The Herald, 1912-09-19, Page 21
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CHAPTER XVII,—(Continued).
But when this furious bombardment
slackened, when the magazines were get-
ting depleted; when the guns were near
red -het; when Sebastopol was tottering
into ruins, its defences all rent and shak-
en, its streets full of dead, its .hospitals.
crammed with sink and wounded, its
stores well-nigh consumed, and its armies
decimated and exhausted, there were the
grey coats and fiat caps on the walls,.
there the sputtering fire of musketry from
all its ports, there the eagle floating over
its bastions, and no sign to us of sur-
render visible.
The allies brought up more cannon, an
the siege went on. A week, a fortnigh
three weeks more the fierce bombardme
lasted, and then a feeling—hardly a r
anor, just a feeling—permeated the Damp
that the end was near.
It was September—the 'tam of Septembe
1855.
The siege had lasted nearly a year. Th
day was cold and dull, and a shrewish
wind was blowing from the sea. Joyce
and I sat on a mound, the one .where I
had seen the Zouave watching the enemy,
and looked down on the darkening town.
For an hour we sat there, smoking and
listening to the clatter of the infernal
tempest; then Joyce turned his face
ane and said quietly, "This is the end o
it, Willie—the end."
"The end of what?" I asked.
"The end of the siege,"he answered
"Did you see the ammunition carts com
ing into camp to -day? Did you notice
the gallopers tearing about from poin
to point?"
"Yes, of course," I said, "and it looks
as if something was coming."
"-eh!" said Joyce, in a peculiar tone.
"Something is coming. The end is com-
ing. To -morrow we shall have another
try at the Redan."
I looked across at the unhappy fortress.
It loomed up grey and shadowy through
the mist and smoke. A bell was tolling
in the streets, a flickering glow of dull
red on the far side indicated that some
building was in flames. At intervals a
gun was fired from the walls. Away on
our right the French infantry bugles were
blowing a lively quick -step. A little be-
low our mound a group of sailors were
pitching quoits—the whistling dicks had
ceased from troubling, and the howlers
d
t,
nt
u.
tered, at the advancing foe, Our color -
sergeant staggered out' of the swirling me-
lee, his hand across his face, blood flow-
ing from his breast and throat. A. Rus-
sian ran at him, with butt upraised. The
dead lay thick around me. . I stooped
quickly, wrenched a rifle from a stiffened
hand, struck at the Russian, and seemed.
in the action to lose my balance and fall
into a black abyss. I had fainted,
When I recovered consciousness I was
lying on the salient, with the mangled
corpses of enemies and friends all round
me. The sun was setting. The Russian
works were silent, only our guns were
booming, their shot crashing into the
walls before me,
For a while I lay still. Indeed, I felt
incapable of motion. And when I tried
to stir, the pain made me utter a groan
s of anguish.
Yet I must move. I must. Pain or
r' pain, I must drink. My throat was o
a fire. I had a water -bottle at my hip.
tried my right hand, and found it st
gripped the rifle. As I drew it slowly
the butt end came in view, and on the
heel -plate, shining in the red light of the
setting sun, I read the number -66.
No. 66. I had torn that weapon from
the hand of a dead man. The number
to was the number of Joyce's rine. Joyce
• was dead.
• Dead! I could not realize the fact. I
seemed to have dreamed it. I seemed to
have dreamed that I had hacked and
stabbed; that I'was wounded; that somz-
thing hurt me; that my throat was afire,
t my brain all mist, and the plane and
figures round me a picture of flame of
green.
CHAPTER XIX.
I was wounded in five places, and that
so seriously that it was three months ere
I was well enough to be moved from Bala-
clava to Scutari. During all that time,
and throughout the subsequent three
months spent in the general hospital, I
remained almost apathetic,
But as my physical wounds healed my
mental wounds opened, and when at length
I found myself aboard ship, invalided
home, I had fully awakened to the mis-
ery which had come upon me,
It seemed to mo then, as I walked
slowly about the deck., and watched the
rolling leaguee of dull grey sea, as if
some curse hung over me. I felt like a
leper. Fight as I would against the feel-
ing, I could not shake off the idea that
my friendship brought death along with
it. Of all the me with whom I had held
cordial relations i our company not one
remained alive i . hfort bad *lied under
my feet in their darn, arringi-,n had,
died'�b'y m1*..5100 rite Wars attntik, Downs
and Anil Wl- n..sllof ,fxi `tile
menthes;
fiTxalr'�
r,
.ted
i fab been
of
vsentry lti cavi . and Joyce iia. been
shot through the. eat almost before the
last smile he gave . me had faded from
his face.
