Macon beacon. [volume] (Macon, Miss.) 1859-1995, 1871-09-30

Eorco50f use IiS Cnem1Ca1S, the bad
brother only 'ks-a little can Of nj
trO-glycerine."
l heard this speech, indeed; but
great heavensI it was my eyes and
not my ears that were busiest them
for beneath the table; covered by the
crimson cloth Of which l have before
spoken, and which l faced, appeared
the head Of O child. The hair was
rumpled, and the blue eyes were just
opening from sleep. The intelligent
forehead was wrinkled strangely, 1t
was my boy Billy. was afraid he
would cry "papa." 1.-The did, the i'm
placable man would add the murder
Of the child tito the murder Of the
father.
But my boy did none of this. He
had, Isuppose, crept under the table
unknown to me, and fallen asleep
there. tried to tell the little fellow to
to hide again, and wait for final bali
hour when my tormentor would be
gone. Whether he understood me. .Or
not, aided by what he had heard, i
did not know; but he quickly with
drew his little curly head, first kissing
his hand lightly at me, and then shak-
ing his fist at the schemer W.
so belligerently his dumb fire agents.
The half hour wore slowly away.
0 heavens! what agony did | suffer!
not for myself, but for my child. A
light noise might discover his presence;
the match nigh run It's tether sooner
than was expected. He might be
murdered or blown to atoms.
The fuse burned on-on. The half
hour is upl
The brother of the murderer rises
to gol Joy!
"Commit your soul to Gods keep
ing,n he said. "You hold the evil
dences Of my brothers. guilt-nothing
can save you nOw!"
With that he turned to take his hat
from of the table covered with the
crimson cloth, beneath which had
| my priceless boy. Something attract
ed his attention. He held out bis
hands and leaned forward. ! thought
he had discovered my boy! No! he
was lifting something In either hand
the wires of the electric battery. In
another instant my boy had leaped
from under the table, and was turn
ing the crank fast and furiously.
The murderer's brother was In the
power of my boy. He could not drop
the wires; he was helpless and mo-
tionless. How my boy cried for help.
The old college ruDg again. The pris-
oner's brother added his voice to my
boys in his agony. He begged, he
beseeched- his nerves were racked
great waves Of galvanism leaped,
suTged, and trembled, and Jared over
every sensitive nerve and fibre, Still
my boy was inhexible, and shouted
and turned faster. Unperceived, up
on the marble, in the track Of the
burning fuse was pool Of inflamma-
BILE oil. In an instant great length
burned away. 1t would last just five
minutes and no more.
"Father!n shouted my boy, "if no
assistance comes, this william must
die with us; dare not let him free.
Help! help! helpW
| Alas! could not answer him.
| But some one else didl Thank God!
The fuse is burnt up! The rope is on
/ fire, the nitro-glycerine. The door
opens, Tom Richards on q midnight
| visit to the sick, has heard the cry,
He comprehends all, selzes the can in
his hand-the weight descends, In
deed, but not on the death-dealing oil
| No, down 1t goes through the office
floor, down, down, like an evil spirit
to give back dull metallic echo from
the stones of the cellar beneath,
We care saved!
Joe johnson, the prisoner, was
hanged, but his brother remains un
punished by the law, for he stabbed
himself with knife, and thus escapeC
the hangman's rope.