The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1888-02-09

No. is coming.
"What is to be done? Nothing. it
seems; | feel powerless. l want to
throw myself into the river. l am go
ing crazy. And yet an idea comes to
me. What brings it 1 do not know,
for it seems to me my reason is
leaving he. Still, l take courage
again. | no sooner see q pos
sibility of doing something then
l set about doing it in a frantic
sort of way. | must have fire. Where
is my matchbox? In my jacket pocket.
But first let me prepare the lamp. l
am determined to have a lantern. So
take out my big pocket-knife and l
dig hole in the pine plank. My
| fingers have unusual strength and cum
ming. and the splinters fly. Under the
surface of the beam the pine is dry.
Better still, the hole I'm gouging out is
| right beside black and brown knot,
rich with turpentine. Within the cavity
place profusion of pine splinters and
whittlings. Some are tiny shavings,
and all of them have to keep under
! my hat to prevent them blowing away.
The wind is sweeping across the river,
and snow-fakes have begun to fall.
Finally all is ready in the little pocket
in the pine. take out my match box
and find but four matches there. o,
for the half dozen had wasted an hour
ago in lighting my pipe! Under the
hat slide the matchbox; l bend my
body over the spot and to the wind
ward; my right hand creeps stealthily
under the rim of the hat, the fingers
grasp a match, my left hand presses
the felt brim tightly over my wrist;
draw the PHOSPHORUS gently across the
rough surface. Through ventilation
hole in the top of the hat see the well
come light, l press the match down
ward toward the tinder, and-a flicker,
and it is out!
But never mind, 1 say to myself, |
still have three matches left. With one
of them / shall surely succeed. I'll be
more careful than ever now. A second
trial, with no better success. How the
wind does blow! 1t seeks out every
nook and Granny. At this moment
remember that in an inside pocket of
| my jacket is half-pint flask of oil
which had always carried TO refill my
lantern with. Imagine, if you can, the
delight the discovery gives me. Ipour
little of the oil over the nest of shay
ings and splinters. But touch of fire
will set it all off now. Perhaps l am
over-confident. or may be my fingers
are getting numb in the freezing cold
and the wind, for I rub the third match
so roughly that its head scrapes off,
smouldering and useless.
"What is that little to my left? A
flash of pale light, now little brighter,
and now great orb? 1t is the head
light of the locomotive of No. 7, rush.
ing out of the long tunnel. The crisis
is now upon me. Now for the
last match. Quick! In a minute il
will be too late. hold my breath; my
heart seems to stop beating; 1 crouch
with my body about the hat-covered
hole as a she-cat might protect hel
threatened kitten; wait for a lull i'll the
wind, and-there springs up an eager,
glorious blaze; take away the hat, and
by the light of the growing flame car
see my hands, my arms, my body and
the ice-foe. The pine-knot is blazing
fercely-but will the engineer see it!
.'The locomotive is now almost oppo
, site me. l can hear the rumble of the
wheels above the whistling of the wine
in the tree tops. Another inspiration
comes to me. Tearing the red lining
J from my hat l wrap the thin fabric
) around the half-emptied bottle of oil
l hold the bottle, neck downward
over the blaze at the pine knot
In an instant my bottle of OF
J is blazing beacon, as red a
s.. blood. l have danger signal, th'
/ ominous red lamp! 1t burns me, bu
7 in my excitement do not mind that.
5 swing it to and fro and shout like
= madman. How can they fail to Sc
such strange thing out here on tn
: river? Again swing the hot, blazin.
: bottle forward and baek-the signal t
| stop. They mast see it. And yet tn
3 train is speeding by me. have failed
t No-across the water comes the sweet
, est sound / ever heard-one sharp
5 short blast of the locomotive whistle
| my signal is seen and understood.
| The young superintendent her
= paused to relight his now cold cigar
His hand trembled as he held the burn
| ing match. He had been. living thos
/ twenty minutes over again.
3 ''Here on my wrist. he added. "ar
e the scars left by my burns. And here,
Y he concluded, taking out a plai
e nickel Matchbox to which gold plat
l containing some inscription, had bee
r affixed, lis the box from which ! too
t the last but lucky match. ~ WaEte
| Wetln,a,s, tn brakes Magazine.
Y A Trying Condition.
: She (to George, who is taking ht