Idany au hour did I drag thyself around
and about the decks fretting over the loss
of my old friend; asking over and over
again the question why he was taken and
not I. Many a time did I look over the
side at the hurrying water and think
how easy a release la .y there, and how
hopeless and weary a life was before me.
But I had a duty yet to fulfil, a promise
to make good. Joyce's watch had been
brought to me by one of the bearers, and
I had given my word to take it to his
sweetheart.
How I dreaded this task I cannot tell.
It lay on me all day like a shadow,- and
haunted me at night 3.n my dreams. I
felt that I could not bear to meet that
poor girl, that I could not endure the
sight of her grief.
'What shall I say to her? What shall
I say to her?" The question ran in my
mind continually, and found no answer.
It was the most terrible task with which
I had ever been confronted.
We made a rapid passage. and by"the
end of March had crossed the Bay of Bis-
cay, passed Cherbourg, and were beating
up the Channel. I fairly dreaded the first
sight of the English coast. I went below
to avoid the view of the southern hills;
and when at Iast we cast anchor in Ports-
mouth Harbor I was in a perfect fever
of nervousness.
We had many invalids and wounded
men aboard, but no cripples. But on the
day of our arrival another vessel, which
'had reached port the night before, began
to land her cargo of victims, and I saw
such sights as even I must feel. Here a
blind man led ashore; here a poor wreck,
deprived of both legs; here another de-
prived of both arms; here a boy with,
half his jaw shot away and one sleeve
empty. It was a terrible procession, and
on which0lwe hadzmarched othro the his
very town, and how the bells had pealed
and the people had cheered, and salvoes
of artillery lead shook the air—for this,
My own left arm was crippled, part of
the elbow having been shot away, and I
knew that I should be discharged. But
when I saw these unfortunate comrades
carried from the ship I wished I had been
killed, and envied Joyce his placid sleep
beneath the turf at Balaclava. There
were no cheers now, no cannon roaring,
no clashing of bells. The crowd stood
Dent, looking sorrowfully lipon these bit-
er evidenees of glorious war. England
ad paid a. bitter blood -tax, and was sad
enough at heart; but even death is not
o horrible as mutilation.
We did not go ashore until the next
ay, and a week elapsed before I found
yself at liberty to proceed on furlough
—to see niy friends.
And now the time had come for me to
isoharge my painful duty, and T set out
for the railway station resolved to start
t once for Seaford, where Amy Dawson
ved.
There were two trains iu the station—
ne for Brighton, the other for Exeter.
A the last monient my courage failed
and I jumped into the latter. I
ought I would go to Dartmoor and see
r. Liskard and Rachel. The sight of
voi eslw faces
cheer the therlquietfhills and
ft Devonshire air would help ane to re -
ver; for I was still very weak and:
rvoua. So I put of? the evil hour and
ade for rest and cheerfulness.
It was a pleasant ride on a bright day
early . spring, through the awakening
ountry, where the meadow daisies were
ening through the fresh grass, and the
ung bads were bursting through their
du
envelopes, and all the birds were
sy building; and it was doubly plea.
nt when, having left the train at /bee-
r, I drove in 'a small trap through the
11 evening. along the deep Devon lanes
Dartmoor.
