The Washington times., 1903-10-18

but from Mitchells along the railroad
to the Rapidan River that subdivision
OF the old Commonwealth is compound
Ing felony and is guilty of every crime
In the statute book from breach of the
peace to misprision of treason. 1 prom
ised wouldn't say anything about those
roads and l won't. 1 went over them
twice. and have nothing left which
would quite equal that which occurred
to me on the spur OF the moment.
But all things have an end save cir
cles and peerless leadership" and we
reached the end of that road-no credit
to the road commissioner, though, for it
ended at as pretty stream as one will
see in weeks journey-the Rapidan.
The Dam by a Mill Site.
At the village of Rapidan is an illus
tration of the lack of appreciation of
that which lies at hand. There is a
splendid dam by mill site-forgive me;
I'll not finish it. But right at that point
there is going to waste energy which
could be harnessed and furnish motive
power to a group OF cotton mills or
-four mills or kindred industries. One
day some shrewd promoter will stop by
there and capitalize this hint. Then
those who pay tribute to initiative will
pay dearly for their neglect to avail
themselves of that which comes but lin
gers not-opportunity.
At Rapidan we learn of the wreck of
a construction train on the rapidly
shaping double-tracks of the Southern,
and make a detour to get some views.
The wreck was this side OF Spotts-
wood and Spottswood was down yon-
der a right smart piece"
Spottswood. like Mitchells. is a name
to the native. rather than location
But We are well repaid. for here and
there are stretches Of tents, the con
struction camps. Stalwart negroes. be-
decked in cheap and gaudy finery. OF
CARRIED in picturesque working clothes.
Toll around, shooting craps, playing high
five, or sharing with one another the
peculiar drink OF the negro laborer of
the region, a gin Of which it is related
that 1t eats a hole IN a tin cup If left
in It over night.
Despairing of reaching the scene Of the
wreck before the sun set we struck out
over the red clay but well-packed main
road for Orange, the county seat OF the
county so named.
Noises of the Night.
Dusk overtakes us, and the crickets
I'LL the woods with doleful sound;
strange noises attract the attention OF
Rosa Dartle, and Jeff-Jack barely avoids
the swingletree as he shirlSs his work.
Andrew Taylor. esq. a coal black. good
natured citizen of Virginia. swings into
the main road and bids US follow him
when we inquire the distance to
Orange.
It is night, and the peace which
passeth understanding seems to envelop
the hills. We follow Andrew in silence
until the lights of Orange break the
darkness ahead into bits. Then the
darkness is disslpated and we suddenly
emerge from the Cimerian gloom OF
road into a paved street
hanked by electric lights: hard by are a
hotel and a livery stable. Into the lat
ter we drive Jeff-Jack and Rosa Oar
tie. To the former we HE ourselves to
a supper of yellow-legged chicken. and
broiled steak homegrown, not your
refrigerator sort. and eggs, real eggs,
fried sunny side up. and hot rolls. and
potatoes, and milk which would sell we
known whereabouts for cream. and we
eat, and eat, and eat, for a twenty-five
mile drive over a mountain road would