in- | stances are they connected by rail, and the mobilization of the white forces in event of an outbreak would be attended with the greatest difficulties, even if the colonies acted promptly and with unanimity. This last is doubtful, as cach would be inclined to husband its resources for self-defense. The danger of invesion along a frontier, added to the graver danger of attack which | could and would be made by the rebels from the huge native reservations in |the Transkei Natal and Transvaal, would mnake the outlook an exceedingly dark one for the colonists. Comparison of Forces. Disturbances have already com- | menced. In February the Mveli lribe.’ located in a large reservation near| ! Richmond, Natal, rebelled’ at the im-| position of a Lut tax, refused to pay it, i ng an inspector snd several treop- |ers of the mounted pelice, who ' i had been sent to enforce erder. The| Natal Government acted with great premptitude, d out the militia and | dispatched a rpunitive field ferce of| | mounted irfantry and artillery to the 1=cane of the trouble. Twelve of the | ringleaders were captured and breught to trial on the churges of Wigh treason jand mu found guilty and sen- | |t ed to death. hey were executed | by oting at Pietermaritzburg, the | espital. on April 2 | 1t was then fendly hoped that any | { attempt at rebelifon had been nipp!d‘ |in the bud: that the regrettable inci-| My Galer. for some time. I'll speak to Sykes.—| That saddle you can keep for the pres. ent il get somebody to drive me| home.” CHAPTER XXIV. The Little Church. | The Sunday Sentinel contaimed an ac- | count of the banque ' sad ending. fami !‘:"aal»:fasl tah Arthur Sinclair read it aloud | to the when “I{atharine!” ejaculated her sister, an (3 hink?” expression of dismay creepis £ frosted face, “‘what vill over her people “I don’t care what people think,” replied independent Mrs. the ean go with vou.” Caisholm. “Elsie “I want to hear C. V. my own seif,” wailed the daughter of her mother. “I shall go, t00,” said Miss Emmeline at Ruby Hill and its | desperately. subject alone to hear that man preach. “I could never allow you to yourself to criticism by going | I don't they met at the know what Mr. Haverford will think—I |never did such a thing before in my life— 2 B Ay iss | DUt if you are determined to be so rash, | “Poor Mr. V 5 | s or AL Venghan,” -mprmired WS oy uttety Smiratee: 1 80, t0o.” So it chanced that these who attended the modest little Methodist church were En ine. % ¢ what sort of | | wonder Ipeople his father and mother were!” home in t country, now folding the paper and ble. e 4 i .. |set agog by the handsome Chishe n- Hie Ay el gmare ke malang N she i \ip bifre e o o said Arthur, |steps, while two ladies and a little girl laying it on the|iB exquisite summer costume entered the Katharine quietly drew it toward |church; and the Episcopalians, a stone's | her and reopened it. Her brother watched | thTOW away, missed the spectacle upon which they had feasted half the year. Dick Dale, who was acting as usher that morning, blushed up to his closefy cropped curls and over the back of his neck, as he saw the strangers approach- He conducted them to seats well | her, but said nothing. “Who is goirg to church this morning inquired Miss Emmeline briskly. “It's too hot,” “Too hot,” Miss Emmeline frowned. one else does!” daughter. “I shall go, she said firmly. “'So shall 1,” said Elsie, with a shake of her curly head, so lije Aunt Emme- gesture one laughed— one but 's mether, who was | absorbed in her reading. How very sirange it was for the news in the midst of the gaye pictured to herself the change im him from exuberant high spirits to profound- est lancholy. his father. teo, but more often of his She was very dear to him. was only fulfilling the part of a nd to send him a note of cendolence. She could give it te Jerry to leave at the study door as they drove by to church. “Yes, I'm going,” she replied to Miss Emmeline’s thrice-repeated question; “of course, I'm going. I'll be ready before you are.” | mother. It As far as her own toilet was Py jcerned she was ready. The note ':7:1( more time. She regarded it disapprov- ingly. It had a forced, stilted sound, as it the writer felt insecure, “as 1 do,” said Ketharine (o herself. “Me hasn’t appealed to me for sympathy. I'm not sure that he wants it. If I could see him, I sheuld know what to say. 1 wish 1 could see him! Here we are going away to-morrow, to be gone all sum- mer; T can’t leave in this wey, without a word. I must see him!" It wes erly the natural outcome of this train of thought that, as they neared the Methodist church, instead of handing the note ts Jerry, as she at first in- tended, my lady turned to her com- panion with an impulsive “Emmaeline, T'm going to hear Mr. Vaughan preach |ing. |toward the front, | hymn-boeks and fans, offered to open or shut windows, and wished supplied them with there wa s something more he could do, to make | them feel at home, In spite of the heat the church was demanding recegnition, spied them and betrayed the fact by ever | He hiad spoken to her of his mother; of |50 Slight a lift of the eyebrow. did wi per. \'eryiflued. &nd Vaughan did not at first take to come note of the addition to his flock. She | Elsie’s little head in its broad-brimmed |hat bobbed s0 persistently to and fro, But that he at last an “He saw me, mamma, he saw me, he proclaimed Elsie in ecstatic If you don’t sit still and behave I'll take you eut,” he mether returned with energy, and Elsie subsided. Lbad quite enough to occupy her in She really dis- covering differences between this church and the one with which she was familiar. There were no stained glass windows here, no carved altar, no shining candlesticks were no choirboys in cas- seck and cetta; even C. V. wore the same clethes that he wore on weekdays and and cross; the spoke in /s ordinary tcne of v wasn't @ bit like & church, anyw: e:.. AFt just a big, bare, sunny room, with chairs and a laughter deep IS So did mamm; But Aunt Emmeline didn’t; ske was sniffing away at her vinaigrette as ske always did when she didn't like things. Now and then she turned a wee- begene loek on her yeunger arine kept her eyes resolu “I don’t care, knew Emmeli ter. - before h * she £aid to herself; ne would ke perfect - able, but she needn’t have eom-l?—‘?(‘h':;, with & little, :I\:b;l:.od flutter of ewn inner conscio ness, “It is queer, awfully queer. How will he ever contrive to work up an at- mosphere without any accesseries?” place a little higher up where C. V. sat; but she liked it. quite sure, she was Kath- nebulous us- Louise Barker came forward and seated herself at the small cabinet organ. The preacher announced the hymn. Instantly the cntire cengregation were on their feet, singing away with a. their might, his might. Then he prayed as if he meant it, and an old gray-haired miner behind uttered a fervent “Amen!” so loudly that Elsie |jumped, and Aunt Emmeline plied her vinaigrette more assiduously than before. Then they sang again. The Secripture- reading should have followed, but as the preacher opened his Bible a harsh, gut- tural voice called at the open door, “Mushie?” and down the aisle stalked a big Paluti Indian, dressed in ragged trousers and a calico shirt, and with a red bandana tied around his head. " In his hand was a big tomato can filled with | mushreoms. This he held out to ' the preacher, repeating, ‘“‘Mushie? Buy ushie?” disdaining allke the stir of amusement among the less sedate of the congregation and the efforts of Dick Dale to seize and put him out. For an instant Vaughan looked the embarrassment he could but feel over such a betrayal of the rets of his housekeeping. Then he quietly took the can, saying to the Paiuti, “All right, pay tomorrow,” carried it into the study and returned to his Bible reading. The Indian stalked out again, indifferent to observation as he had been when he |entered. The parson went on with his reading. ““Was there ever such a man!" thought | Katharine. “What will hégpen next? Are thing always bappening here?’ It was certainly a day out of the ordi- nagy. even for the Methodist church and |the Sagebrush parson. As he closed his Bible and prepared to announce his text, fittle Maud Wellman, restless with the heat, slipped from her mother's arms and derted- toward the platform. She had spied a glass of water on the table, and being on the best of terms with the man who stood beside it, determined to ask him for a drink. With the utmost con- fidence she looked up into his face, point- ed with a fat little forefinger at the glass and demanded, in her imperious baby voice, heard distinctly over the church, “Dink, pease!" Instantly Clement forgot everything ex- cept her child’s faith in him, a faith like that he had had in the father and mother he had lost, a faith like that he meant to instill into his people for the Father unseen. » He took the little girl in his arms. A look ef ineffable tenderness overspread his' face. “Kxcept ve become as littie chil- dren,” he said reverently, and held the glass to her lips; them, as he set her down he added, “Whoso shall drink of the water that Christ shall give him shall Maud ran back to her mother, i Elste, jealously watching the perform- ance, starbed up impetuously. “I'm thirsty, too,” she whispered. “Sit down,” sald her mether sternly, and FElsie obeyed. £ There was a hush of ex throughout the church. The . | because—their leader was singing with all | ‘wonderful | lower.. came. Made sensitive to the appeal of the Spirit by his loss and by the night of reminiscence and of mourning, touched by the presence of so many sympathizing friends, including the woman who al- | ways understood and was helpful, the this last touch to make it overflow. . Discarding the notes he had prepared and accepting as his text the words that the child had put into his mouth, he stretched out his arms with a tender, compelling gesture and bade them come as little children, confident of what they were sure to receive. With one of his swift, sudden inspira- tions, he described their own thirst and their inability to quench it, and pleaded with them, as one who felt their need and longed to satisfy it, to drink of the living water which Christ alene could |give. Every atom of him vibrated. He was like a flame. The vision passed. The light went out of