Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 May 1885 — Page 6

A TKI’E STORY. BY ABBIE KIENE. “Where is the baby, grandmamma?* The sweet youug mother calls From her v ork in the cozy kitchen. M ith its dainty v. hitewashed walls. And grandma leaves her knitting, And looks tor her all around; But not a trace of baby dear Can anywhere bo found. No sound of its merry rrattlc, No gleam of its sunnjAhair, No patter of tinv footsteps, * No sign of it anywhere. All through house and garden, Far out into the field. They search each nook and corner, But nothing is revealed. And the mother's face grew pallid; Grandmamma's eyes'grew dim; The father’s gone to the village; No use to look for him. And the b by lost? "Where's Rover?* The m< thcr chanced to think -Of the old well in the orchard Where the cattle used to drink. “Where’s Rover? I know he'd find her! Rover!" In vain they call. Then hurry away to the orchard; And there by the moss-grown wall, •Close to the well, lies Rover, Holding to baby's dress; She was leaning over the well's edge In perfect fearlessness! She stretched her little arms down, But Rover held’h< r fast And never seemed to mind the kicks The tiny bare feet cast So spitefully upon him, But wagged his tail instead. To greet the frightened searchers. While naughty baby said: “Dere’s a ittle girl in the’ater; She dust as big as me. Mamma; I want to help her out. And take her home to tea. But Rover, he won't let me, And I don't love him. Go Away, you naughty Rover! Oh! why are you crying so?* The mother kissed her,saying: “My darling, understand, Good Hover saved your life, my dear — And see, he licks your hand! Kiss Rover.” Baby struck him. But grandma understood; She said: "It's bard to thank the friend Who thw rts us for our good." —Baldwin's Month.,y.

“The Bull-Bats.”

A Night of Adventure.

BY COMFORT MARSHALL.

The tale that I am about to relate vas told me by a friend, whom, as he is still living, I will call by the name of Itobert Glenn. I will tell it as he told it to me when it first happened, and when the horror of its memory was still fresh upon his mind: It was in the autumn of the year 1882 that business connected with a firm in Columbia carried me. among the mountains of a neighboring State. The evening of the night of my adventure was chilly and cloudy, and I was anxious to reach shelter before dark set in, as I had heard of various robberies that had been committed by a band of men who called themselves “The Bullbat or Night-hawk Band.” I had taken the precaution to arm myself, and, moreover, was blessed, or cursed, with the light purse that is falsely said to be the accompaniment of a still lighter heart. Bobbers are generally accredited with the keen ecent and unerring instinct of that bird who lives only by death—the vulture—and so I reasoned to myself that I need stand in no fear of the “Bull-Bats” —if indeed they had any existence other than in the brain of some imaginative fool.

I kept, however, a sharp look-out around roe, but nothing did I see in this apparently heaven-forsaken wilderness except here and there a skeleton cow or calf munching away for dear life in the dry herbage scattered sparsely about. A little further, though, and my vigilance was rewarded in a most delightfully unexpected way, for walking hurriedly ahead of me I discerned the form of a young woman, striding along with an athletic grace that struck Admiration to my heart. I have all my life long been a slave to the charms of the fair sex, and in these solitary regions the temptation was too great to be withstood; so, Spurring up my jaded beast, I trotted -up alongside of her, and, lifting my hat in my most winning manner, inquired if she had dropped a handkerchief, at the same time shamelessly hauling out and displaying one of my own. My ruse was rewarded with a keen glance from a pair of enchantingly blue eyes, and a negative answer in such pure language as surprised me, for hitherto I had only encountered a boorishness of manner and uncouthness of dialect.

I quickly followed up my advantage, and springing from my saddle, stood before her, hat in hand, and inquired if she knew where I could obtain a jnight’s lodging. My movements had apparently fright•ened her, for without more ado she tied up the mountain path; and I, loath to lose sight of her, followed in hot pursuit. and gnawed my mustache in anger when I saw her disappear around a jutting crag, and no sign to indicate where she had gone. However, it was no use pursuing any further; and, inwardly cursing my illluck, I became aware that a storm was rising. Every now and then little sharp gusts of wind would blow the raindrops in my eyes and little whirlwinds of dried leaves would come sailing around me and then continue their phantom dance afar off in the gloomy dusk. I knew that there was no danger of my horse wandering off, and so, turning him loose, I sought shelter beneath a large overhanging rock that completely cut off the wind and rain. After remaining there for some time I be- • came conscious of being very hungry, and, as there was no chance of supper, I drew out my pipe and matches and -struck a light. The light flickered for one second and then went out, but not before I had -detected a small aperture in tho rear

