Bellefonte, Pa., April 11, 1913. Shenandoah. [Continued from page 6, Col. 4.) “And whom have we here?” asked the captain, staring at the young stranger who had proffered the flask and paying no attention to the wounded man. “Great God! Ed Thornton—1 thought I knew yon!" exclaimed the young man addressed. peering into the insolent. scarred face of his questioner. “And I presume you know me as well.” “l know you're in a pretty ticklish | position with that Union belt on under i a Confederate uniform and inside our lines. Men. search your prisoner. He's : a Yankee spy.” “That's a lie. Thornton, and you | know it. I was in the fight, open and | fair, and | wouldn't be here now only that I stopped to try to help your! comrades. Let me alone. | say.” He struggled so fiercely. despite his | weak condition, that the efforts of the | - | and wooden toys with thelr jackknives; others played cards squatted on the floor or checkers on boards marked off | in rude squares on these same rough, unswept planks. All hoped against hope and conversed endlessly on two topics—*‘exchange” and “escape.” and provisions still rarer. Neverthe- less some fortuitous combination of circumstances and outcropping of ordi- pary human kindness did on certain memorable occasions permit a suit of ciothes or a box of sweets and other creature comforts to escape Confeder- ate confiscation and get past the draw- bridge of the military bastile. One of these occasions that brought seasonable rejoicings to a certain loft of Libby occurred just before the date of national thanksgiving, in the latter part of November. The blood red rays of sunset were streaming through the one small, high, grated window that lighted a bare room where some men were dejectedly playing cards for scraps of tobacco, while others sat around om rough benches and watched or smoked or dozed. One who was either sick or | wounded lay on a couch, with a coarse Libby Prison. two soldiers were required to hold him while Thornton minutely searched his person. “Letters— Washington and New York postmarks—and—ah! What have we here? Pretty little sentimental keep- sake, eh? Where have | seen the lady's’ face? Pardon me if 1 read this inscrip tion on the back of the case.” i What be had found was a miniature, | the portrait of a lady, carefully pro. tected in a morocco case. The owner resisted so desperately the taking of this treasure that he finally sank to the floor, livid, panting, foaming and curs. ing, as Captain Thornton mockingly read the lines inscribed on the back of the picture: The flashing light may liven thy form In living lines of breathing grace, May give each tint a tone as warm As that which melts o'er thy dear face But In my soul and on my heart ‘With deeper colors, truer aim, A loftier power than meager art Hath graven thy image and thy name. | “He is dead,” said Dr. Ellingham, let ting the band of poor Sam Pinckney. which he had been holding. fall limp and lifeless to the ground. “Well, major, that relieves you from duty here. I'll have an ambulance sent | around at once. As for the Yankee. gentleman, | will take good care of bis! valuables while he is escorted to Rich. ' mond and put up at the Hotel de Libby.” i With these taunting words Captain | Thornton laughed diabolically. then lit a cigar and stood in the doorway of | the cabin gazing reminiscently upon the miniature which held the fair fen. | tures of Mrs. Constance Haverlll. ! The old warehouse of the Libbys. | down on Carey street, near the James river, was the largest structure of its kind in Richmond. It was a vast, din | gy. four storied red brick building, with | nothing but naked walls, bare timbers | and low raftered drying rooms. whose | small windows were not intended pri- | marily to admit light. A few fron bars | on these windows and a flimsy parts | tion bere and there to divide the tloor | space into “rooms.” had sufficed to transform the pungent smelling old! shell into a capacious military prison | for Federal captives whose official rank saved them from the unsheltered pens | and stockndes of Belle Isle or of Salfs- | bury and Andersonville farther south ' “cheer up a bit. deacon.” blanket over him. Two or three of the card players joined their unmelodious voices in crooning an old fashioned Methodist hymn. “That's right. boys.” said the hymn leader, an unctuous looking Hoosier whom they addressed sometimes us “chaplain” and again as “deacon.” If you can't be cheer- ful, be as cheerful as you can. Think | —think of your heaveuly home.” “Too far off.” muttered Captain Cox, a Kentuckian. “Well, then. think of your earthly home—of the apple trees in blossom when you left it, of the afternoon sun- light fallin’ on it this minute out there in Kentuck or Ohio er wherever it is Mine's in Injiana, thank God! [I re- member when | was” — ! “Deacon,” protested the sick man. “I'm not feeling very chipper today.” “Oh, you'll come round all right. To. morrow's Thanksgiving. As 1 was | saying” — “That's what poor Raiph's afraid of, interposed Captain Cox “Monotony is what's killing him, and I'll leave it to you if the novelty isn't long since worn off those endless remi niscences of the time when you used to be" — “Rear admiral on the Wabash canal.” | chimed the chorus. “All right. boys, poke all the fun ut me you