Weekly Chillicothe crisis. (Chillicothe, Livingston Co., Mo.) 1878-19??, 1881-06-30

have fainted-have fallen-died; but
as leaned my head against the rock, |
felt as though a cold refreshing hand
were laid upon ii suddenly.
1t was water! 1t was no madness
ii was water A tiny stream trick
ling through the bare wall of rock, like
dew from heaven. | held forth my
parched tongue and caught the drops
as they fell, and as | drank my strength
was renewed, and hope and the desire
of life grew warm within me again.
And yet on this, the second night of my
horrible Imprisonment, | cared not 50
passionately-I looked not so eagerly
for succor. My limbs were numbcd,
my brain deadened; life was ebbing
toward death; Il shadow at times fell
over my eyes, and if | held still to the
hilt of my sword, if my feet sought
still the ledge that rested them, they
did it mechanically from habit, and not
from hope.
think sometimes | was not in my
right mind. | was among green fields
and woods, and was gathering flowers
| was climbing mountains; and from
these visions | awOke always TO dark
ness above, around, darkness below,
hiding the abyss that hungered greedi-
ly for my life. And no friendly face, no
voice, no football near Not step
through all these slow, slow hours. If
passing peasant, through the day, had
heard the lonely cry rising from the
depths, he had set it down to ghost or
pixy, and had passed on his frightened
way regardless.
And now the night was wearing on,
and no rescue. could not live till
mOrning-I knew that.
My mind wandered again. My
mother waited for me, must hurry
home; but was bound by a chain, in
outer darkness, and | was going to die.
There was no Christian in all the land
to succOr mel was forgotten and for
saken, left in the pit-and | would I'M
clasp my hands and fall and die.
No, would call once more. "IIelp.
help Mercy! helpr
AS my fainting voice died in the dark
depth, and quiycred up to the glim-
mering sky, | felt hope die with it, and
| gave up all thought of life. turned
my eyes toward my grave below, and
murmured with parched lips:
"Out of the depth have | cried unto
Thee, o Lord"
The little rill that had saved my life
hitherto trickled on, and its silvcry
murmur, as it dropped on the rock be-
low, was the sole sound that broke the
dcathly silence around Inc.
My prayer was over, and | had not
relinquished my hold. | was stronger
than | had deemed myself. would
cry out again. "lIelp! help! help~
Il stopped. | listened. \ sound
was floating on the wind. Coming,
going, joining the drip, drip, drip of the
rill-thcn dying, then returning. Lis,
tenilIg with my whole being, | recog-
nized the sound.
Bells-church bclIs-chimcs ringing
in the new year. 80 God, have mercy
on me; have mercy on me"
Bells are ringing in the New Year
bells Ginning in the ears Of friends,
telling of sadness and Of hOpc-bel5
clashing in at merry intervals, between
music and laughter, loving greetings,
kisses and joy.
Will no one in my fathers house
take pity on me? Am missed no.
where? The bells chime Il fcasting
and gladness; and | am here hanging
between life and death. The jaws of
the grave are beneath me, my joints are
broken and the bells chime on. Would
il not be good decI on this New
Years day TO save me? Oh, fclstcrs
and revelers, hear me,
"lIelp! help, 1t is Christmas time.
Help, for Christs sake, good people"
The bells float nearer, and drown The
drip of the trickling water; and | cry
"IIelp. help" saying, "Now will call
till die" a film grows over my eyes,
but my voice is strong and desperate
as | shout "Christmas tide, For
Christs sake, help, good Christians"
A great light-a flash of fire! Fora
moment | deem it death; gazing up
ward | see amid Il glare of torches,
faces oh, they were angels to me. =
eager faces pcering downward into
the depths; its light falls on my hag-
gard face--a great shout rends the
night sky.
ale is here, he is safe!-he livesw
| cannot speak, though my lips move,
and my heart stands still us see one,
two, three daring men swing them
selves over the abyss-miners, used to
in Il moment stout arms
are around me, and | am borne up
ward, carried gently like II child,
placed an instant on my feet, and then
laid down tenderly on the heath. |
am so weary and faint and worn that
l lie with closed eyes, never striving to
say word of thanks.
"Go not so near the brink, madam, |
entreat" / heard a voice cry sharply.
Then l open my aching lids, and be-
tween me and the sky there bends a
white face, and tears fall down upon
my brow fast and warm. 1t was my
betrothed, Florian, but even when she
stole her little hand into mine-mine
so cramped and numb that it gave no
response to her tenderness-an even
when she stopped and pressed her
lips upon my cheek, could not breath
a word to thank her.
Yet, Florian, dear wife, let me tell
thee now, that from the depths of my
happy heart there rose hymn of joy,
and | understood from that moment
that thou vert mine, and l owed my
life to thy love.
Then thy sweet lips breathed words
that fell upon my soul like manna-
words of tenderness and pity that made
the tortue of those slow hours in the
pit fade away, so mighty did this re-
ward seem for my sufferings.
l was carried to Trevesy, and as the
men bore me along, you walking by my
side, l heard them tell the tale of my
servants fright when my horses re-
turned home alone, and how they came
to your father for tidings from me.
Then they whispered of the painful
caarnh thrnuOb tha dnv and nioht the