Newspapers / The Roanoke Beacon and … / Sept. 14, 1906, edition 1 / Page 1
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jiiiijiiwiiiin jiiBjiniiT m mt wiraTr-r"-i' rTTi""' ' n A0 wo I iSf (ffT iflf iltf iffijf y jut iii jy isit M ii , i i i i i i i ' 1 U.OOM Year, la Advance. "FOR GOD, FOR COUNTRY AND FOR TRUTH." t SIngI Copy 5 CbU, I VOhiXVuT PLYMOUTH, N, C. FRIDAY SEPTEMBER lT1906. NO. 24 i i i . i i ii i . , i 3 THE QUEEN OF THE BEES. , " "Jeanne, I am sura that I hear the 'sound of horses' feet. Listen!" "No, grandmother, it is only Mich ette stamping her feet in the cow house." An old woman and a young girl, both French peasants, were sitting over a smoldering fire on the low hearth of their cottage. The sun was sinking, and a gray mist hung over the small cabin, dimming the glass with its thick moisture. The old woman was brewing a flsane in a small earthenware pot set over a bed of coals, which she constantly rekind led by kneeling down and blowing lustily upon them. . The young girl was mending a coat. , Tt was the coat of a French Zouave and she touched it with an air of rev erence that might have suited the great Jeanne whose name she bore. Every now and then she would press her lips upon the gilt buttons which she was tightening with strong thread. Oc casionally she would cast a furtive glance toward the closed door, opposite tocher, and a look akin to rapture would illumine her face. ; "Is my father still asleep, grand mother?" she asked presently. ; "Yes, child, and what a heavy sleep it is!" replied the old dame. 'Twice since noon I have gone in to see him and there he lies like a man drugged. No 'wonder he is so tired, the poor lad,'walking all night!" "fell me about it again, grand mother. I did not hear him knock this , morning. How was it? Tell me about it all over again." , 'tAh. my child, youth has profound slumber. Not so with us old folks; our hearts are awake even while we sleep. I heard my boy's tap on the window-pane though it was almost as light as if a moth had struck there. Still I knew it was my soldier-boy, my brave son, the moment I heard that sound. How tired he was! How as tonished was I gave him food, and he .told me" all tljere was to tell. Our troops-are retreating ah me, it is al ways the same story now and when your father found himself so near his old home, his captain gave him leave to come to it for a day and a night. He is to leave us at midnight, or he will be taken prisoner, so rapidly have the Germans advanced; but he knows all the roads and paths about here so -well that he is sure he can get back to his camp by daylight, to join the troops that are to move onward at dawn." "Oh, bonne maman, what does he say about this dreadful war? When is my father coming home again to stay?" The old woman shook her head as she stirred the fisane with a long wooden spoon. There was a liftlness of expression in her face which told at a glance the character of the strong limbed, strong-featured and strong natured peasant. "That is what none can tell," she answered, "and least of all, the poor lads who fight and march and hunger; who dig the ditches and die in them; who build the barricades and are shot on them; who throw themselves in the heat of the fight, only to meet the cold finger of death. The soldiers know nothing. They ask no ques tions. They obey orders. There are many brave and true still left to fight, and as long as there is one there will be battle. And, my child, it is one of the bravest sons of France that now lies sleeping in that room." Her eye kindled with love and ad miration as she spoke, and a tear stood on her cheek. Suddenly she stood erect, her whole frame quivering, her head bent, for ward, her face tense and eager in its attitude of listening. "What is that, Jeanne?" she whis pered, sharply. "I am sure I heard horses' feet. Open the door! Be quick! Put your ear to the ground, - and listen!" Instantly Jeanne- sprang up. She was out of the dqor like a flash, with her ear to the earth. "It is nothing, bonne maman," she said, as she rose. "I hear the frogs in the pond, and the blackbirds In the trees, that is all. Perhaps it is the creaking of the poplars that you hear. They groan like masts on ships at sea today." "I have beard them," said the old waman pressing her hand against her wrinkled brow, "and I know it always foretells trouble. The night your mother died the poplars made that sound. I will not forget that night." "Tell me of my mother, bonne maman," said the girl, wistfully, as she drew the old woman back into the house. You never talk of her, and I dare not ask my father. I know that she was young when she died. But tell me, was she beautiful?" The granfimother looked narrowly at her as she said, as if with difficulty, "if you wish to know, look in thai mirror." Jeui.no stepped forward with an air of curiosity that was quite imperson al, and looked at her reflection as