like, smite me on the othe: cheek. You know I'm meek and lowly. | Darn this band o’ cards anyway. But with all your cuteness I'll bet $5 none 0’ you can tell how we used to take in sail out there on the Wabash, eh? | “Well, sir. they go out aloft on the towpath and knock down a mule.” “Ho, ho! How's that, Ralph?" laugh. ed Cox, rising and going over to the sick man's couch. “Come. brighten up. Are you sick in mind too?" ' Hunt sighel impatiently. Deacon Hart rallied again. “Look on the bright side, what may bappen any minit. Suppose, first thing you know, you git called out and ex- changed. jest as soon as our army captures some of the Johnnies, if it ever does. Then you can go home on crutches. and the neighbors’ll bring In a dozen different things at once to kill or cure you.” “I don't seem to care about any- thing,” said Ralph Hunt. gloomily. “If I can’t die on the field it may as well be here as anywhere else.” “It's a good thing I'm here to give you spiritual counsel,” interjected Dea- con Hart, turning away from his cards for a second. “Oh, is it my deal?” CHAPTER VIII. Libby Prison. APTAIN COX sat beside Hunt's couch and conversed with him in low, earnest tones. ' *“I'bere are other places.” =aid he, “besides the field of battle, where » man can be brave.” i “Oh. no doubt,” was the bitter reply. “You find it easy to keep up your cour age when 1 am in despair.” “What do you mean?” “You know. We were boys together, | and I have always put up with second best. You've always stood in front of . me. Tom Cox—at school. at sport. in business. iu love.” i “Tell me one thing.” urged Cox “Have | ever piayed you false?" “No, you haven't. You haven't need | od to. Your cursed fatal good luck floes it all for you.” “Now you talk like a whining child.” “No, 1 don't. At this moment your heart's inmost thought is identical with mine. Marie Mason—great God! How . my heart beats at the speaking of that name! Marie—she wus the one woman in all the world to me. Why did you cross my path there, too, when it was as sure as fate that her preference would fall on you?’ “If it was fate, what's the use of talking about it now?" retorted Cox dogged!y. “And to what avail to either of us now can that girl's favor be? You know she is an irrevocable soatherner, like all the rest of her family. You , try are you up to now?” y'} know that I came out for the Onion, 3 ! as you did, when the first gun was fired on Sumter. Perhaps you don't # know, but I will tell you now, that | when 1 left Lexington she—Marie Ma- | Son<snid she would rather see me lying by Review of Reviews company. dead on the battlefield wearing the e | southern gray than marching against Playing Cards For Scraps of Tobacco. | per people in the blue uniform of the ~ Only officers were immured in Libby north. That was our parting. Well, prison, and most of the time there you and I have drunk from the same were from 1,500 to 2,000 motley, rag- | ged, pale faced men pining there, | cramped and squalid and liable to be shot down relentlessly if they crossed a “dead line” within two or three of the barred windows. Some of poor fellows listlessly carved crucifixes Hi canteen. We have fought side by side in the same battles; we have both won our captain's swords—and lost them. , in misfortune. we are still togeth- And on the petty pretext of our lots, you would the of sunshine 3 i g ing these radeship.” “You are well and strong. [am il", pleaded Hunt. “l don’t forget that, either,” mur mured Cox. softening. ! “I've talked too much, | suppose. It's all over now. Here's my band. if you will take it.” answered: | “It's all right. Ralph. Only give me a little time to get over it. for you cut deep, old fellow.” | At this moment a sudden silence fell, and a general movement and whisper made themselves manifest. Enter Cap- tain Jackson Warner, the prison com- | missary. “Evening, Yanks.” was his gruff but not unkindly greeting. “What devil Cox did not take it immediately, but | bandanna turben on her head, tter “Talking over old times and old comrades, captain, that's all.” replied Cox gently. i “Well. you may have an opportunity | of seeing some more o' them ‘ere old comrades o' yourn, [ reckon. before long.” “What? Are we going to get out?" “No; they're coming in here. 1 sup- pose you've heard the news?" At these words a young lieutenant who had sat silently in an opposite corner reading a copy of the Richmond Dispatch weeks old. threw down the paper and listened attentively. “Let us know the worst. Captain Warner,” urged Cox. “We're used to it—haven't got feelings any more. you know. What's the news?" “Oh, some more fighting in the val- ley, you know. Yanks licked out o' their boots again. as usual. More pris- oners, more hard luck stories.” “What's that?" cried Deacon Hart. “Another fight? More prisoners? Oh, Lord!" “You're on the religious, aren't you?" inquired the commissary scoffingly. “I'm a shouting Methodist these for- ty years, thank the Lord!" answered the deacon. holding his hand of cards behind, bis back. “Well? your shouting hasn't benefited Abe Lincoln nor yourself very much so far. You'd better swing around and pray for Jeff Davis, I reckon, and be on the safe side.” “Never, till this right hand” —putting out his left with the cards. then jerk- ing it back and holding up the