Arrived within a mile of the little farm
T left the. trap and the driver,
oeeded on foot. Around 'ane stretch...
plain of deep green heather,abov
the vast dome of violet sky; for t+r
time since Joyee. wee killed 1 felt,
for the first time .in my .li
the meaning of the word
In a few moments I eh,
the porch of an English f
Meet friends. I should see
with his hearty hand bel
Pretty Rachel, shy and
quickened my pace.'I fel
ful. There were the tops,
trees showing over the mo
hear the blackbird piping 1
another fifty paces and I`,t
slow of the 'house fire thx
light. I Hurried ori -I alnz
turned the mound, and saw—
door shut fast, the windows b
chimneys :snmokelees, and stare'
over
the fu h '
e sa e
r fide b th
board, en which in big blas t lette
the . words, "To Lett'
Per some time I stood 'staring v
at this beard and at -the tin -tilled.
and uneurtained windows; •then,
sigh, I turned away. I might
known it -'-I might have known' its;
is a nurse upon me.
Tho birds sang in the garden:
the wheels of the trap grinding
in the road, and the voice of tt
admonishing his horse to "git'
lazy." My .friends were gone •
outcast and a stranger in the Wo
before. I must go on to the bili
carrying the burden of life aloe
So I erushed down my misery an
to meet the trap. The driver exp*
much regret when he learned thata
Dome to- see the Liskards. Ile caul
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fere was a little seat in the porch. I reflections dancing on 'the
red forward, laid the packet on the water. The
•
lifted r cap; the "I wish you bluff looked like a cloud. Beyond, the
d -night," turned p, a heel, wish strode Sea spread out under the pale crescent
ay,moon like a gest shield of graven silver,
t the gate the young yeoman. overtook they° t for a moment looking stupidly at
linings, and then began to laugh.
ed me my journey, he. said,if ,,I harp+ ' MMha is Philip Joyce?" he demanded.
spoken. Old.Liskard had been dead some t•, A dead °soldier, I replied. I' looked
time, and his widow and child heti-1eft.� i�`,,ek. Amy had sunk down upon the: seat
the place, and.gone.away. into Cornwall.. and covered her face with her hand
The driver was very sorry about 01 ,i-': • ,Coll ins, said theB'
kard. He had been a good sort. Amid �h;as Philip JoyoeP' . yeoman again,''who
he °reeked his whip, and we went oi.f •FAnd I answered sternly."
brisk trot for Plymouth, 1 I tef man than you or I.He was a be
Two days later I found myself w 'Wee +':Soldier," said the yeoman, "what does
rapidly along the road which skir $> the'i his . mean? Was Joyce—?"
no bay at Seaford, in Sussex. Again weir ; I turned my eyes 'again towards the
evening, calm and quiet. The b1u,; tan ; porch, . Ask her, I said, and. left him.
n the east side, with its tawny rook anti There was 'a little tavern on the beach.
I verdant grass, and small thatched "cot. 1 went° inn there and called for brandy. l
up tages, and low trees splashed .with Mien*
had never drunk liquor in m Iff
ing blossoms .was reflected,.y o before.
- vividly. in the ,But I felt t�mat I must..' drink now,
cool, still water. A few boats, with their i9 They' brought me a glass of cognac, and
brown sails hanging limp, lay off the l I gulped . it down, ordered another, and
shore. and round the tower of the .li tie !another, and gulped those down; then,
church the daws were flying. Evory'°hit�f• .half --mad and half -dazed, I• set out to walk
looked peaceful, and prosperous an { b Brighton, think you Can manage
And yet; to whom was I going? z'i.} las I "passed the bend of the road I g
unhappy woman, whose life ha, ¶, ri+°' ''oohed back once across th h him with the sum you
were nearly all at rest.
"Willie," said my friend, filling his
pipe and smiling as he spoke, "the Re-
dan is . our mark. It will be a warm
task, and some of us will get our dis-
charge. You remember,
"I remember," I said, knowing very
,sell what he meant.
rht," said Joyce, "and now let us
camp.. TT ant te, ivr,ite, sae e`
..t4e ed cpf." .."p 'r
yi-ng on the ground mean-
while, and using his knapsack as a desk,
and as he Wrote, uttering the gentle
-thoughts of -a brave man to the woman
he hived,. the cannon thundered on be-
hind us, and the great shell rushed hiss-
ing and roaring above our heads.
CHAPTER XVIII.
By ten o'clock next morning we were
t standing in the advanced pare leis mass-
ed in readiness for attack. Our work
was to capture the Roden, the French
were to go for the Malakoff.