if looking at an unknown being. The round, sweet face framed by closely cropped, curly hair of a light blonde color and surm&unted by the crisp white peasant's cap, was very wistful and tender. As she gazed her lips quivered, and her large eyes grew limpid with tears; her face had a new meaning to herself. The long-dead young mother of her dreams seemed to confront her as if it were an actual living creature. The face she saw was not her own; the mother-yearning in the child's face invested it with a new beauty and dignity, and made it seem other and different. She leaned forward, a sweet rap ture in her eyes, a tender adoring greeting lighting her face and kissed her own reflection with a passionate ardor, whispering softly, not to her self, but to that other's presence there, "Est-ce toi, maman?" "Hist!" cried the grandmother, springing up again. "Hist, Jeanne! This time I am not deceived! What is that?" The girl wheeled around. All the rosy color had vanished from her face, and it was ashy pale. "It is the tramp of horses!" she cried. "The Germans are coming! Oh, my father my father! The girl dropped on her knees, but the old woman shook her rudely to her feet as she said, "Go you to the door and watch, while I call your father." Jeanne was trembling violently. "What must I do, grandmother?" she faltered. "Watch and tell me if the troops go by, or if they turn into the lane. If they find your father here he is lost." Jeanne turned to the dcor, and stood there peering out like a frightened hare. Her grandmother opened the door to the inner room and went swift ly to the bed on which the French Zouave was lying asleep. "Jean! Jean!" she cried, "wake up, wake up!" The man opened his eyes, stretched his powerful body as if in relief, and would have turned to sleep again but that his mother shook him roughly. "My son," she cried, "the enemy is on the highroad. Don't you hear their horses?" The man sprang up. He was par tially undressed, but he pulled his braces over his shoulders and in an instant was transformed into the alert French Zouave, sword in hand. "If they find me I am lost," he said. "They will know that all the roads and passes here are known to me. They will try to force me to show them the way. I shall refuse, and they will shoot me." "Oh, Jean, Jean, do not talk of death! You must save your life! You must fly!" "Fly?" he asked, bitterly. "That means certain capture. There are scouts placed everywhre, hovering about like carrion-crows. Ah, that I had died upon the field of battle!" The old woman wrung her hands, and for a second seemed to give up hope, but it was only for a second. Suddenly she said, "There is a roof. Could you not get out there and crawl along to the chimney and let yourself down inside, holding on by your hands? Other men have done it. Why not you? They will find no one here, and go their way. When night comes you can get back to camp. My son, take courage. Our Lady will give you strength. Come!" The man's face brightened. "I will try it?" he cried'. "But they will be almost sure to see me on the low roof. I will not dare to venture out until they are actually at the door. They will not send more than a scout or two to this poor little cabin." As he spoke, Jeanne rushed toward them, white and breathless. "They stopped at the head of the lane," she said, "but now they hav& turned in! Five Uhlans are galloping down the hill!" "Go back to the door," said the old woman. "Keep them there to talk one moment, for life or death. Come Jean, with me." The next Instant they were up the stairs, and the man was peering about him in the gloomy attic, which was lighted only by a solitary window pane let in the square cover to the opening in the roof. "Dieu!" he cried, groping about, "where is the ladder?" "The ladder?" cried his mother, with a groan. "Oh, Jean, my son, you are lost. I took tke ladder down yester day, to use In pruning the willow trees. I forgot to bring it back! My son's blood is on my own head! I hear the enemy below! I dare not go down for a chair. Oh, my son, my son!" Ycices could be plainly heard, to gether with the stamping of horses feet, and the scent of tobacco-smoke. . "This is hard," whispered Jean. "Is there nothing I can step upon no box I or barrel nothing?" "Nothing!" wailed the poor mother, In a stifled whisper. Jean took his sword and with a light movement shoved back the cover to the opening. The room was flood ed with light. Mother and son looked eagerly around the room, which was utterly barren of what they sought. Then their eyes met. In the mother's there was a new light. "I will save your life, my son!" she cried, with a sort of exultation. "You can reach the roof by stepping on my back! Here it Is!" She bent her body directly beneath the opening grasping her knees with her strong gaunt hands. But the man turned from her. "No, ma mere," he said, "I cannot do that. The Germans musttake