The Washington herald., 1911-02-13
CHAPTER VII.
A Bit of Romantic History.

Watch Tower, for reasons but vaguely
known by the present generation of viii
layers To-day it was generally styled
the Pines. Yet even this had fallen into
disuse, save on the occupants letter pa
PER When any one asked where Rear
Admiral Killigrew lived he was directed
TO the big white house at the top O. the
hill"
The Killigrews had not been born and
bred there. Its builder had been a friend
Of King George-that is, his sympathies
had been with taxation without repre-
sentation. One day he sold the manor
cheap. His reasons were sufficient. 1t
then became the property of a wealthy
trader, who died in it. This was in 1903.
His heirs, living, and preferring to live,
in Philadelphia, put up a sign; and be-
| ing of careful disposition, kept the place
in excellent repair.
In the year 1876 it passed into the hands
of Frenchman, and during his day the
villagers called the house the Watch
| Tower; for the Frenchman was always
on the high balcony, telescope in hand,
gazing seaward. No one knew his name.
He dealt with the villagers through his
| StINdHlr WHO COulu speak ElHSliSIlr
self processing that he could not speak
I the language. He was a recluse, almost
hermit. At odd times a brig would be
seen dropping anchor in the offing. She
vas always from across the water, from
the old country, as villagers to this day
insist upon calling Europe. The manor
during these peaceful invasions showed
signs of life. Men from the brig went up
to the big white house and remained
there for a week or a month. And they
were lean men, ttle-scarred and fierce
Of eye some with armless sleeves, some
with stiff legs, some twisted with rheu-
matism. All spoke French, and spat
whenever they saw the perfidious flag OF
old England This was not marked
against them as demerit, for the war
of 1872 was yet smoking here and there
along the Great Lakes. Suddenly they
would up and away, and the manor
would reassume its repellant aloofneSs
Each time they returned their number
was diminished. Old age had succeeded
war as a harvester. In 1872 the mysteri-
Gus old recluse surrendered the ghost.
His heirs-ignored and hated by him for
their afiliation with the Bourbons-sold
it TO the father of the admiral.
The manor wasn't haunted. The hard
headed 'longshoremen and sailors who
lived at the foot of the hill were a prac-
teal people, to whom spirits were some
thing mostly and generally put up in
bottles and emptied on sunless, blustery
days. Still. they wouldn't have been hu-
man If they had not done some romano
ing.
There were a dozen yarns, each at vari-
ance with the other. First, the old
''monseer'' was fugitive from France;
everybody granted that. Second. that he
had helped to cut of King Louis head:
but nobody could prove that. Third, that
he was a retired pirate, but retired pi-
rates always wound up their days in riot
Gus living. so this theory died Fourth,
that he had been a great soldier in the
Napoleonic wars. and this version had
some basis, as the old mans face was
slashed and cut. some of his fingers were
missing. and he imped. Again, he had
been banished from France for a share
in the Hundred Days. But. all told moth
ing was proved conclusively, though the
villagers burrowed and delved and hunt
ed and pried, as villagers are prone TO
90 when a person appears among them
and keeps his affairs strictly 10 himself.
But the next generation partly forgot,
and the present only indifferently re-
membered that once upon a time a French
emigre had lived and died up there. They
knew all there was to know about the
present owner. 1t was all compactly
written and pictured in a book Of history
which book agents sold over the land,
even here in Dalton.
All these things Fitzgerald and his
companion learned from the driver on
the journey up the incline.
Where was this Frenchman buried?"
inquired Breitmann softly.
In tn ceme'try jest over tn hill. But
nobody knows jest where he is now.
stones gone, an tn grounds all level
that end. He wus ony a Frenchman.
But tn admiral. now you're talkin'! He
pays cash. an don't make no bargain
rates, when he wants a job done. Go
wan. v OF nag: what y dreamin' OFF,
There might be history in that corner
of the graveyard" said Breitmann.
who knows? Good many strange bits
Of furniture found their way over here
during those tremendous times. Beauti-
full place in the daytime: chr Fitz-
gerald added, with an inclination toward
the Pines.
More like an Italian villa than an
home. Good gardeners,
should say"
Culture and money will make a bog
1T the admiral cultured, them
II should imagine so. But 1 am sure
the daughter is. Not that veneer which
passes for it, but that deep inner culture,
which gives a 1eft. artistic touch to the |
hand, softens the voice, gives elegance |
10 the carriage, with a heart and mind |
nicely balanced. Judge for yourself |
when you see her. If there is any rare |
in the house, IL will have
been put there by the mothers hand or |
The daughters. The admiral. I believe, |
occupies himself with his books, his but |
-eries, and his cruises
A daughter. She is cultured, you |
say? All, If culture would only take |
'eauty in hand! But always she selects |
he palmer of two women"
Fitzgerald smiled inwardly 'T have |
old you she is not plain"
"Oh, beautiful" thoughtfuIly Culture
Ind beauty; l shall be pleased to OBJ
erve."
HIN! II there Is any marrow in your
zones, my friend. you'll show more in
crest when you see her" This was |
hought. not spoken. Fitzgerald wasn't
'oing TO rhapsodize over Miss Killigrew's
harms. 1t would have been not only in
autious. but suspicious. Aloud. he said:
She has will Of her own, I take II; L
owever, OF a quiet, resolute ORDER
so lung as she is not capricious, and
oes not interfere with my work"
"Or peace of mind" interrupted Fitz-
erald, with prophetic suddenness, which
Tas mcdified by laughter.
No, my friend; no woman has ever
ct stirred my heart though many have
captured my senses. A man
o my position has no right to love-"
yith a dignity which surprised his au-
Iitor.
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