The Dawson news. (Dawson, Ga.) 1889-current, 1893-05-10

seyices of the sky pilot!
Accusing Them by Bugle.
The idea was decidedly unique, but
Faro Tim didn't know bugle from a
bassoon, and having heard the young fell
low play, thought he had struck the boss
thing in engaging "brass band The
bugler proved a greater adept at music
IL an seemed possible with 50 insignificant
an instrument. Bright and early he be-
gan his duties by marching around the
tented town sounding reveille. 1t is
musical, but exasperating when people
are sleepy. He varied the call by singing
in stentorian tones the words which the
soldiers set to the music:
I can't get EN- up,
| can't get EN- up,
I can't get 'em up this morning.
They won't get up this morning,
They won get up this morning,
They won't getup this morning,
They won't get up to-day.
A little later he began to give the
church call, and nobody was permitted
to forget that there would be services.
Just before church a youth with fiddle
under his arm came strolling into town.
Faro Tim nabbed him. Gould he play
preaehin tunes2" Cert" and he was
engaged on the spot.
At II o'clock the whole end of the
great tent was tmown back, and the
crowd gathered in and around it. The
parsons" pulpit was the bar. His bag
gage had been stolen, and with it his
Bible. This got bruited about, and
Lucky Dan went down in his hip pocket,
producing roll Of dirty muslin. He un
wound from its folds small worn bible
and passed it to the preacher. Every
body knew the bible. 1t was Lucky Dams
mascot, left him by his mother, and when
a lock of brown hair fell from it, curling
around the preachers fingers, everybody
knew likewise that it was curl cut from
the headDf Dams wife along time before
she got a divorce from HIM. The preach
er had no hymn book, either, but he
didn't ,egard it as Of much matter. He
did NOT suppose that many of that crowd
could sing anyhow. After consulting
the brass band he announced that they
would play Home Of the Soul, and he
would like all to joinin the singing. The
youth said he could play and the bugler
said he could tag along
a Strange Gathering.
1t w3t1d De difficult for q stranger to
such scenes to picture it. It was town
Of tents with few board shanties, set
down in the midst Of an determination Of
desolation.' There were hundreds Of
men and dozen women with twice as
many children lladdled in and around
the tent. They were sitting on boxes
and beer kegs and lolling the the ground,
and half a hundred cowboys were scat
tered plcturesquely about There was
mot billed shirt in the assembly Goats
were few. Guns appeared from holster
or hip pocket Of nearly every IN N pres
TENT Some were smoking, neatly all
.were chewing tobacco, but nobody talk
Fed during the services. Throughout the
prayers every head was uncovered md
not a few knelt on knee with heads
bowed.
Then the youth played the first strains
of that sweetest of all the sweet songs
ever sung by Philip Phillips The bu-
gler played clears weet accompaniment
and the sound filed the tent and toated
off INTO the sun-bright liz Then the.
preacher sang the first lines all alone:
I viii sing you song of that beautiful
land,
The far-away home Of the soul.
His voice was clear and musicri and
the soul of a singer seemed to haunt the
tones of the youths uoin. The audi
ence was spell bound. The preacher
leaned slightly for1ard as he begHn The
third line. His quick ear had caught the
sound of singing over to the le.t where
some women sat- On the third wort The
voice ranged itself beside his
Cactus Kits Clear Voice.
A woman's voice, clear and high and
full, untutored, but wondrousIy rich as
she sang:
Where no storms ever beat on the gilt
teriDg strand,
While the years Of eternity roll.
Easily the peacher dropped 10 the baro
tone, for he knew the woman could lead.
On the second verse others joined in, but
above their discords, above the bugle and