Democratic Sentinel, Volume 10, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 September 1886 — BESSIE. [ARTICLE]

BESSIE.

The Tragedy of My Life. Out amidst the howling, winter winds; out from my door into the dread, dark, desolate night, I drove her. One hour before, her beautiful head was resting upon my knee; her trustful, soulful, dark, liquid eyes gazing, 'With the love of idolatry, into mine. My hand was toying with the soft, nutbrown hair that glorified her; I would have sworn, then, that nothing but •death should part us. A slight, involuntary action of hers roused the infernal temper that was born in me, and I drove her forth, out of my house—her home—from the warm, glowing fireside, into the terrors of that fearful night. At the threshold she paused—only for a moment. No sound escaped her lips, but those glorious eyes were more eloquent than words in supplication, wondei ously pathetic in appeal. “Go!” I said, as I stood with the door open, and my hand pointing to the ■outer darkness.

Slowly and sadly, with a quiet dignity, she went. My sister’s tears fell silently, and my younger brother muttered a curse against my heartlessness under his breath. But I was master, and none dared to dispute my will. I tr ed to appear unmoved, but as the tempest blasts whirled about the homestead, and howled down the chimneys, and rattled the solid shutters, the thought of Bessie out in the terrible storm, drenched with rain, chilled by the wild winds, crouching in some poorly protected nook, took possession of me, and 1 threw myself on the lounge and hid my face. But temper and pride would not permit me to give way. 1 could not muster enough of manhood to go to the •door from which: I had driven her and about into the night those words of forgiveness and recall that .my heart ye irned to utter. The family well understood my moods. 1 hey did not attempt to interfere. One by one, as the hours went on, they departed to their respective looms. At last I too sought my bed; but sleep 1 could not. The war of the elements raged with ever-increasing fury through all that wakeful night. • And poor, innocent, loving, true, patient, faithful Bessie I had exposed to these terrors. Where was she? I could hear the moaning and groaning of the trees about my home and in the forest near by, for ours was a farm in the far West, and ever and anon there would come the sharp cracking, the awe-inspiring crash of some monster that had yielded before the blast and stretched its tall form upon the ■earth. ’Twas the most horrible night of my life. At daylight I saddled my horse, and,

in agony and penitence, sought the few neighbors for live miles around. None of them had seen Bessie; all of them wondered that she should be away from the home where she was so tenderly loved, so carefully guarded. She would have been gladly welcomed by any of these good people, and every comfort their means permitted would have been lavished upon her, hud she presented herself at their doors. But they knew nothing of her. Filled with remorse and utterly disconsolate, I turned my tired horse homeward. My feelings were in accord with the desolation and wreck that marked the tornado’s path, and I abandoned the road to fight my way through the forest. I was within a mile of my house when a low moaning sound fell upon my ears; the horse halted before an obstruction of three great trees prostrated and with branches entangled. The cries of pain were nearer, and I cast my glance about. Great heaven! What did I see ?” Bessie! Crushed to the earth beneath a trunk of monster timber. Her eyes met mine. She could utter no sound save those of suffering and exhaustion. I turned my horse about, sought the road, and spurred wildly for the farm. I was powerless to aid her; I must seek help, though I knew it was too late to save her life. I burst into the room where my family and the men employed about the place were at their morning meal. “All of you turn out,” I cried; “I have found Bessie. She lies, pinned to the ground, under a great oak tree, down on the edge of Martin’s tract. Take axes, spades, anything, and cut or dig her free. “I shall never forget or drive from my memory the look of love and sorrow she gave me as her eyes encountered my own. I could not approach her. “Take a sharp knife with you, boys, and cut her throat the moment you reach her. Put her out of her misery, for her back must be broken and her ribs all shattered. She cannot survive. “Do not mangle her. I want to have her stuffed.” They did my bidding bravely, tearfully, and in silence. ♦ * * * * * Bessie was the prize pointer of our Territory. She had cost me $250, solid cash, to import; had taken the prize at every county fair for sx years past. I had just refused SSOO for her—aud she wasn’t insured. Hence these tears. — American Commercial Traveler.