Newspaper Page Text
ip do on JMirror. Yol. 3. N 0,34 Stillwater, Minn.,Thursday, March 31,1892. Five Genta. TWO VIEWS. An old farmhouse with meadows wide, And sweet with clover on each side; A bright eyed boy who looks from out And wishes his one thought all day: "Oh! if I could but fly away From this dull spot the world to see,' How happy, happy, happy, How happy I would be! ’’ Amid the city's constant din, A man who round the world has been Is thinking, thinking, all day long: "Oh, if I could but trace once more The field path to the farmhouse door; The old green meadows could I see. How happy, happy, happy. How happy I would be! ’’ —Marian Douglas, in Argosy. Lost in a Southern Swamp. I have been lost on a prairie in a blizzard and reached the hospitable shelter of a farm-house when about to succumb to cold and fatigue; I have been raft-wrecked on the turbulent Mississippi river and was saved only by rare presence of mind in throwing a Norway pine log overboard, getting astride and paddling ashore. 1 have had -other mishaps befall me of a humili ating and dangerous nature while earning a precarious livelihood as a lightning-rod peddler. I have had passionate and un reasonable farmers viciously thrust at me with pitchforks, with intent to do me great bodily injury, because their barns, in which 1 had placed our higher grade ne plus ultra rods, had been destroyed by lightning. I have been chased by an enraged bull —whose esthetic taste I had shocked by wearing a red flannel shirt —and reached a fence just in time to be assisted over by the infuri ated beast, but these are trifles compared to the story I will now tell. The incident which 1 am about to narrate occurred during the time I was engaged in putting down the rebellion. The modesty of brave men has become proverbial, and as I will not be outdone in modesty by any man, I will qualify the above statement by saying that in putting down the rebellion I was materially assisted by several hundred thousand —1 haven’t the exact figures at hand—of the rank and file. We are apt.to speak lightly of past dangers, but I frankly confess could I have, foreseen the dangers and hardships I would have to go through I never would have entered into a contract with “Uncle Sam” to put down the rebell ion at the low rate of thirteen dollars per month. It was worth seventeen dollars per month and a pension. But to my story. One day, on the memorable march from Atlanta to the Sea, a comrade came to me with dolorous complaints of a disagreeable, “all gone” sensation in that portion of his anatomy where nature most abhors a vac uum, and proposed that we should go for aging for the esculent yam, and the fleet footed, razor-back hog. 1 told my comrade I would be subject to his orders for that day. and leaving the main column we marched in a right oblique course through woods and fields till we came to a road run ning parallel with and several miles distant from the road we had left. This road led us through woods for about two miles when we came to a small clearing. A few tumbled down out-buildings and a small log house indicated the inhabitants as belonging to that class known in the South as “poor whites.” We walked up to the open door; within were two women, one apparently fifty years of age. and the other about eighteen—mother and daughter as we soon learned. The elder woman talked freely and we soon learned the family history. She said all the food they had were a few yams which were roasting in the ashes of the fireplace. Her husband had been killed at Atlanta, fighting for the Confederacy. Her only son, a delicate, sickly lad of six teen, had been drafted into the Confederate army, and the poor old mother was well nigh heart-broken with the fear that she would never see her boy again. We had become accustomed to scenes of suffering, but the condition of these poor women, de prived of their natural protector, without -even the bare necessaries of life, appealed to our sympathies. We encouraged them as best we could by assuring them that the war would soon be over, and the absent son and brother would be at liberty to return home; then giving them our scanty hoard of coffee and sugar—a luxury they had not known for many months—we again set out on our march. We had not proceeded tar on our wav when the road turned abruptly to the left and skirted along the edge of a swamp. We halted and held a “council of war” and as a result we decided to cross the swamp at that point, for, we reasoned, should we fol low the road it would bring us back to the main column and the detour we had made would be labor lost. Even should we re turn to the main road the swamp would have to be waded at that point, and as this was no unusual experience in our lives, and did not seem a formidable undertaking, we did not long hesitate, but waded into the cold, dark water. We felt our wav cau tiously along, the water growing deeper and deeper, until it was waist high. Suddenly my comrade —who was in advance — sank down over his shoulders. We became alarmed and decided to retrace our steps. We made what haste we could, but at the end of half an hour no land was to be seen and the unwelcome conviction forced itself upon us that we were lost. In turning aside to avoid obstructions we had lost our bear ings and were hopelessly bewildered. We hollooed again and again, hoping some one would hear us and guide us to shore by an answering cry; but not a sound —save our own voices, which seemed strange and un natural —broke the death like stillness of the place. Our limbs were becoming