The Iola register. [volume] (Iola, Allen County, Kansas) 1875-1902, 1883-10-05
AMBER COSGROvE.

/.
Ny name is Amber Cosgrove, and such is
my good fortune that can write in three
words the history Of my girlhood. Happy
-happier-happiest! Those thin, clear, up
and-down strokes tell little TO others; to
me they tell Of past for which l can not
be too thankful. / write a hand like NV
great-grandmother's, so Ainslie tells me,
neat and formal and old-fashioned-epith
which think describe me as well as any
can find for myself. And so in those neat,
formal, old-fashioned strokes on the smooth
white paper see pictured not only my life
but my habits and ways. And the dashes
between-what of them? They are the
breaks in the even flow Of a peaceful life;
passages rough at the time, but now not
unpleasant to remember, for through them
/ passed from being Amber McMichael to
become the wife of a man as noble and
brave, as generous and true. as my own
father. And even of Ainslie can say no
more than that.
There is a scene which is often in NV
mind when l sit and think Of the past. But
II is no passage in my own life; il took
place before l was born, and in far-dis-
tant land. Try to picture dark, still night
down jungle path, roughly paved with
logs, lit only here and there by the moon
beams piercing through the branches over
head, some dozen persons, Europeans and
natives, are fastening, stumbling and fall
ing in their hurry, but never pausiug. Be-
hind them there is a glare in the sky far
too deep for the moonlight, brighter and
redder even than the glow which hangs
over great city at night. That crimson
illumination is no ordinary sight: il means
murder and bloodshed, for it is ths blaze of
the Feringhees' burning houses. Already
you can hear the cries of the pursuing
Sepoys, so ferocious in the hour of their
long delayed vengeance that the blood Of
men, as brave as the two who bring I'D the
rear OF the hylng party, may well run chill
with fear. Not on their own account, bu.
for the women and children who are being
hurried along by their panic-stricken SER
wants Well NAV Major CoSgrove's breath
come and go, for his wife and children are
of the party: vsinly be tries 10 pierce the
darkness in front, and to distinguish the
CLEAN OF the river, beyond which Is COM
parative safety. He knows that hardly
three miles on the other side OF Il is a Brit
ish station: and the demons behind. cow
ardly as cruel, may hesitate to pursue
where every step brings them nearer to
danger. While he gazes in front his broth
er officer keeps turning back his head in the
direction of the pursuit. Neither speaks
his thoughts: hut the Major, his face white
and set, tries the chambers of his reyolvers
and his companion sees him and mods. He
knows, without explanation, for whom
the cartridges so carefully tapped home
are intended. Hs, the water at last. There
tits, betweenIts dark wooded banks ripping
quickly with thousand pale flashes over
the shallow ford. But is il not-too late:
A louder cry rings through the night air:
the pursuers have sighted them, and as re-
doubling their speed. The race to the ford
Is for dear life. The fugitives gain it. and
are half way across before the enemy reach
the bank. Even then escape seems impos-
sibie. a dozen bullets plaSh the water, and
fha --saIh r--
bers, are crossing the ford to come 20 close
quarters Breathless and dripping the
women and children are pulledup the bank,
and the officers fOllOw-One OF them. The
other,wIth stern grasp of his friends hand,
and forward gesture of encouragement or
farewell, with muttered God bless you,''
turns back into the water, and crouches IN
der the bank like stag at bay. The Major
kesitateS; but the lives OF his wife and chill
dren are at stake. He hurries on with a
stifed curse Then at intervals. amid the
desultoTy fire OF the Sepoys' rifles, he hears
the sharper cracks OF a revolver and shrill
cries Of rage and pain The sounds are get
ting fainter in the distance, when there
arises fendish veil of triumph. '.God rest
his souli" mutters the Major in his turn
So-there Is a swelling in nv breast and a
choking in my throat that always comes
when think of this-so IL was that never
saw nv father, Captain McMichael OF the
10th, but learned as soon as ! was old
enough to understand il, the tale of how he
died TO save his friends, with his back to
the bank and his face To the foe. And he
did not die in vain. The little party reached
the English camp in safety, and the story
Of his death has become q tradition in his
regiment.
And now I, his daughter, am sitting in
the porch Of q quiet cottage home amid
Herefordshire orchards, idly gazing out
upon the shadowed-fecked lawn, sloping
from nv feet down to the swiftly flowing
Teme, Fastening BY on its way 10 Join the
Severn. Crossing the river on nv left is
an old bridge, wide and bulky and many
arched; in front gentle hill rises from the
stream, and covering this hill is a little
town as picturesque and irregular, as old
fashioned snd time-stained as can be found
in any county of England. A massive
church tower, old as the Domesday, crowns
1t, rising proudly amid mingled trees and
roofs The ruins of the castle are hidden
oy the shoulder of the slope: but from nv
post, at the door of our black and white cot
tage, can see up the wide street which
leads from the bridge until the prospect is
closed by the gloomy arch of the Broad
gate, great leafy elm waving above it II
Is summer, and there is humming OF bees
lowering above the sweet-smeIling old-fash-
ioned iOwers-the old man. the London
pride, the columsine-which fringe nhe
yreensward at my feet.
This Is not nv home, but | am so often
nere-whenever,. in fact, my uncle can
spare me-that many people believe Mrs
Cosgrove TO be nv mother. She died when
| was born, the news Of my fathers death
killing her; and Mrs Cosgrove. who had
been her friend, became indeed a second
mother TO me, and so brought me home to
Stuart PARK. The gallant Colonel, her hus-
band, fell at Delhi, and before the mutiny
Eas stamped out two of her three children
died. With the eldest she settled in the
little black and white cottage at Ludford
within q dozen miles of the park And
between these homes have / passed NV
life.
This still summer afternoon. though nv
fingers are knitting and my eyes gazing |
across at the town lying 50 hot and quiet, |
uy ears are listening for Ainslie Cosgrove's |
step upon the gravel He Is with US on |
leave, and to-day Is fishing at Steventon. !
The gate clicks. go on with my knitting |
and affect not to hear it; but out of the COR |
ners of NV eyes / see his tall, slight figure |
moving across the lawn, with the loose |
singing step which makes so little of dis |
lance He is wearing his gray suit and soft |
hat. learn to know all the clothes In his |
wardrobe when ] am at Ludford; But |
like best TO see him in these-the rough /
gray goes so well with Ainslie's frank |
smile and sunburnt face. I don't know /
why, but he has not seemed so nice this |
visit And yet / have enjoyed il. ] am /
ffrald that, fayorite as he must be, the men /
OF his regiment spoil him He evidently /
1oes not care to De with as as much as of /
eldi the walks in the dusk of the evening, /