him. He faltered the final prayer. Many of the congregation lingered lin- gered. A score or more went up to speak to him. Katharine waited for them to be through with ~what they had to say, meanwhile laying a controlling hand e Elsie and ignoring Miss Emmeline quavering reminder that Jerry and the horses were outside. - At length the loiterers withdrew, all but Jack Perry, whom Katharine knew only by sight. This, she told herself, would be a good opportunity to meet him and | to condescend to the strange world in which the young preacher lived and worked. “Stay with auntie, dear,” she whispered to Elsie and sailed up to the twe men, holding out her hand to the younger. I came to bring you sympathy, and you gave me inspiration.” she said earnestly. Vaughan showed his pleasure at sesing Her, though he only said, “You are al- ways kind.” He turned to introduce Jack. She put out a small gloved hand. “I am very glad to meet so prominent a citizen of Kureka,” she said graciousl: s “it is strange we haven't met before. The big ‘gray man eyed her suspiciou: ly. *Net so sirange as our meeting now, he said bluntly. She was too well cared fer, too well dressed, too sure of herself. What did she want with the parson, anyway? Re- luctantly he moved away and gave her an opportunity for the private, personal words. ‘You were very kind to come,” said Vaughan wistfully. § “I couldn't keep away,” she answered, with a Ilittle quick indrawing of the breath. “I am—oh so sorry!" Her voice was low and sweet. “I know, I feel it. It is a help,” he said with feeling. “‘You have been al- ways kind and good—a true friend.” “I am glad you feel that,” she returned warmly. “I am going away to-morrow, but 1 shall think of you often, deing your ~work.” Her voice sank still “‘But—de be careful! rself too generously. You Eoe # Wy You give Buddha THE SAGEBRUSH PARSON = “'She's eating her head off up in|to-day!” and to her coachman, saying, I've wanted to get rid of her | "Jerry, stop at the Methodist church.” | with the tiger, and I don’t believe the | tiger appreciates it.—I shall want to find | you here in the fall when I come back.” | | Their hands met again in farewell. | Their eyes did not meet: they were low- | |ered, yielding to the inmer sight with | heart of the young preacher needed only | which at that moment each discerned lhe‘I to have a child of his own. { never be. other. 3 “l must say. he’s a remarkable preacher,” granted Miss Emmeline, as |they drove home, “but eccentric is no name for it!™ Katharine went to her own room and | remained there alone all the afternoon. | Elsie, after investigating, through a crack in the door, reported that mamma | was asleep. There was a stiliness, a silence like that of sleep over and around her, but within it she kept vigil with her own thoughts. Late in the after-| noon she arose and went to the piano, | over which the outline of the Prometheus showed faintly in the growing darkness. | She played the melody of the little song | and sang softly, under her breath, the one verse she had written for it. Another verse she added, as she sat there, but this she did not sing, ‘not even under her breath, alene as she was, in the darkness. CHAPTER XXV. Sobering Off a District Attorney. The summer of 1882 was an unusually trying one in Eureka. There was a con-| tinuance of hot, dry weather, during which the springs ran low, and there was | 2 great deal of sickness. Dr. Addison al-| ternated periods of devoted, self-ex-| hausting attention with other perieds of | drunkenness and incapacity. Dr. Ellott, who came to atone for Dr. Addison’s shortcomings, found himself a possible candidate for State Senator and was usu- ally away, “laying pipe,” when he was needed. Vaughan's services, both as sur- geon and physician, were in constant de- mand. He alone of the three was always ready, always capable and untiirng. The exalted mood in which he found himself this summer had much to do with the effiefency of his work. He seam- ed endowed with superhuman strength, watched over and supported by angelic in- telligences. Did his mother know? he queried. Was she permitted to be near and to assist him? Did the thoughts of that other woman, at some time in their oughtful, sensitive make or unconscious- ly, to venerate. For their sake and be- ocause of what they stood for all women ' to Even the c t 7 dent was but the outcome of a drunkea brawl at an annual beer drink. and that the severe meuasures takem would intimidate aay further malcontonts. But further disturbances have occurred, nd other chleftains are on the war- th. The reservation of Greytown, Natal, has been invaded by the de- posed chief Bambatas with a numer- out following. and the spirit of the na- tives was clearly shown by his remark on kidnaping his uncle Magwabala, an- other chief. who was suspected of be- ing a friend and supporter of the Gov- ernment: “Where are your small white men now? We swear by Cetewayo (the late paramount Zulu chief), not by vour King." So far these disturbances have been confined to the petty chiefs, but it is improbable that these would take the initiative, ng their lives and prop- by committing high treason. un- they had been assured of the as- sistance and protection of a “man higher up.” “Iit has ever been the policy of the great Zulu chiefs to lie low and through their subordinates foment mis- chief, repudtating all knowledge and responsibility until some great crisis precipitates the crash and makes all further disguise impassible. The following table, based om con servative estimates, will show the W\ tive strength of the forces available by the whites, contrasted with the strength of the natives, if combined: POPULATION. Native. Milxed. Cape Colony .. 1,650, 100, Transvaal . 330,000 1,250,000 Natal .. 100,000 800,000 Crange ‘Riv. Col. 100,000 250,000 | sthodesia 6.000 300,000 Basutoland 1,500 500,000 1,500 100.000 Totals ceee...1,209000 4,950,000 100,000 STRENGTH. ——White — Native Active. Available. warriors g 30.000 190,000 Trunsvaal 30.000 160,000 Natal ... 7.000 Orange River 10,000 Rhodesia 1,900 Basutoland 250 Swaziland, analand Totals .. British troops South Afriea ...... PRI 54750 3s sdeesvs In forming the above efRimate it would be incomplets not to mention fully 2,000.000 more natives, all of the Bantu race, in the immediately adja- cent German and Portuguese posses- sions. Of the 98,550 men who, under great stress and the establishmemt of mar- tial law, mizht be found available for defense fully three-fifths would be ne- cessary for the guarding of the towns and the lines of communication and base, leaving the comparatively small force of 39,400 to take the field against the vast hordes of fierce. warlike and mobile Kaffirs, who travel on foot and cover the ground in an incredibly short time, and who can generally live on the country. The history of all native risings has been the same—bloodthirsty massacres of white men, women and children at the commencement and relentless butchery of the blacks at the end, the interim being one long story of a ter- rible struggle, with untold hardships and misery. The handwriting is on the wall. and in spite of the disclaimers of the Brit- ish press it is written so large that he who runs may read. It spells disaster unless the British Government will adopt the drastic measures necessary to avert what may be one of the great- est rebellions in its history. Will the Government act? That is the question being asked by many an anxious man and palefaced mother in South Africa at the present moment. he pleaded with her to return to her high office of priestess and queen. Many a dying penitent clung with fever-burned fingers to that long brown hand while he prayed her soul hence to the merey of tl One who waited to receive it. As to the mothers, they told him of every tooth that pricked through, every colic pain, sure of his interest and co-operation. By far the larger share of the new babies that summer reached Eureka under his skillful convoy and solicitous care. He wondered sometimes how it would seem It would Della’s persistent refusal to come to him, her return of his letters un- read, while robbing him of the past gave him no future as far as home and wife and child were concerned. His only fu- ture lay in his work. It was future enough. The crowding ex- periences of a year and a half already shut the door on the past and flung open the door of the future, a future im which Delia had no part. The Clement Vaughan who had known and loved her was an- other man, rather the shadow, the out- line, the promise of the man he was be- coming, thanks to the work that pressed and crowded and shaped him so that from day to day he felt himseif change and grow. A new self-respect had been kin- dled, a new desire for influence had been aroused. When his opinion was asked, he gave it as having weignt and worth. ‘When it seemed good to him to interfere, he interfered. Very littl went on in Eu- reka, of importance, that he did not know of. have a hand in, bring out as he would have it. In everything Jack was his stanch ally and support. Only these two working to- gether could have saved for Barker his election as District Attorney. There was some doubt in both their minds, the night before the administration ef the oath.eas to whether. after all. it had been a wise thing to do. Jack had come into the study looking exceedingly glum and had rehearsed the plight in which he had found Barker a half-hour before. “‘We dene it, you and 1,” he said deject- edly, “and we've got to stand to it;: we've 8ot to see the thing through. If we canm sober him off till he takes the oath, I be- lieve he’ll keep straight after that. Any- way, drunk or sober, I'd rather have him than Winslow.” “‘So would L"” said Vaughan. “There's always more hope for a drunkard than—"* “A cuss!” finished Jack, “and Wins- low’s the biggest cuss in cussendom.™ “Where is Barker?’ asked the parson. “‘Over at the saloon, locked up in one of the private rooms.” replied Jack. “But I can't keep him there. He's at the stupid stage now. When he begins to talk about killing Bill Isham—"" “Who's Bill Isham?” parson. “Lord kmows, I don't, I'll have to take him away somewhers else.” “Suppose you bring him over here,™ suggested Vaughan. Jack's face brightened. “Could you have him hm:hnm “ "Twould be quiet and eut the way and oeuld watch him—" . i o