mo alive or dead. I cannot kill my own beloved mother to save myself." "Kill!" gasped the old woman, with an individual scorn. "Kill me? You forget. Look at the cords in this arm. Every villager knows how strong I am. Who was it that pulled Niere Botat's cow out of the bay? Who plows and digs and carries the heav iest loads for the woodmen? You hesitate. Then you will kill me, In deed. To spare my back which is equal to twice as much you break my heart!" Again she bent to receive his weight, her eyes emploring him. Silently the man unfastened his shoes, and removed them. Then with a smothered word of love to her, he put his foot upon her back. It seem ed to her a very brief instant that she bore the precious weight of that heavy burden. With his hands upon the ledge, Jean had drawn himself through the opening. The old woman tottered for a sec ond; then, taking her son's shoes and his sword, she hid them under the beams, piling some strings of dried onions over the place. Before she had finished doing this, Jean had replaced the cover on the roof. Groping her way through the sud denly increased darkness, she went slowly down the step3, and walked steadily to the door; where Jeanne stood, a piteous little fawn at bay. "What is it you wish?" said the old woman. "In what way can my grand child and I serve you?" Five Uhlans were reined in a close little squad before the door of the cottage. They had evidently ridden hard, for their horses were covered with damp and foam. One of these men, an officer an swered, in voluble French. "We are looking for someone to show us a short cut to Branares. We have seen tracks in the path a man's tracks. Where is the man?" "Tracks!" was the contemptaous an swer. "How do I know whose tracks they are? Monsieur Rental came this morning, looking for a lest goat. Both he and the goat are chez lui by this time, I suppose, if It is he you seek." The officer tossed his reins to an or derly. "I will look within," he said briefly. "Entrez," replied the old woman, throwing wide the door. The fisane was scorching on the fire, the scent and smoke of It filling the room. On the chair lay the Zouave jacket, which Jeanne had thrown down in her excitement. The officer walked straight toward this chair and pointed to the jacket. "What is this?" he said. The old woman met his gaze with out the quiver of an eyelash. "If you do not know," she said, "it is because you have been on no battlefields. It is an old coat belonging to my soldier son." The officer pulled his blond mustache and smiled. "Your son is here," he said, look ing her straight in the eyes. Then, lifting his voice he cried, "Gotlieb, Fritz, dismount, and search this house! There is a French Zouave concealed here!" The two Uhlans entered the house and the search began. The old woman folded her arms across her breast and watched them as they looked in every nook and cor ner. Jeanne, with her hand upon her father's jacket, stood by the chair, and watched, also, with frightened eyes. The face of neither changed in its expression when the officer began to mount the garret stairs. "Ah, we shall get him now!" he ex claimed, as, holding a lighted match, he peered about the dim attic. "He is out on the roof and has drawn the ladder after him, else there would be a ladder here!" Then he turned to the old woman and said, persuadingly, "Come, mere, you had best confess that he is here. If he will be our guide, we will pay him well, and let him go unharmed. If otherwise, the result will be seri ous. .This house is now inside tho German lines, and we can treat him as a spy. You know what that means." As he spoke, he came backward down the steps, and stood facing the old woman. "Search!" was the scornful reply. "Grandmother," said Jeanne, her breath coming quick and short. "I can show them the ladder. It is out under the willow-trees, where Michette is tethered. I will go and get it, and bring it here, to show them they are mistaken." With these words she left the house. No word was spoken as they stood awaiting her return, but the child's poor strategy made the heart of the old woman tighten with pain and fear. It would at least occasion a moment's delay, she thought, but when the lad der was brought they would take it and mount the roof. And then would they find him? Would they look down the chimney? Would her son be able to hold on until they went away? At these thoughts she turned upon the officer a look that was almost like an actual blow, so full of hate and anger was it. Suddenly a cry pierced the air. It came from Jeanne, who rushed swift ly into the room. In her hair and on her bare arms myriads of bees were crawling, their black and yellow bodies massed abput her short curls like a velvet cap. "Grandmother," she cried, "the bees are swarming! You know they never hurt me, but you must hide yourself quick. They are very angry for they have smelt the sweating horses, and they