of the crevice, concealed by an armful of brush thrown against it. If I had to spend the night in so unpleasant a place, why not be as comfortable as possible; and so sweeping away the brush I crept through the aperture, feeling my way as carefully as circumstances permitted. On getting inside I again struck a light, and a host of bats came tumbling about me, and one or two owls, all attracted by the light, I never had been able to hear the scream of the owl without recalling the old legend of Pharaoh's daughter, who was transformed into an owl, and her bitter cry: Oh, coo oo—! I once was a King's daughter, and sat on my father's knee. But now I’m a poor howlet, and hide in a hollow _ tree! Since that night my associations with the owl are very different and far more unpleasant. I had always been in the habit of carrying a dark-lantern in my pocket, and this I now took out and lighted, with a view to investigating the place, first taking the precaution of hanging my overcoat in front of the aperture. I threw the beams of the lantern in front of me, and the first object that attracted my attention was a brace of birds, commonly called the bull-bat or night-hawk, cured, stretched, and nailed to the wall. At first what this meant did not dawn on me, and I simply wondered who had been the prior discoverer and what was his object, and whether he was a bird-fancier. Then I stepped forward, and nearly fell over a soft-yielding object, over which I then bent, and started back in horror to meet the eyes of a dead man distended with fright glaring up at me. The thing was such a shock that cold shivers went running all over me, and I nearly beat a precipitate retreat; but curiosity overcame me, and hastily covering his face with my handkerchief to shut out the awful stare of his eyes, I again turned to look about me. There was nothing much else except a motley array of guns, knives and pistols stored away in one corner, and then turning back to the corpse I examined him to find that he had been struck a blow on the back of the head. I surmised that he had been robbed and dragged here previously to being disposed of or buried. The meaning then of the birds flashed over me. This was the den or hiding place of the “Bull-Bat Band,” and here probably they concealed their treasures; and here probably they would soon return to dispose of their victim. As I felt no desire to share his fate I concluded that instant flight would be the best manner of proving that discretion which is said to be the “better part of valor.” I took my handkerchief off the dead man’s face, for I had no desire of leaving any trace whereby I might be tracked, identified and murdered, and creeping out on my hands and knees, I rushed out into the wild night as if pursued by a thousand demons. I caught my horse, who was patiently waiting where 1 had left him, and mounting, rode I knew not whither, with only one thought predominant, to get as far away as possible from the accursed cave of the “Bull-Bat Band.” I had wandered some distance when I perceived a faint twinkle of light not far off, which, after reconnoitering, I found to proceed from a small cottage at the side of a hill.

The cottage was in a condition of ruin, and only one room seemed to be in use. I rode up boldly to the door—for any kind of companionship seemed desirable after the scene I had just left—and knocked loudly. In a few minutes I heard slow steps and a voice grumbling in a low tone, and then the door opened and a snappish woman querulously demanded my business. I answered that supper and a night’s lodging for myself and horse was all that I desired, and I was willing to pay liberally for the same. The old woman withdrew, muttering to herself the while, and disappeared in the interior of the house, and I heard voices, one incautiously sharp and clear, say, in sharp tones that sounded with a familiar ring on my ear: “Impossible; for the bats are flying abroad to-night!” Where I had heard that voice before I could not recall, until the remembrance of the beautiful mountain girl flashed across my mind, and I knew it was she.

Were a thousand bats flying abroad to-night I determined to stay and learn more of this fascinating creature. In a few seconds the old woman reappeared again, and in churlish tones declared that they possessed no accommodations for strangers. I slipped a piece of money into her hand, for by experience I had learned that to be the open sesame to most hearts, and I had rightly calculated, for she walked back with a determined step, and in a few seconds, Diana, for so the old woman called her, appeared at the door. “You may stay,” she said, coldly. “I dare not prevent you; but, if still not too late, take a friendly warning and proceed with your journey.” “Fair Diana,” I said, stepping forward and grasping her hand in the gloom, “turn me not away; I beseech you, for the bats are flying about tonight!” She held the door open with her hand, and I saw her start at my words; then she said hurriedly, and in a more guarded tone, for the old woman was approaching: “Life is sweeter than death. Go while it is still time. I am not what you think me. ” “Diana,” I said again, “life may be sweeter than death, but so is love sweeter than life, twill stay.” And stepping within I closed the door. The

old woman came up to us, and the golden opportunity was past. t Without the rain dripped and the wind howled cheerlessly; the old house creaked and shook as if its last hour had come, and the wild spirit of the storm was struggling to embrace it with i the endless arms of space. Within the fire crackled merrily in the huge old chimney place, and as I warmed myself by the blazing hearth I ; thought of the dead man lying in that cave out on the mountain side, with his I eyes staring open, while the wind howled and the rain beat above him, and then I wondered where would I be by morning. I thrust this question, with its ghastly possibilities, from me, and looked instead at Diana; but a I vague feeling of undefined fear was creeping over me, not even to be dissipated by the clear, symmetrical beauty of this sylvan goddess. A simple evening meal was served up, and at its conclusion the old woman poured out a glass of spirits and offered it to me. I was on the point of drinking, but as it touched my lips, Diana, apparently by accident, struck against my arm and the glass shivered on the floor. The old woman glared fiercely at us, and without saying a word got another glass of liquor and handed it to me, and as she turned her back I thrust it dexterously into the fire. Diana had gone out of the room for a second, and when she came back and glanced at the empty goblet a shudder of fear seemed to run over her, which made me certain that j some poisonous drug had been added to the liquor of which she was cognizant and at the same time desirous of averting the In a little time I pretended to be drowsy, and the old woman conducted me up through a trap-door to an attic apparently above the room w’e had just left. I tumbled down all in a heap on the floor and pretended to snore loudly, while she hastened down to Diana, and I heard them speaking together in low tones. I heard the old wretch whisper: “You go up and do it, for you are stronger than I, and he might struggle in his sleep.” “I will not,” I heard Diana answer, fiercely. “I am tired of the work, and intend to quit as soon as chance offers.” “You do, do you?” I heard the old woman croak, tauntingly. “I will report you to-night to the Captain.” More whispering then ensued, and I heard Diana leave the house. I was prepared if any of them had come, but, being very tired with my journey, I found myself gradually dropping off to sleep and then suddenly waking up and listening, until, finally, I stopped listening altogether and went off into a nap as sound as that of any of the Seven Sleepers.

I was suddenly awakened by a scream loud and piercing. All was dark and silent around me, and at first I thought it must be a dream. My heart beat with such wild, heavy thuds at the sudden awaking as nearly to choke me to suffocation. Then another fainter scream came, and groans, followed by several dull, heavy blows, and then all was silent. I groped my way to the little trap-door entrance and climbed stealthily down, and thpn paused for one instant at the door of the room from whence the sounds had apparently came. I heard a stealthy movement within, and, opening the door softly, I stepped inside, and saw a man kneeling by an open trap-door in the floor. In a second he had disappeared, and as I crept up to the place and peered down after him, my head reeled with the sights that I saw. By the light of a dim candle that he carried I could see him, hastily thrusting away treasures in an old bag that he carried. He would listen intently every second and then open some fresh box, and the watches, and the rings, and the diamonds that’ glittered and flashed in the pale light were things that in my wildest dreams 1 had not imagined.

I incautiously drew a deep breath, and he stopped short and listened intently. Then muttering to himself something about “making sure of having finished up the old woman,” he slowly ascended the ladder, dragging his heavy bag up after him. I had drawn back in the darkness, for he carried the only light there had been in the room, and as he stepped out on the floor I dealt him a stunning blow on the head, and with an execration and a howl of pain he sank motionless. The bag that he carried rolled back down into the cellar, and also the light, and the trap door noiselessly moved back into into its place. All was now Egyptian darkness around me, darkness breathing with horror, and with a beat- | ing heart I drew out my matches and ] struck a light, and the first object on which the light flashed was the old woman of the previous night, lying dead on the hearth with a gash in her head. Doubtless, this man, motionless at my feet, was one of the band, and had murdered her, with the intention of robbing the others, and deserting with the plunder. I pushed him with my foot and he groaned, and tying his hands together I dragged him to the trap-door, intending to open it, if possible, roll him down, take out the bag he had put up, get my horse and gallop for dear life. “Man proposes, but the good God disposes,” and before I had finished opening the door, the catch of which I found very difficult, I heard a gallop- ■ ing of horses, loud voices and oaths, | and several fierce-looking men burst • into the room, each bearing a large j torch in his hand, and each with a bullbat plume in his hat. I was siezed and | bound, and with curses and vows of

vengeance told to prepare for death, as in ten minutes I would be dead and buried. The man whom I had stunned here revived, and related to the fierce crew how I had killed the mother of their leader, had gathered together a bag of their treasures, which bag he offered to descend and procure for their inspection, and, finally, on his arrival had nearly killed him. In vain it was that I protested; there were only shouts and citrses when I endeavored to speak, and cries of “Take him away.” One grim, dark man advanced from the group, and touching my arm bade me follow him. Silently I obeyed, and as we entered a long, dark passage, that from its moist, damp atmosphere I judged to be an entrance into the hill against which the old house stood, my grim captor stepped to one side and bade me walk in front of him. Words cannot describe my feelings during that short walk to death. I intended offering resistance as soon as I could perceive an opportunity, but what chance did an unarmed man, with his arms tied, stand against an assassin armed to the teeth? My pistol had dropped in the previous scuffle with the first robber, and even if I presented it, I would ba unable to use it. How I regretted that my fear of arousing attention had prevented my shooting the wretch as I wutched him beneath the trap-door! Where was Diana? How I regretted ever seeing or following her! Why should she have warned me of my danger, and be now indifferent, or have fled from me ? Was there ever a trouble in this world that a woman did not cause? Or was there ever a death

My thoughts were cut short; by a sudden flicker of the dying candle, borne aloft by my fierce guard, I saw myself on the brink of a steep well. Back I threw myse f with a violent force that at first staggered the man and struck the candle from his 1 and. Oh, the horrors of dying in darkness! My mad struggles were becoming fainter and fainter, and, with the firm grip of my assailant’s fingers on my throat, my consciousness faded away. Diana’s voice first recalled my senses, and bade me get up and flee ?oY my life. With her firm, warm fingers clasping my hand, she raised me to my feet; and, when I articulated, faintly, “Where is he?” she only gave a little laugh and pointed to the horrible well, where I could hear the water with its ceaseless drip, drip. “Gone to join the rest of his victims,” said she; “and long may he sleep. ” “Diana,” I said, taking her hand, “I thank you for your kindness to me. Why not let us go together, and foreVer leave this horrible nest of pollution ?” Diana lifted her soft blue eyes to my face for a minute, and then gave a little sigh. “Old ties are strong,” she said, “and hard to be severed, but if I do give up all and go with you—will you—promise to—marry me ?” I hesitated for an instant; though this girl had saved my life, was she one whom I would dare to make my wife! Her blue eyes sparkled furiously at my hesitation, and she shrieked aloud: “Speak, or else I will tear you limb from limb, and cast you down yonder dank hole, to keep company with your betters.”

“Diana,” I said again, quietly, “be calm and listen, for only on this condition shall you be my wife; and if this condition does not suit you, you may deliver me to those brutes in yonder as soon as possible, for in no way shall I alter or change. If you ” but she had again altered her mood, and now burst into a shriek of laughter, with which the lantern in her hand shook to and fro. “I was only trying you,” she said at last, holding out her hand to me. “I will go with you, but I can never be your wife, for I am a man like yourself!” Tearing off various articles of dress, she cast them down into the pit. “I am the decoy duck,” she said, “and there goes the duck’s feathers to keep company with the duck’s master.” It was a slender but Well-made young man that left that morning with me before the day broke. We fled hastily and for our lives. Once we looked back, and in the gray, dim darkness of dawn we saw the mad fire-waves sweep up to the sky, and the light of the angry flames shed a brilliancy on our tortuous path. My companion looked wonderingly, and 1, recalling the lighted candle that had fallen down the trap-door, told him of it, and in turn he mentioned that in addition to the robber treasure the cellar was filled with inflammable material. Even as he spoke there came a loud burst of thun-der-sound, followed by a heavy cloud of smoke, and my companion waved his hat exultingly. “Hurrah!” he cried. “Justice is at last meted out, and the Bull-Bats, winged with fire, are flying to the regions of eternal flame!” We did not turn back, though, but pushed right on, while he related to me the story of his detention and life among the bandits. When we reached Columbia I procured a situation for him, and have kept his secret, and he is now in a fair way to become a rising man. Nothing was ever found among the ashes of the burnt house of any sign of treasure, and so we supposed that it had been stolen by some one of the survivors. There has been no more trouble from them to this day, and to that I attribute the fact of my having passed the night of adventure among the Bull-Bats. The blackberry is so named because it is blue, in order to distinguish it from the blueberry, which is black.

A FEARFUL ACCIDENT.

Ten Girls Found Suffocated in a Burning Structure at Cincinnati. Five or Six Other Lives Lost, Three Being Dashed to Pieces on the Pavement. One Mother Finds Three of Her Daughters Laid Ont in the Morgue. Cincinnati was, the other day, the scene of a shocking fire disaster, by which sixteen or seventeen human lives were sacrificed. Eighteen girls, mostly the support or help of their families, lunched merrily at noon in the large front room on the fifth floor of the Sullivan printing works, No. 19 Sixth street Two hours later most of them were dead. Ten of them were suffocated by the smoke, their bodies shriveled and scorched by the heat of a fire that cut off retreat with scarcely a warning. It would be hard to construct a more perfect death-trap. It was on the top floor, with three windows in front and one in the rear,, where an ell of the building gave room. It was entered from a narrow stairway in the rear, which wound around the elevator, well fenced-in with wooden lattice-work. The second floor held the heavy presses. A boy brought up a gallon can filled with benzine to clean the type forms. Nobody knows the cause, but something caused the benzine to explode near the press next the elevator wall. The burning fluid spread to the ink-well of the press and to a drying-rack filled with freshly printed sheets next the elevator. Sullivan, the proprietor, saw it. He caught a lot of heavy brown sheets of paper to smother it out In an instant all the room saw it was useless. “My God,” said Sullivan, “tell the girls up-stairs.” His brother flew up the stairs to the bindery. The flames were there as quickly as he, climbing up the lattice-work of the elevator like a flash. The girls were terrified out of their senses. The flames cut off their only means of escape. They rushed to the front windows. The flames reached forward and caught at them. Five of them leaped from the windows and were crushed to death, or died within a few minutes. A great crowd had gathered and looked on with groans and cries of horror or warning, but -were powerless to help. One or two brave men tried to catch the girls hs they fell, but were only hurt themselves. The men from the next building had caught up a long rope kept for such uses, and going on the roof held it over a window. John Sullivan saw it, and helped first one and another to catch it, and they were safely lowered. By that time the rest were quiet and crouching in the corners or on the floors, rapidly suffocating. Sullivan caught the rope, but had barely started downward ■when the flames reached out and burned the rope off, and he fell, never breathing afterward. Before this, however, another printer, who came up with Sullivan, had remembered the skylight near the front and above the side of the room. Below it ran a binder’s bench piled high with stock. Mounting this, he threw open the skylight, and easily climbed out on the roof. Several others—both boys and gills—followed, but Sullivan and the rest were too excited to notice this means of escape, by which every one might easily have been saved, since on the roof they could have walked a square in any direction away from the fire and out of the remotest danger. Meantime an alarm had brought the firemen. So well did they work that within five minutes they were able to enter the building and go to the fifth floor. Here the bodies of ten girls were found distorted m death. Some were shriveled by the heat till their skin peeled off. It was an awful tragedy, consummated within a very short time. Not over twenty minutes had elapsed since the explosion of the benzine. The news seemed to permeate the city as by an electric shock. The street was packed with silent, sympathetic crowds. People sought for their dead children with blanched faces and a voiceless agony that was pitiful and met instant sympathy from thousands. The dead were borne out by the firemen and laid out for recognition for the few minutes before being removed to the morgue. An eyewitness says: “A loud scream attracted my attention, and, looking, I saw an awful sight. Black smoke was pouring from the roof and fifth-floor windows, which were crowded with women and men. They were screaming and throwing themselves forward and backward from the windows. I saw seven girls and two men fall in a heap and lie motionless and bleeding. Cries of ‘ Stop jumping, for God’s sake,’ arose from the multitude, which gathered in an instant, as they spied a rope thrown from the roof and dangling within reach of those in the window. A girl grasped it and climbed down nearly to the ground, and fell. A man—he was a hero, too—reached for it, but cries that it would not bear the weight of two checked him. The smoke was too much for him, and, sooner than jeopardize the girl, he leaped from the windo, and we picked him up U terribly broken. The flames follower them so closely that several were on fire aa they jumped from the window. The scene was the most horrible I ever saw,. Th a crowd cheered every time a victim made leap.” The scenes at Habig’s undertaking establishment, where the bodies were taken and where friends and relatives came to identify them, were of the most painful character. In one case a policeman of Covington, Ky., identified his sisters Lizzie and Dollie Handel, who were twins. Mrs. Meier found the body of her daughter, and had to be led away from the terrible sight. Mrs. Leaban had the awful experience of finding her three daughters among the dead. The fatal list, as now made up, is : Anna Bell, aged 40; Dollie and Lizzie Handel, twin sisters, 20 years; Fannie Jones, 22 years; Delia, Katie, and Mary Leaban, sisters, aged 23,14, and 16, respectively; Katie Lowry, 20 years; Lizzie Meier, 16 years; Annie Mclntyre, 20 years; Fannie Norton, 34 years; Katie and Mary Putnam, sisters, 22 and 19, respectively; John Sullivan, 22 years; Lillie Wynn, 20 years. The injured are: Will Bishop, printer, 23 years, crushed and burned, will probably die; Josie broken leg; Emma Pinchbeck, unconscious, will probably die; Nannie Shepherd, head badly cut