The record-union., 1896-06-28

and every swamp was turned into a
lake, while the house was filled with a
steam that reeked of fever and dys-
entery. So the Commissioner lay
through the weary weeks listening to
the constant roar of water on the roof,
and the murmur of the flooded river
growing weaker and weaker, yet fight
ing grim fight against despair and
insanity.
At last the long-expected relief ar
rived, and the incoming officer found a
ghastly, fever-worn skeleton that gazed
at him with glittering eyes and whis-
pered in hoarse voice: Thank God.
I've kept the station" then collapsed
and lay speechless and silent, a wreck
Of what had once been man.
Next morning, under command of
Sergeant Akoo, eight bearers left the
station carrying Captain Wayne in a
hammock, and for fourteen days thew
stumbled along, through great forests of
cottonwood and mahogany trees. wad-
ing among dismal swamps. padding
across broad lagoons and down solitary
river reaches. Now they journeyed all
day by canoe through strange tunnel
Ike waterways, among the mangrove
trees, then by dry land through patches
of plumed swamp grass that met above
their heads, or through forest glades
where the ground lay carpeted by the
fragrant African lily.
But the gaunt figure in the hammock
saw none of these things, and the gilt
tering eyes only opened when Sergeant
Akoo raised the sufferers head and
poured few spoonfuls of food or drops
Of brandy down his throat
Sixteen days after the Captain left his
station, three men sat in the long bare
room of a traders house, built en- high
piles, looking out over the sea at AKIN.
The windows were wide open, and
through them you could see, beneath
the arches of the palm branches the
boundless stretch of the Atlantic. and
long yellow beach where the great
blue rollers broke in sheets of snowy
foam; while the roar of the surf. and the
smell of flowers, burning wood, rotting
leaves and mud, which is the breath
Of the Dark Continent, came in with
every passing puff of hot air.
Lying on a canvas couch under the
window was the wasted figure of Cap
tain Wayne, who opened his eyes as the
doctor leaned over him and smiled as
he murmured, You are very kind-yes,
I'm better already-and I'm going home
o-morrow-don't forget to signal for
the steamer to CALL
Then lie down and keep quiet" said
the doctor. We'll signal for the steam
er"-here he leaned over and called out
to the krooboys. Hoist the 'teamer
flag, Fry-pan, and fire gun when teamer
live" then withdrew to a corner and
the three men talked in whispers.
HAS he any chance, doctor?" said the
trader
He cannot live till they reach San
Leone, and may die before the steamer
arrives here. Think of what the man
has gone through; enough to kill ten
like me-"
Here they laughed softly, for the doc
tor had waged for years a grim fight
with fever and dysentery, cholera and
guinea worm. to say nothing Of pot
shots from Shantees on the frontier.
Poor fellow said the trader, "he
did his best-Tom, it's Sunday after
noon; see If you can get tune out of
the piano, if it's not ruSted to bits and
the kroolboys haven't stolen the wire. -
The third person rose and sitting
down to the broken instrument struck
few low chords, then, after various
snatches of topical songs which had
reached the coast, began an old-fash-
:oned tune to the Magnificat. The doc
tor and his companion at first laughed;
church music was new on the coast,
but as the player, gaining confidence
in the instrument, drew out the solemn
music, the smile died away and they
took off their hats. Chord after chord
the sweet old tune rang out while the
thoughts Of the listeners passed over
leagues of ocean, and they saw again
the sweet English meadows or purple
Scottish moor, with its glory of gorse
and heather.
The deep thunder Of the surf seemed
not disturbing element, but a fitting
accompaniment, and as the crimson
light Of the westing sun shone upon his
face the sick man beckoned the faithful
Sergeant to raise him on his couch. So
he lay, gazing westward, with the light
bringing a ruddy glow to the CHASTITY
cheeks, listening, while a tear trickled
slowly out of the sunken eyes.
Was he thinking of the distant coun-
try he had served so faithfully and
loved SO we'll? No one ever knew, for
as the last chord Of the Amen died
away the tired head dropped forward
and he turned to the wall and so passed
away ''To where beyond these voices
there is peace"
Then deep silence fell upon the
room, and Sergeant Akoo bent down
and drew the sheet over the pallid face
saying as he did so, Allah Akbar-God
is great-but by the beard of the
prophet, these English be men," Two
days later, when the r. NJ. S. Benguela
passed, there was no signal flying for
her to stop, and only low mound and
a rough wooden cross showed that an
other of the brave spirits who daily lay
down their lives in lonely forest and
fever-haunted swamp had gone to it's
own place.-Chamber's Journal.
HOMEMADE SUNSHINE.
What care LAS the days go by
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