may sting you to death." As she spoke there was heard a wild stamping and whimpering from the horses outside. "Gott in Himmel!" cried one of the orderlies, "the bees are maddening these beasts! I can never hold them! They will run away!" Running behind the officer, Jeanne waved her slender arms about him, as if drawing in the air the circle of some incantation. The infuriated bees began to fly about him, and one of them dealt him a sharp stab on the temple. He gave a cry of pain. The men beside him cursed, and strode about, brandishing their helmets be fore their faces, but on wrists and palms the angry bees stung sharply. The horses reared and plunged so vio lently in their efforts to escape from the torturing stabs of their tiny as sailants that the officer soon perceived that the only safety from this unex pected foe was in flight. "Mount," he said. "We can return, but go now we must." The Uhlans mounted their horses, needing no spurs as they fled wildly down the long lane, across which the Lombardy poplars cast their shadows as if stretching themselves out for the night's rest on the moist earth. As the clatter of the horses' hoofs died away Jeanne laughed softly. She took a pan from the shelf and began tapping on it noisily to drown the drone of the bees and get them under control. "We must save our kind deliverers, bonne maman," she said. "The Uhlana will not dare to return for hours, if they ever do come back, and by that time my father can reach the marsh. Did you know, grandmother, what I had In my mind to da when I went out? I suddenly thought of the bees. I know how they hate the smell of horses, and I said to myself, T think I know some Zouaves who will put these Germans to rout,' and I went and upset the hives. As I did so, I whispered, 'Sting them, sting them, good French bees,' and I believe they understood!-" "Well, blessed be the bees and you, my child. Our dear one is saved!" said the old woman, as she hurried up the steps to tell her son of his de liverance. The Indiana Farmer. The Christmas Tree Threatened. Stock raising and forestry practi cally monopolized the attention re cently of the Vermont instructors on the better farmers' special train. The tour was through Ryegate, Mc Inroes, Passumsic and St. Johnsbury Centre. In the horticultural car Profs. L. R. Jones and William Stuart, of the Vermont experiment station, and the Hon. Ernest-Hitchcock, State For estry Commisisocers, held forth, the latter winning particular notice on what may be called the Christmas tree peril. The gospel of more and better forests ha3 many things to con tend with in Vermont, but one of the most destructive is the demand every December for Chrismas trees, which when cut off remove a forest of the future more effectually than tho wood man who waits till the tree grows up. The New oYrk market is almost entire ly supplied from Vermont, and the southern part of the State is describ ed as being well-nigh denuded of its young spruce trees, with the wave of destruction advancing northward each vear. It is to head off this movement that the forestry commission is active on the better farming train. Arguing mainly that the farmers are selling Christmas trees too cheaply, the lec tures show that a spruce tree good enough for Christmas festivities is worth a quarter to a dollar as it stands in the woods, and that the far mers in selling them for 5 cents a piece are figuratively cutting their own throats. This clanger to the for ests was placed on a par with the forest fires, which also figured in the forestry argument. Boston Herald. Edward Hughes, the famous portrait painter Queen Alexandra of England has sat to him three times had a pic ture at the Royal Academy when he was 15 years of age. ... - I SOUTHERN FARM 10JES. 7 rnpirs np iutprpst rn tup pi Hurra srnrituau tun roar nar.uL-eo Handling Sweet Potatoes. Some months ago I said I would give my plan to keep sweet potatoes. I take a turn plow and drag off the vines, barring them off shallow, at the same time plowing them up with the same plow, going deep endugh not to cut them. In this way it throws them out, so they can be found without much trouble. Put three rows together, being careful not to pitch them so far as to bruis them against one another. Then I take small sacks (corn or meal feed sacks) and go over the rows and pick up the large ones. Two hands to the sack. In this way they will not be bruised, the sack not being too full. Then go back and take up the plantings, in the same way, filling the sack full as can be handled. They, being small, will not bruise like the large ones. Let the sacks be small and slazy just so they will hold to place for the hill. Set five or six of the sacks in the hill, these being the sorriest ones with no kainit or salt about them though I have used kainit sacks where they had been washed by rains or hand. Then form the hill around the hill sacks that I set