right— “shall lose its cunning.” “Oh. go ahead. deacon, and pray for Jeff Davis if they want you to." sug- gested Cox. “He'll reed it before this war's over.” | “You can talk with your friends just : from the front about that,” retorted Warner grufily. “Here's one of ’em . coming upstairs now." A measured tramp was heard ap- proaching outside. The commissary opened the door, and the new Union prisoner was marched in between two guards. He saluted and introduced himself. : “Gentlemen, permit me. | am Colo- nel Coggswell of the Forty-second New York.” “The Tammany regiment of New ' York city! exclaimed Lieutenant Bed- | loe, sotto voce. | Captain Cox returned the newcom- er's salute and ‘responded: : “We have heard of you. colonel, and we are right proud to meet you. My comrades bere are Captain Hunt of Kentucky, Chaplain Hart of Indiana and Lieutenant Bedloe, from—why, from your own state, 1 believe. | am Captain Cox of the Tenth Kentucky.” i Colonel Coggswell shook hands all around and said: i “I am fortunate to have the bonor of sharing your quarters. | don't sup-' pose you find it exactly lonesome here.” | “The place is quite populous. It seems as if the fortunes of war had picked out the flower of our army to pine away in infernal holes like this. | Oh, for an hour of action!” | “Just wait till the exchange.” said the hopeful Hart. “With a dozen men like us they might redeem a whole | Confederate regiment.” i “I understand,” said Ralph Hunt | gloomily, “that their idea is to get the | well kept Confederate prisoners back ' from the Union camps and send us as | living skeletons in exchange.” | “Do you think. Colonel Coggswell.” | asked Cox. “that things are going as | badly with us in the valley and elge- | where as they try to make out?” i “Yes. and a sight worse. | should say, at the present moment." i “Then.” interposed Hart tragically, | _ “all is lost save honor.” The colonel drew himself up proumy, glanced around to make sure thai toe, commissary and guard had retired, | then with a superb dramatic gesture | opened the coat of his uniform, which | bad been tightly buttoned up to his! chin, and displayed the stars and ! stripes wrapped around his body. | “Not all lost, sir. Qur coiors, hy | God!” i ‘I'ne prisoners rushed forward, their eyes bulging and cheeks glowing with | patriotic ardor. Even poor Hunt rose excitedly from bis couch. ! “Three cheers, boys,” cried Cox. “Al | together—iet her go!” | They gave a rousing round of cheers | that brought Captain Warner rushing | back into the room. | “Come, come, gentlemen! Remem- | ber where you are. This ain't Wash- ington. What are you feeling so or- nery about?” “We were just welcoming an old friend.” explained Cox. “And, besides, cap,” interposed Hart, “ain't this Thanksgiving eve? How about them pumpkin ples we ordered and paid for in good United States money 7" “That's a fact,” answered the com- missary. “Well, the cook tackled em, according to directions. They ought to be pretty nigh done by this time. Queer grub, that.” At this juncture the door opened and prison walis—our old com- immediately a joyous commotion en- | sued. “Ple. ple! Ob, pumpkin ple! Atten- | tion. all! Salute the pastry! Let the | noble pumpkin approach its doom with military honors.” The prisoners drew up In line oppo- site Captain Warner, while in march- ed a dignified old negress with a red aloft in both bands ing an enormous pie. ly deposited on the table. and made her exit In profoundly by the company. “Chaplain Hart will ask a will you join us, “No, thank you,” sary, making his “The phere’s getting too Yankeefied to suit me, and I'll beg to be excused.” Knife in band, Hart stood in an at- titude of devotion at the head of Many a woman has to lie down several | times a day because she “feels faint” or | has a “spell of dizziness.” Perhaps she tries to “do something” for her trouble. Dizziness is in the head, and the head is treated. The faintness seems to be caus- ed by the heart and the heart is attended | to. But the condition grows no better. Women in such a case who have used Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription have wondered to find dizziness and faintness | both cured. Why? “Favorite Prescrip- tion” is a medicine for diseases of the | womanly organs! Exactly. And it cures headache, dizziness, fainting spells, back- ache, and many other ills, because tbese are caused by the derangement or dis- | ease of the icate feminine organism, That is why “Favorite Prescription” | makes weak women strong and sick | women well. { For high class Job ‘Work come to the WATCHMAN Office. Medical. | == | ! Helpful Words | Ei weak kidneys. - | : i 25 H I if i | i i | ; neighbors use and recommend iE i i Clothing. Spring Overcoats in Fashionable Knee Length Models Smartly tailored garments, cut in accordance with the styles of New York and Lon- don. Belted backs or plain effects. They are the most thoroughly distinctive coats that have been brought out this season, and should be inspected by every man who likes exclusive- ness and individuality in clothes. $12.00 to $30.00. FAUBLE'S. The Best Store for Men and Boys in Central Penna. WAVERLY OIL WORKS CO. Pittsburgh, Pa. 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Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers