The daily dispatch. [volume] (Richmond [Va.]) 1850-1884, 1867-05-01

BE 81 and l were married, and came to
America as happy and loving couple as
ever crossed the waters. When | landed
in New York my pocket was picked of all
my money--the few pounds had saved to
buy me little land-and was friendless.
1t was an awful time that followed, SIR"
After this misfortune tried to OBJ
tain work. Now and then got job that
gave me enough to buy us q little food.
But what could |, a farmer and farmers
son, do in great city that needs artisans,
not farmers 1t was hard and bitter
struggle for life. l had just got place as
porter, at good wages, when-when-my
dear, darling Bessie-when she-she died.
AFTER BesSie's DEATH" he continued
with shudder, 81 took to liquor Just to
stop thinking, to have an easy spell. But
only made matters worse, and finally, after
touch of the tremens, went on board
ship, and sailed to Cape Town, in Africa.
1t was five years before I got back to Ame-
RIGA. was tired of sailing and of life !;
but not having the cowardice to commit
suicide-though | was always wishing my
self dead-I struggled along as of old TO
get my daily bread. Drifting hither and
thither, working a week in one place, a
month in another, finally brought up as
a laborer in an elevator In Chicago. 1T is
not nice work, must say but one grows
to be proud of the great things that dot
the wharvcs along the nasty creek. To
me an elevator always seemed monster,
restless with hungry life; and we poor
fellows did nothing but tend to its
wants, running up and down stairs
through clouds of choking dust, and
dcafencd with the din of rafting
machiuery-no light job, can assure
you, seeing that an elevator is Sc
ven, eight, ten stories high, and big
enough to hold the houses OF a small VII
lage. All, they are wonderful things,
those elevators And now that am away
from them, | feel the strength of their size,
and what little thing / was in such a
place. Then the rattle of the cups going
up or down with their fill of grain made
music to my ears, and started many a
queer thought through my mind as | went
through my hours of day or night work.
1t was strange to see how quick their ar
mics of banded cups would drink to emp
tiness a car or vessel loaded with grain,
and carry it up to gidy heights to be tum-
bled into huge bins. These bins, sir, are
forty to sixty feet deep, and funnel-shaped
at the bottom, where there is sort of
valve or gate, which, when opened, lets the
grain into a spout. If gate Is lowered
when bin has six or seven thousand
bushels in it, you can judge, sir, that there
would be a whirlpool that would suck
down the strongest man to horrible
death. Wonderful, terrible monsters these
elevators, with their humps of houses on
their roofs, their awkward spouts, their
dizzy heights, and dismal, dusty chasms of
empty bins. 1t makes me sick to think OF
them now."
The man really did look little whittier
in the face, and nervouSly fingered the
empty sleeve of his Jacket; but he was
over with the feeling in minute, and
went on with his story.
81 had been at work about week In
one of the largest of these elevators, when,
one afternoon, was sent, in company with
another laborer, a big, whiSkered, swear
ing, rufian fellow, to tend to another bin
that was about to be emptied. We were
sitting on the edge of the bin, waiting for
the grain to run, when my companion,
who seemed to be under the influence of
liquor, called out:
"'I say, Mike
CAS- have said, the fellow was ruilian
in appearance. He seemed to have quite
a liking for me, as he tried to be with me
in my work as much as possible: but L
couldn't bear him, and did everything TO
be rid of him. He knew my name well
enough, and it angcred me to have HIM call
IL, I coi1 sharply
"'My name is not Mike!
"sHow should | know ]! ne asNcu,
looking angrily into my face, ash hc "isneo
to make quarrel with me.
"sYou have heard more iilan once
said. you know very well wha1 II E'
Joe. and there's no sense in giving man
a name as doesn't belong to him.:
"sThen don't call me Joe Ihat am
my name. It's q counterfeit. I'm ION,
which is a better name.
"He had piece of chalk in his hand,
and began to print with it on the big beam
where we were sitting. Tom, Tom, he
scratched in large scraggly letters, all the
while looking at me from under his heavy
-brows. Then he made b, and rubbed
his hand across it as soon as 1t was made.
usBob. it's long way down there point
ing into the half-tlled bin.
"sTwenty feet, perhaps
rTwouldn't kill man-the fall, eh =
moving closer to me.
"No!'
"sBut it's good as water to drown him
if the grain be moving and the dust and
chaf fiying?'
"slle wouldn't live long, that's sure
"sThen go down there he yelled,
giving me a blow and a push that hurled
me headlong from my seat. SO down
there stay there. die there! rot there !
Bob Campbell; and don't forget when you
are dying that Tom Brinton sent you
there -
"The fall didn't hurt me bit, and |
began to crawl toward the rope ladder
hanging against the side of the bin, thank
ing God that the grain hadn't begun to
move, unless I'd be dead man in no time.
But as soon as the rutlian saw what | was
after, he went round and pulled up the
ladder.
"sLet that alone.' l shouted, feeling
how little hope of escape l had with the
ladder out of my reach.
"He laughed, and flung the ropes over a
beam.
"sDo YOU mean to murder me- cried.
"No, Pm going to leave you there, Bob.
You have fallen in, you see. That'll be
the verdict when they find your body.
You'll want your shovel, man, to make the
thing look natural. I'll throw it TO you in
q minute'
81 felt quite sure that it was so dark in
the bin that he could not see me plainly,