numb, and night was coming on to add to the horror of our situation. We now remembered the tales we had heard of these large swamps, miles in extent, where the repulsive alli gator and the venomous snake held domin ion, and bitterly we regretted the foolhard iness that had brought us into such a predic aments At length Night’s dark mantle covered the earth. The solemn drapery of Spanish moss, which hung from the topmost boughs of the trees to the water’s edge, unbrokes bv any Opening, shut out the gleaming stars of heaven, and made the darkness appall ing. The scene was gloomy and depressing beyond my feeble powers of description. The only sounds that arose on the night air were the whip poor will’s melancholy notes, the hoot of the owl, and the mournful soughing of the wind “Like the wail of a soul in the pit below, Condemned to the nethermost hell.” We had given up all hope of finding our way out in the darkness, and were plan ning to climb into the branches of a tree to await the dawn of another day as best we could, when near and clear on the night air came the sound of a negro melody. .Never did music sound so sweet to our ears as did that plantation song. We started in the direction of the sound, in our haste stumbling and falling, bruising our selves as we dashed against trees; but we heeded it -not, and were soon standing on a road beside an astonished and very much frightened negro. In a few words we told our!story. In return our colored brother told us he had been to the main road look ing at the soldiers march by and was re turning to his cabin when, as is the habit of his race, he began enlivening the road with song. We thanked our colored friend most heartily for his song, and then set out on our weary night march, cold, hungry, and with aching limbs, but with hearts filled with gratitude to a merciful God who had brought us safely out of danger. S. The Melancholy Tramp. Life is usually a hard struggle even to those who have homes, and friendly hands to help them along its stormy road. But to him who is an outcast, it is doubly so. One warm evening in the early summer a ragged and brutal looking man tramped wearily along the railroad, seemingly without thought of the night’s near approach—mere drift thrown up by the great world. Sud denly the road made a sharp turn, disclos ing to the view a farm house nestling among the trees of a small grove; children were playing and shouting between barn and house, while a larger boy was driving the reluctant cows through the yards. A kindly looking man and woman near the door watched the romping of the children. The traveler sat down on a tie to con template the scene before him. Back from the house with its quiet, “happy-home” like air lay the fields green and luxuriant, the cattle and sheep peacefully chewing the cud of contentment. Altogether it was a scene of happiness and quietude to be al- IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND.” ways remembered to anyone, and probably to the world beatffli man before whom it was spread out to-night, seemed a glimpse of that happiness which we are told a life of toil can bring. Long he gazed, until the gloom of night drove the merry children in doors, and shut out the scene of pastoral beauty. Then he rose and started on, walking more unstead ily, and sometimes talking to himself and gesticulating wildly. From his mutterlngs it seemed he was thinking of scenes and events of long past and happier days. Sud denly he paused in his walk and looked up tothesky. “Yes; I’ll do it!” heexclaimed. His set features and clenched hands showed that the resolution he had formed was one he was determined to carry through and make the purpose of his life. He looked anxiously up and down the track and then, with a last look at the sky, deliberately laid down across it, his head resting on one rail. Ah, here is the misspent life —lying on the track waiting to commit the last cow ardly crime of self murder. That touch of nature back at the farm house has brought remorse too deep to be blotted out in life. ’The noisy rumble of the train in the dis tance can just be heard; now its light grows larger and nearer and on it comes with rush and roar —and rushes by on the main track. The tramp slept peacefully on the side track till the sun shone in his face the next morning. He arose and went back to the farm among the trees, and asked the farmer if he couldn’t hunt him up some old clothes while the lady was getting breakfast for him. Confrere. At last the parole system has become law, and although a great point has been gained for the convict, yet the conditions laid down in the regulations for conditonal pardon, are, in my opinion, applicable to but a few cases. Section 2 of the regulations stipulates distinctly that no prisoner shall be eligible for a conditional pardon, who has not at least served th.e minimum sentence pre scribed by law for the punishment of his offense. (That is for first timers.) Now, as a rule, or let us say in the majority of cases, a man who is tried for his first of fense, will be given the minimum, or low est sentence the law allows, unless the cir cumstances under which the crime was committed are so aggravated as to merit no leniency. 1 know of numerous instances where judge, jury and prosecuting attorney, were all of the opinion that the sentence prescribed by law and which had to be in flicted accordingly was too severe, but it was not within their power to alter the laws laid down by the legislatures of their respective states. Knowing that the foregoing is true in many cases, I cannot refrain from saying that, in my humble opinion, Section 2 is not doing justice to the otherwise noble system just inaugurated. Let us see how far 1 am right, and if this view of the mat ter may be sustained. 