It was a muddled affair, and doomed to
failure. Our force was much too small,
and the strongest and freshest regiments
were kept back in reserve. The attacks
should have been simultaneous; it was
madness for u$ to wait upon the success
of the French assault. But on these points
enough has been said. Never did Eng-
land send into the field a finer army
than that of the Crimea; never were Brit-
ish, troops so neglected, misled, and mis-
managed
Just about noon the battle began, the
French leaping over their parapets and
rolling into the Malakoff like a tidal
wave. They were in directly, and before
a shot was fired. The Russians were tak-
en by surprise; and the French trenches
were but a few yards from the walls.
We saw them, the agile, fierce little
Zouaves, swarming over the works, dash-
fns up the hill. We heard the fusilade
break rut, caught the glinting of the
bayonets, and the flashing of the rifles,
and knew that now was our turn.
I looked round at Joyce and nodded. Re
smiled back at me. I heard a horse's
hoofs thundering past our rear, a shrill
voice crying, "Forward, forward !" and
then we all sprang out of the trenches
and went for the slope of the Redan at a
run.
At the same instant, from every loop-
hole and embrasure, from every wall and a
gabion- of the Russian works, burst forth
a perfect stream of fire. The rush of
round shot, canister, grape, and shell, and
the rain of bullets was something tor -
rifle. It cleft our ranks in all directions,
mowing mon down in swathes. It tore
up and and stones and turf, filling:the
air with clouds of splinters that shrieked
that hdeadly6lere ourgmeagge line Before
to melt. The ground was thick with
fallen comrades; nearly all the leading
officers were killed or wounded, and ere
we reached the walls of the Redan we s
new that we, like the cavalry of Bala- t
lava, were being hurled to inevitable h
estruetion.
It was soon over. Our regiment was s
n the right attack. We ran up the ea- I
fent, and rushed the embrasures of the d
eft defences with the bayonet. I was m
mongst the first to enter. We tumbled
to the place, and were met by a with-
in volley. Before me I saw a cloud of d
oke. I plunged into it. I was wound-
. The blood was running in a hot, oily a
cam down my side; my left arm frit lm
fire, I threw myself against a solid
ss of Russians, was sent reeling back 0
a blow on the chest with a musket- t
ek; went in again, crossed bayonets me
tlx the desperate enemy, saw Jack th
ehfort, close on my right, throw u his M
ins'; felt bird under my feet, heard• the fr
ziting, Swearing, shouting men of our
bbingaand parryi g; wasnknockhacking, co
d trampled over, but scrambled up ne
ain and then felt myself borne of my .m
t and parried backwards, as a wave,
it I was again upon the' salient, and in
grey -coated Russians came swarming e
of. the embrasure, yelling, firing, strik- pe
-mad, with rage and fury.
1 this, as it seemed to me, in a few di
en:s. We were repulsed. I was bu
?tied. I seemed to heed from every sa
I was choked with blood, and to
'rd with it. My head was spinning; eti
w green, 1 laughed hysterioaliy, and to
1 my *ilial, which a bullet had shat
What a mad, hateful world! And I had
pitied the dead. And then I remembered
the wild, miserable eyes of the e
I had just left, and, laughing bitterly,aI
turned my back upon Seaford.
(To be continued.)
----
FINDING OUT.
"Father, is it true that two can
live as cheap as one?"
"`That's an old saying, my dear."
"Do you believe it?" ��
think it can be done.
"But if I marry George do- you
to support
now spend
s e arbor. Lights "
wrecked shall
war. s Aivere twinkling in the houses .now, their on me every year f"
"Wrist shall I gay to her?- What
I say to her? I could not comma;**
thoughts. Only I was resolved tt
set m
teeth
y and walked firmly e,,,.ee
had in ms heart a strange s .use
guiltiness as though I were now totanswr '
for the death of my friend. But it mat';
be done.
I climbed the little hill. I turned into
the village. There was the' street- of de-
tached cottages, with trim gardens be-
fore them and behind the orchards' burst-
ing into Bloom. The house was, number
twenty. I counted them as I went along.
