Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1892-05-27
BY A SPIRIT HAND.
KILLED HIMSELF AND CAME BACK
TO WRITE HIS STORY.

TO WRITE HIS STORY.
The Strange Imaginings of an Almost
Hopelessly Discouraged Reporter on a
Big Metropolitan DaiIy-Was 1t Real
Was 1t Simply a Horrid Dream?
1t was chilly April evening and Park
row was crowded.
A steady drizzle fell slowly, converting
the streets into Shiny pools in which the
pedestrians splashed mournfully. Through
the swinging doors of a great newspaper
building surged restless sea of humanity.
Worn out and discouraged 1 breasted my
way through it to the editorial rooms.
was a new man on the staff and l had
failed to get my story. My heart sank still
lower as I entered my chiefs presence; it
was my third unsuccessful attempt.
Couldn't get it, eh?" he remarked after
hearing my report. "You seem to be hay
ing hard luck I really don't know what
to put you at now"
"Just try me once more" begged. re-
membering that l was alone, friendless
and penniless in the great city; ''just once
more and I'll work it out if 1 die for it.''
Die for it, A bright thought had struck
me. Yes, life wasn't worth living. I'd
make success for once-in death if not in
life
/ mentioned my thought to my chief,
and he laughed grimly. you'll do" he
said, evidently thinking that I was joking.
"Try anything you please"
How cold and damp the air was as I
went out into the street again and turned
toward Broadway. How was l to die, /
pondered. Poison was unpleasant, and a
bullet made such mess of ones appear
ance laughed aloud as imagined my
landlady's horror on finding her floor
stained with blood. Several men turned
to wonder at my odd mirth in the mist and
darkness Once, in passing a brightly
lighted window, caught sight of my face
in the glass-a face SO distorted, so wild,
with bloodshot eyes, that 1 almost thought
the family faint of insanity had claimed
me for it's victim at last. Perhaps it had
perhaps 1 was mad.
An icy chill shot through every nerve at
the horrible thought. l dashed forward
breathlessly until brought up before my
lonesome lodgings on side street.
l stumbled through the narrow, dark
halls to my room and opened the door, and
as did SO the dampness of the chamber
seemed like breath from the grave. 1t
was needless to light match, for the moon
had drifted from behind the clouds and
shone full and bright through the dingy
window. Its beams trembled on the bare
floor, danced on the white bed, then crept
up the wall in silent, waving shadows.
They made me shiver as 1 sat down to
think. Tonight must die. Then the re-
action came and almost enjoyed the
thought of the new experience and gloated
over the fact that would be the first to
write of travels in the great unknown.
My razor! tried its keen edge and found
that it could sever a floating hair. Then
sat down again and rolled up my thread
bare sleeve. Bleeding, l had heard, was
an easy death. 1 gave the artery a deep,
sharp cut with the blade and a stream of
crimson struck my shirt; the arm dropped
and I watched the tiny stream trickling
down my leg. 1t reached the floor and col
Iected into tiny pool beneath the table.
I watched it overflow and start down the
dusty planks, creeping out of the bright
moonlight into the shadows beyond. 1t
seemed a. snake crawling to its den. Per
haps it was asnake-perhaps dreamed.
A feeling of deadly weakness came over
me. glanced at the patch of moonlight
in the cracked mirror and saw white
face, from which shone pair of cleaning
ewes. Then a flash blinded me and my
head fell forward on the damp sill. could
hear a mighty roar, a roar like a giant
Niagara that surged and beat upon my
maddened brain, a roar far above that of
the great city below me. The boom of
cannon, the sharp rattle Of musketry and
the roll of huge drums seemed gathered
into volume of sound. Like the waves
of the raging sea it surged over me. Then
silence came as suddenly-silence oppres-
sive, intense.
Too weak to lift my head 1 turned it
with sigh and looked around the room.
It seemed filled with a misty sheen and
through it foated strange, dancing shad-
ows. Flashing lights spun before my half
shut eyes. Then gray mist seemed to
swallow up everything and could hear
the whir Of the presses as they ate up the
vast piles of paper. I closed my eyes and
listened Was it bell ringing? Slowly
came every stroke, and it seemed to beat
like a leaden hammer on my darkening
brain. was too weak to move my eyelids
more than a hair line, but could see
mass of blazing fire whose flames seemed
to leap and dance and burn my very flesh.
A chill that froze every drop of blood
struck me and for second felt the con-
vulsion of a mighty struggle. Then black
ness.
body that had rolled from the chair and
lay stiff and silent in the pool Of blood be-
meath the table. 1 looked about without
!