The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1880-02-18

trousers and masks, and the men with
music and flags. 1t was a novel sight,
as the long procession filed up the road
and approached the house where we
were waiting. The contrast of the
bright colors of the costumes and flags
with the green foliage and the greener
grass at the road sides; the comparative
silence, disturbed only by the echoing
OF the notes of music from the lofty
rocks; the seeming diminutiveness of
everything-Of the men, of the thread
like roads, of even the houses and trees,
as seen under the shadow of the tower
ing mountains-all added impressive
ness to the thing.
There were possibly hundred per-
sons in the procession, with a score of
boys following at the sides, and all the
villagers looking on. Suddenly the
music ceased; there was an awful whiz-
zing in the air; a cry of " Avalanche"
Avalanche" and an instant roaring
and cracking, as of falling forests. In
ten short seconds an awful flood of
snow, mangled trees, ice and stones
passed the house like the swell of
mighty sea. Everything shook. The
procession disappeared as if engulfed by
an earthquake. Houses, right and left,
tumbled over, and were buried in one
single instant. The air, cooled for
moment, and again hot, was rent with
the screams of the mangled. An awful
catastrophe had befallen us; the wrath
of the mountains was upon the village!
For a moment we stood paralyzed-
speechless.
My first impulse was to rush to the
street, and to drag my companions with
me; but there was no street. Even the
o,.do hoA 1,-nArnoro1 -. e
snow and ice We thought of the back
window at the embankment, but as we
tore it open, single glance toward the
mountain told us the horror was but
begun. 'The forest" we all shouted
in breath. 1t was gone, all gone, as
If mown by mighty reaper, and masses
of other snow seemed ready to slide.
The white brow of the mountain still
CLEANED in the sunshine, and seemed to
laugh at the desolation. Another WhiZ-
zing. a roar, and with our own eyes
we saw the side of the mountain start.
Instantly and together we sprang down
the steps into the lower room. There
was roll of Thunder, a mighty crash,
and then all was darkness. We were
buried alive beneath an avalanche.
What nay first thoughts were am un-
able to recall. | only remember our
fearful cries for help; how we shouted
separately, and then united on one word,
crying together again and again, our
only answer the silence of the grave.
Every soul in the village, probably,
had been killed, or, like ourselves, had
been buried beneath the snow and ice of
the mountain. 1t was only after we
had exhausted ourselves with vain cries
for help that we meditated on helping
ourselves. We had not been injured.
We remembered that we were in the
little sitting-room down stairs, the win
dOws only of which seemed broken in.
and filled with snow, ice and stones.
The stairway was also filled with snow
and the debris of crushed walls. Above
us all was desolation.
The furniture in the room seemed all
in its proper place. We could move
about, but it was becoming terribly
cold, and we felt the sleepy chill, that
dreadful precursor of death by freezing,
overcoming us. Once we were certain
we heard voices above us, and again we
shouted TO try TO tell them we were still
alive. We listened; the voices were
gone-we were abandoned to our fate.
For hours we had alternately shouted
and listened, until we sank down in de-
spair. 1t must have been midnight
WHOhs III Oul SlOplnSS dDOuJ IllS llGIle
chamber, our hands came on a wax
candle. In a few moments we had
light-light to die by.
Hours went by. l don't know whether
we were sleeping or freezing, when /
started at hearing voice cry, "a light
light" / sprang to my feet, and again
lne voice cried, "a light" In ten min
utes three half-frozen, half-insane
human beings were lifted from the
grave into the gray light of the morning.
A hundred noble souls had labored the
long night through, seeking the buried.
Every man and woman, from every
village in the whole valley, had hurried
to the scene, and was straining every
nerve to rescue those to whom life
might still be clinging. We were
among the last taken from the snow and
ROCKS, which had lain upon us thirty
feet in depth. Did those brave rescuers
wonder that we knelt to them and
kissed the hens Of their ragged gar
ments?
Beautiful Bleiberg is no more. Half
of those whom we saw dancing along in
the procession of the carnival, in the
bright sunshine, sleep among the ViOlets
on the hillside. The snow and the ice
and the black bowlders from the noun
tain, and the dark fir-trees, still lie, in
this summer of 1879, in one mass in the
valley. We all left as soon as we could
travel. went home to L.
My chief has resigned, ana am now
acting consul in his place. Should the
Senate confirm all the new appoint
ments, l expect to remain as consul.
Miss Shelton thinks also of remaining,
and when Americans wander to 2
they will find the latch string of our
home at the consulate on the outside of
the door.
ton has lost a part of her pension-so
much of it as was allowed for a minor
daughter. have so reported it to the
commissioner at Washington. .-HarDer'S
Monthly.
Henry Nelson, of New Orleans, is
ninety-eight-" too old to be fooled