It was too dark to see the figured on the
doors. "Eighteen, nineteen." Now -now
foe the pitiful duty. I turned into the
garden of Amy Dawson's home, and etrode
up the path with more fear in my heart
than I had ever felt before the Rusaihn
batteries.
It was a pretty Cottage, with a deep
porch, over which the. ivy wee thickly
`trained.
in this porch a man and a woman were
standing. They held each ether by the
hand, and were so engrossed in converse.
tion that they did not notice my appro..ch
until I was close upon them. Then ,f
both turned round to faeemo, .the
was a fine young fellow o£ a
with' a frrink and
w,,trti` n t}
•
pie i tare , d1e i '' +geared
and' had crimson b"ow at her t,. •oart,
and in her dark hair a silver star:,
I stoppedwithin a couple of ,pates,.iof
the porch, and said nervously:
"I beg your pardon; I want to see Nosp-
Dawson. Miss Amy Dawson. Is she in?"
They both answered at onoe, "Yes and.
then the girl said, rather haughtily;. •"I
am Amy Dawson."
There was a long and painful silence,
The yeoman looked at me and ihe,'. at
Amy in surprise. I made an effort and
controlled myself.
"I ani sorry to disturb you," I silfd "I
have a message for you,".. t
The girls eyes drooped. "Yes," she emd.
in a whisper.
9�
Canada's finest sugar
at its best
Your love of
cleanliness and
purity will be
P Y
gratified by this 5 -
Pound Sealed Package of
I took out the little packet in which
was poor Phil's watch.
"I have brought this," I said coldly,
"from Philip Joyce."
• The young yeoman stood perplexed and.
silent. The girl blushed crimson, but ter.
thor looked at me nor anered
It's Canada's'finest sugar, fresh from the Refine ,
ry
untouched by human hands. Each Package
contains 5 full pounds of sugar Your Grocer
can supply you.
Canada Sugar Relining
e ,
Company, Limited,
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4 ted _��+',b;,rt r�•"r
X13= Cheques Will be
uted Among Canadian
Farmersi ,Will You Get One of Them?
iy
r
In addition to t .e twenty-seven first prizes of $50 each, there will
be eighty -ons o, her cash prizes, ranging from $10 to $25 in our
1912 PR,jzm- CONTEST FOR FARMERS
This contest is aloe.,,
one which was so suCoefs
that there are three time,
therefore three times
each contestant to win
ada who uses "Canada'"
corrlpete. The conddtle''
and small users of cern
tunities to win a :5t) pr
The contest is divided i
are first, second,• third and>
$15 and $10) in each class .
CLASS "A'+—Prizes to be *worded /6
whouse most "Canada," toe
CLASS ''$'°—Prize, to le i
prstinee who send
work done with "
in 1912.
CLASS "C" --Prizes ,toy
In tach pros
(ion.teIflh ,
woe done 4z1
ICUY rS for ti 1, prIa.'
s',iaite lines as the In addition to thus being divided into
last' year, except • classes, so as to give small users of cement an
Many prizes, and equal chance with those who use more, the
by chances for Contest is also divided into nine divisions, one
f,,ir'mer�in Can- for each province. So you see you need only
tris eligible to to compete with the other farmers of your ow
4 lyIt that large province, and not with those all over Canada.
e_+Iual oppor- Don't think that because you have never
used cement, you cannot win a prize. Many
sea, and there. of last year's prize winners ' had
.s ($50, $25, never used cement before they
entered the Contest. We will send
you a free book, "What the o
Farmer Can Do With Concrete," a wQt M
that will not only helpyou in the
butwill - tellyou".&eery-
a:
mere in tach.province
IttIn1911.
four Crme(s in each
t the hes, concrete
Contest,
Send
me
particulars
your
Prize Costes't.'.
ill
,•int en their f;rrno
k thing you could want to know about
6 the bunt Miners• the use of cement on the farm.
