Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 September 1893 — Untitled [ARTICLE]

sword, too; and did such things with it that there was a cry, in half a dozen languages, of “Kill that Sergeant!” as I know, by the cry being raised in English and taken up in other tongues. I had received a severe cut across the left arm a few moments before, and should have known nothing of it, except supposing that somebody had struck me a smart blow, if I had not felt weak, and seen myself covered with spouting blood, and at the same instant of time seen Miss Maryon tearing her dress and binding it with Mrs. Fisher's help round the wound. They called to Tom Packer, who was scouring by, to stop and guard me for one minute, while I was bandaged, or I would bleed to death in trying to defend myself. Tom stopped directly, with a good sabre in his hand. In that same moment —all things' seem to happen in that same moment, at such a time—half a dozen had rushed howling at Sergt. Drooce. The Sergeant, stepping back against the’wall, stopped one howl forever with such a terrible blow, and waited for the rest to come on, with such a wonderfully unmoved that they stopped and looked at him. “See nimnow!” cried Tom Packer, “now when I could cut him out! Gill! Did I tell you to mark my words?” I implored Tom Packer in the Lord’s name, as well as I could in my faintness, to go to the Sergeant's aid. “I hate and detest him,” said Tom, moodily wavering. “Still he is a brave man.” Then he calls out: “Sergeant Drooce, Sergeant Drooce! Tell me you have driven me too hard, and are sorry for it.” “No, I won’t.” “Sergeant Drooce!.” cried Tom, in a kind of agony. “I have passed my word that I would never save you from death, if I could, but would leave you to die. Tell me you have driven me too hard and are sorry for it, and that shall go for nothing.” One of the group laid the Sergeant’s bald head open. The Sergeant laid him dead. “I tell you,” says the Sergeant, breathing a little short, and waiting for the next attack, “no, I won’t. If you are not mau enough to strike for a fellow.-soldier because he wants help and because of nothing else, I’ll go into the other world and look for a better man.” Tom swept upon them and cut him out. Tom and he fought their way through another lot of them and sent them flying and came over to where I was beginning again to feel, with inexpressible joy, that I had got a sword in my hands. They had hardly come to us when I heard, above all the other noises, a tremendous cry of women’s voices. I also saw Miss Maryon, with quite a new face, suddenly clap her two hands over Mrs. Fisher’s eyes. L looked towards the silver-house and saw Mrs. Venning —standing upright on the top of the steps of the trench, with her gray hair and her dark eyes—hide her daughter’s child behind her, among the folds of her dress, strike a pirate with her other hand, and fall, shot by his pistol. (to be continued.)'