1 will only take two instances: (1) a man is convicted of a cer tain crime, for which the law prescribes from one to ten years, the circumstances are such that, although his first offense, he is given the full penalty, i. e., ten years; (2) another one for a different crime, for which the punishment is from five to ten years, is given the minimum sentence of five years. If in both the above cases the law was justly applied then Section 2 of the regulations is unjust. For under its provision No. 1 may be paroled after one year, whereas No. 2 will have to serve his full time, less the reduction for good con duct. There was a man sent to the reformatory from St. Paul lately for robbing a society for which the minimum sentence was five years, yet he was told by an authority on the matter, that he might be paroled in from six months to a year if he behaved well, and I have no doubt but this is true. I should judge that a man who receives the lightest sentence prescribed ought to have a just claim on the benefit of a parole, as it shows his crime could not have been more serious than that committed by one who re ceives the full penalty and yet is eligible. But I may have misinterpreted the meaning of the section in question. Hector. Why is happiness so rare? Too few en gaged in producing it. The Parole System. “All Is Plain Now.” It may be remembered that sometime last fall two convicts disappeared from this prison, and the circumstances under which they made their exit led the warden and other officers to the conclusion that the two missing convicts were hidden away some* where inside the walls. Under this belief, the matter was kept quiet, and a continuous search was kept up for a few days. Then an officer disappeared as mysteriously as had the convicts. The guards at the gates asserted that the officer in question had come in the prison in the morning, but had not gone out. Here was a real mystery. Search was made high and low for the missing officer. ,but to no avail. Things went on in the same way for four weeks without any news from the missing ones, the whole matter remaining shrouded in the profoundest mystery. The work of tearing down the old shops in the northwestern corner of the yard com menced, and had progressed for some time, • when in moving some old rubbish in an un used part of one of the shops a hole, about four feet in diameter, was discovered. The parties making this discovery tried to probe the bottom of the hole with a long pole, but they could find no bottom. The case was then reported to the warden who took im mediate steps to investigate the mystery. First, shouting down the hole—calling the names of the missing officer and convicts — but no answer came back. Then the warden bethought him of a telephone and a large coil of wire. The telephone was put in proper working order, the wire attached and the instrument lowered into the dark hole. It went down, down, down, until the coil of wire had all gone down the hole. Another coil of wire was brought and at tached to the end of the first one, and it went down the hole also. Another was brought and went likewise, and so it went on until about 8,000 miles of wire had been let down into that hole. Then came a halt, the telephone had apparently reached the bottom. A slight jerking on the wire. A minute more and the bell rang. The warden seized the trumpet and placed it to his ear and called out, “Hello! ” “Who’s that?” came back. “The warden,” was the response. “And who are you?” “Pm Guard Hawkeye.” “Where are you?” “I’m down here among these tarnationed Mongolians. I fell through this blamed hole. Can’t you do something to help a fellow out of this?” “We’ll try. Only have patience,” was the answer to the last query. The warden then gave directions to keep the affair secret, and immediately started for Minneapolis where he brought up all the rope there was in the city, and tele graphed to Chicago to have all the rope in that city sent up to Stillwater. Machinery was at once constructed, and the work of lowering a large upholstered chair down to the Celestial empire was be gun. The chair being hung in such a way that the guard from the nether world could set in a comfortable position on his way up. After several days of hard winding at the windlass the chair reached its destination, the guard below telephoned that he had em barked, and the return journey was began. Relays of convicts were detailed to work on the windlass. After a week of hard winding the lost guard was brought to the surface and once more placed on American soil, a general shaking of hands, and congratulations fol lowed. The officer stated that he learned from the Chinamen that the two convicts, who dug the hole, and who had escaped through it, had been captured by the Celestials and shut up in a temple where they were guarded with great care, the Chinamen be lieving them to be gods. “This uniform,” he said, “is all that saved me. They mis took me for a British man-of-war, and bowed with great solemnity to Her Maj esty’s supposed gun-boat.” The sequel to the above is, that the new twine plant is to work up the rope, that hauled the guard from the lower regions, into binding twine. The warden has had the hole securely arched over and covered up, so that the place where it was is now only pointed out to visitors. Prof. J. H. S. R.