{he 'l t delcrti�a• Don't delay. but ' send us your
of con2rcte work name:nd 3ddrc-s to-iday and Cat
mint. (e trlel this free boobind fuliparticuiars'
• pied br :Photo' of the Prize Content tithe away.
tits a letter, postai or coupon•
leen Publicity Manager
Cement Company
Limited •
Herald Bldg. Montreal
A
A.frIc:at
tr
w til Cameret°t
will be sent than
i
who request details
of the Prize Contest.
rompalsoirOMISOIS
1
OntlicFar
THE MAN BEHIND THE COW.
In live stock and dairying brains
are more used to -day than brawn.
Not so very' long ago it seemed ra-
ther important that "the man be-
hind the cow" should be an athlete,
at least able to do not only --one
hard day's work, but; many of them.
Sixty or seventy years ago, when
our cities and railroads were young,
as was also the dairy business, the
principal surplusage of dairy pro-
ducts came from where the greater
part of the summer had to be spent
in raising, harvesting and storing
up feed for the long, cold winter;
and the man who could swing a
scythe from 4 to 11 a.m. enol wield'
a fork from 1 to 9 p.m., or till the
last load was safe in the barn, was u
generally considered to be about :3f`
the right sort of a man to make a
success of a dairy farm.
Feed must still be stored up for
the winter and times of short pas-
ture, but the many'machines now
to be had to facilitate . this work
have reduced the actual labor part
of this work almost beyond compu-
tation. Young men may hardly
realize it, but there are a few yet
alive who can remember what it
was to lead a gang of mowers in
heavy clover and herds -grass ; it
was not called timothy then. It
may not require any higher degree,
of brain power to run these new
machines than it did to rightly
sharpen and hang a scythe, for this
could not' be well done by anyone
who was either mentally or physi-
cally weak. Now the mowing ma,-
chine,
a;
chine, tedder and rake are all
equipped with easy spring seats,
while the power -loader and horse -
fork do the rest; and, weather par-
mitting, the hay crop is easily se-
cured on time and in good order.
Then, if the dairyman has et silo, he
can command succulent cow feed
as goad or better than green grass
for every day of the year, and he
needs it, and by keep'ag an ac-
count of each cow he nor -1 not sweat
much for fear of the sheriff. .
It has taken centuries of experi-
mental breeding to make the dairy
cow the wonderful animal that she
now is; yet a few minutes' time and
a very: small outlay for stamps 4vfl
bring :from"the Department of'Ag-
iculture and the experimental
arm to "man behind the cow'' to -
ay the records of these years; and
how him just how he can find the
eak spots in his own herd or me -
hods of care and feeding, and im-
rove them if he will. Izl shod;, it
s up to him.
1
f
d
s
w
11
1zrEPING THE CHURN CLEAN:
Quite often the flavor of butter is
spoiled on account of the churn not
being in a good, clean and sweet:
condition. This is especially true
when a churn is used only once or
twice perweek, as is often the case
on the farm. Flavor is the quality
which gives butter its value over
other fats. A little carelessness in
regard to keeping the churn clean
and in a sweet condition will often
spoil this desirable flavor in but-
ter.
After the buttermilk and 'butter
have been removed from the chul'n,
it should be scalded out with hot
water, so as to remove all of the
grease. If any particles of the
butter are left in the churn, they
are liable to become oily, and the
churn also assumes a musty condi
tion on the inside. • The heat from
the scalding water causes the churn
to dry out to some extent after the
water has been removed. If the
churn is fairly dry when put aside,
it is not so liable to become musty.
A musty churn should be thor-
oughly renovated before it is used.
If the churn has become musty
from standing idle for a consider-
able length of time, a good way to
sweeten it, up is to slake a few.
lumps of lime in it. The lime should
be diluted with water to bring it'
to a creamy consistency. This
should then be churned while still
hot, leaving the air vent open to
allow the escape of the gas. The
lime should be left in the churn for
about an hour and should be churn-
ed occasionally. The lime ` should
be removed then and the churn.
rinsed out with pure water. If the
churn is extremely musty, this
treatment should be repeated each
day for several days in succession.
Scalding the musty churn with hot
water is quite effective, but in ex-
treme cases lime should be used.
The churn should be kept open
sulciently when standing idle so
as to allow a circulation of air. This.
may be accomplished by raising the
lid an inch or two on one side,
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