The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1909-03-17
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After residing for over forty years
In a hole in the ground John Jones,
the hermit of the Charlton Valley,
crept out of his burrow last week
and sought refuge from the blizzard
with his Welsh friend, Dave Jones,
writes the New Cambria (Mo.) cor
respondent of the New York Sun.
Jones the hermit had w~eathered
other billiards., many of them more
severe than the present, and fattened
on them. But as the sunset Of his
life came on the bowling winds, the
bare trees and the snow covered hills
look dreadfully lonesome. When the
Sire of youth burns low the wilder
ness is filled with grotesque shapes.
The hermit was beginning to see
them, and he yearned for the pres
ence of humankind. He has many
friends IN town and ample means to
build and furnish 4 comfortable
home there, but he has lived so long
in the brush and hills that he has be-
come a child of nature. The rabbits
and squirrels which played about his
queer dugout were not afraid of him.
and soon became so intimate that
they would venture into the rude
home about feeding time.
The little animals Of the forest
and children seemed to be the only
things the old hermit ever loved. His
nature partakes of theirs. In man
ner he Is as gentle and low spoken as
q woman. Instead of hardening him
the wild, rugged life Of the hills and
woods has subdued him. He took
great pride in his modest home and
the simple arrangements he had made
for warmth and comfort. The bed,
placed high like the upper berth in a
sleeping car, is reached by a short
ladder. A thickly matched roof
could resist the fercest storm that
aver swept over any country. The
greater part of the ,hermit's domicile
Is under ground. Its original chaTac-
ter was that of the homesteader's
iugout when Government land was
awaiting them forty or fifty years
ago. At a short distance the thing
looks like a carefully laid haystack.
The entrance is like that into 4
Slope mine. A few steps down and
you are in a dirty entry, packed hard,
with shelving containing a wider d.
versity of articles than could be
found In the "Old Curiosity Shop"
In his forty years Of hermit life Mr..
Jones has allowed nothing to 60 to
waste. The worn out shoes he wore
in building the dugout are on a shelf
and the remains Of subsequent pairs
beside them. Everything, needle,
pin, button, string, screw or nail that
he ever ran across, is carefully placed
among the, assortment of the earth's
cast-of armor.
No n has ever heard the old man
Of the woods tell a lie. No has
ever heard him swear, and no Il
has ever detected him in a dishonest
transaction. For years Mr.. Jones has
been a money lender. He is now said
to be worth $4,000, exclusive OF his
cave, which would inventory about
81, unless Mr.. Jones would make the
inventory. He would likely RUIZ 1t UP
into the thousands-that job let OF
faded fnery, tin pans and things.
Mr.. Jones' first commercial deal
was taking a basket Of Strawberries
to the New Cambria market. He
sold out at a good price, and kept the
money. There is no record of his
ever having spent any for himself in
all the year. Having sold the straw
berries he brought another basket
load, and likewise disposed OF them.
More coin for the little tin box hidden
away In the cav From Strawberries
he branched out to raising potatoes,
turnips, lettuce-garden truck of all
sorts. He brought walnuts, hickory