Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1874-10-24

n faint and frozen, but yet she eluug Il
! her child. The man who carried tn,
\ lantern held it up to her face. Th'
: features were half covered with snow
o but the momentary glare of the Ian
: tern was sufficient to reveal TO me {
!, face gilmore than ordinary beauty
; "Heaveni" uttered the man, as ht
, lowered the lantern, and caught tbs
woman in his arms. Kate Loekland
is this you?" But without waiting for
, q reply, he turned to the rest Of us
! and cried, here, take the child some
of you, and I'll carry the mother"
The child was quickly taken, and
ere many minutes We were back In the
bar-room with our burden The two
, were taken to the fire and the snow
brushed from them.
Who's them % asked the host.
Only Kate Lockland and her
child" answered the fat man.
What dye bring 'em in here for p
the host uttered angrily. Why didn't
ye take 'em to your own house, Jim
Drake2"
I Cause my house is too far"
The host was coming around the bar
and his eyes was flashing with mingled
shame and anger, but before he got
fairly out, the stout and burly teamster
who had said so much, started up.
Mike Fingal, " he uttered, in tones
such as only man confident of his
own physical power can command.
"Don't ye put finger on that woman.
Don't ye do it. If ye do, III crush ye
as | would pizen spider
Fingal looked at the speaker in the
| eye for moment, and then muttering
something about man having right
to do as he pleased in his own house,
he skunk away behind his bar again.
/ now turned my attention TO the
woman and her child. The former
was surely not yet thirty years of age,
and she was truly beautiful woman
only she was pale and wan, and her
eyes were swollen. She trembled fear
fully, aud | could see her bosom heaye
as she tried TO choke the sobs that
were bursting forth. The child was
girl about four years old. She clung
close to her mother, and seemed fright
ened into forgetfulness of her cold
fingers and feet.
Kate Loekland, what in Heavens
name are We doin' out this night2"
asked Jim Drake. 4
"Oh, Twas trying to find your own |
house, Jim Drake, for | knew you'd |
give ME shelter. But | got lost in the |
snow. | wouldn't have cried out 10 |
front of this place, but my poor child
did. Jim Drake, have you seen
George? Oh, God, have mercy on
himl Poor dear Georgel He don't |
know we are freezing, starving in our |
own house: No fuel-no-food-no-
no
She stopped and burst into tears,
and in moment more George Lock
land leaped to his feet.
Who called me p he cried, gazing
wildly around.
Kate sprang up instinctively, but ere
she reached her husband she stopped.
The man saw her, and for while
stood riveted to the spot. Soon he
gazed around upon the scene about
him, and gradually look Of intelli-
genee relieved the utter blank of his
hitherto pale and maniac face.
NO fuel no food" he whispered,
gazing upon his wife. Starving! God
have mercy who was it said those
words? Where am IY'
George! Georgel p cried the wife,
now rushing forward and hinging her
arms around her husbands neck.
Don't you know me?"
"Katel no fire. there's FIRE !"
Aye, George Lockland, said Jim
Drake, now starting up; this amt
your own home. 'tye know where
ye are?"
Again the poor man gaxed about
him, and fearful shudder convulsed
his frame, and his hands involuntarily
closed his eyes, l knew that the truth
had burst upon him.
NO fuel no foodr' he groaned.
20, sir, whispered the wife. catch
ing Drake convulsively by the arm,
take US away from here, sir.
But you're cold, Kate"
No, no. Its only a little way to
your house. | shall die here!"
"Willyou go home with me, George?'
Jim asked of the husband.
Anywhere p gasped the poor man.
20, God no fuel! no food! Kate
Are you hurt ?"
But the wife could not speak, and as
soon as possible the fat old villager had
the lantern in readiness and half
dozen went to help him.
Come" he said, lead George one
of you. You take Kate-you are
stouter than land I'll take the little
one. ~ This last was spoken to n stout
teamster, and he took the wife in his
arms as though she had been an in
fant
ats only few steps," said Drake.
as he started to go. III send send
your lantern back, Mike FiDgal."
And with this the party left the bar
room. went to the window and saw
them wading off through the deep
snow, and when they were out of sight
turned away. The host came out
and began to explain matters; but |
was sick enough already, and with an
aching heart l left the room.
On tn. following day came down to
breakfast later than usual, for | slept
very little through that night. About
8 o'clock the driver came in and told
us the stage would be ready in FIVE
minutes. Invent to the bar-room for a
cigar. Jim drake had just come in to
bring back the cloak they had wrapped
around the child the night before.
What will you have this morning
Jim?' / heard the landlord ask; as
he set out tumbler. l.
Nothing" returned the fat man
emphatically. I'm done, Mike Fin
gal, I'm done with the stuff. I'll drink
no more of it. | wouldn't have come
now only poor Lockland was up, and
his sweet little wife was hanging around
his neck. They were eryin' so that |
could't stand it, and had to clear out
o, it's dreadful, Mike Fingal. You
don't know what them poor things
have suffered! But they shan't have
my example any more. L.
"All ready shouted the driver, and
| was forced to leave.
The wind had all gone down; the
air was sharp and bracing, and slowly
we rolled away from the village.
Preached Buffalo two days later than
/ expected to when started, and hav-
ing tranacted my business there, l
went to Mississippi, and so on down to
New Orleans. Four years afterward /
had occasion to travel that same road
again. and stopped in that same village
10 take dinner. The bar was still open
but Micheal Fingal had gone away /
walked out after dinner, and soon
came across n neatly nainted office