in the middle with loose potatoes and on top. This shapes up my hill. The sacks give ventilation. I hill on high, elevated land, if I can, whepe it is deep sand, putting straw about two inches deep, dirt about the same, leaving a place on top about as large as my hat with no dirt. Have the straw about four inches thick right on the top, then make a hole with my hand through to the potatoes and leave them so all winter. I can go along every day and run my hand in and see if my potatoes are sound or not. Then I go to work and build a shelter over them to keep the dirt dry. I built my shelter some years ago and have used it ever since. By this plan you see I keep my place dry year in and year out. In spring remove all rotten ones so as not to infest the land with the rot. My shelter is ten feet wide, thirty-two feet long, four feet high behind and seven In front, fronting the east, boarding up the back and north end, edge to edge front and south end Just enough to keep out the stack, knocking down the front for hilling and taking up. I take off about two behind to get dirt to hill or throw out in taking up plantings. Well, let's go back to the field. Now I use a one-horse wagon with body on. I don't put them in like they are rocks or corn. I set them in with care not to bruise and go to the hill and pour them out as careful as I can. Now in this way I have handled my potatoes as few times as It cr.n well be done. Die after first frost, a fair day and let dry good. As to marketing potatoes, well, I'm not a big farmer, and I know there are others that can write more interestingly how to cultivate than I can, but if this does not go to the waste basket I may try to say some thing later about cultivating thera. I sold a few potatoes last year that I kept up with 12G bushels. They brought me $100. I got them off about an acre; fed the small ones to my hogs. I have sold this year 108 bushels for $85. I handle my potatoes one bushel to the sack, then have no trouble any more to measure them where my cus tomer wants ajnishel. I have them clean and not skinned up and good measure. Now, reader, if you try next year to raise potatoes, don't try to plant your whole crop of potatoes and make a failure like the man I saw mentioned in the Progressive Farmer some years ago did, and say your land won't make them. D. Powell, Rocky Mount, N. C, in the Progres sive Farmer. Soy Beans and Cowpcas. The soy bean and cowpea may be successfully grown on almost any soil of reasonable fertility. Like the common field pea. both require good drainage and easily suffer from ex cessive wet, but will do much better during periods of dry weather. For the best results a good corn soil should be chosen. If properl inocu lated, both crops will do well wheie corn would suffer seriously from lack of nitrogen. For use in a regular ro tation they should precede corn or winter wheat. In the latter case the ground does not need to ba plowed for the wheat. The preparation of the soil should be similar to tl?at best suited to corn. It should be deeply plowed and the seed bed made1 fine and mellow. A loos?, deep seed bed 13 essential to success. Boih the soy bean and cow pea are warm weather plants and should i be sown early in the season. As general rule the best time to sow after corn planting Is finished af the soil has become thorougl warm. The seed should be dee covered. It should be sown In dri and the crops cultivated like corn i til the soy bean blooms and the c nea begins to vine. For grain p duction, drilling and cultivating ; always best, but for hay productil fair results mav be secured fr broadcast seeding on ground free weeds. The rows should be thir two inches apart for the soy bea and twenty-four inches apart for tl cowpea, and both seeded at the ra of twenty to twenty-five pounds seed per acre for the medium-siz varieties. Seeding may be done wf a wheat drill set at two bushels acre on the wheat scale, and wf the hole3 not needed stopped Thick seeding is detrimental to se production. Some soils need to be inoculat with the proper bacteria for one both crops before satisfactory resu can be secured. This need can or be determined by trial and by exa ination of the roots for the nodul If needed, inoculation may be btj accomplished by sowing before t last harrowing when preparing t seed bed, 200 or 300 pounds r acre of soil taken from a field whe the crops have been grown and t hpct?ria are known to exist. Witl o:;t the bacteria the crops must cure their nitrogeu from the so and under such conditions dm heavily upon its fertility. " ..s For hay production the "cew,p will generally give best results. should be cut when the first pods h gin to ripen and cured as in the ca of clover. Either the Early Blac eye, Whippoorwill, New Era, Mlcl! gan Favorite, Iron, Clay, Red Ripp or unknown varieties may be used For grain production either cr may be used in the South, but in u northern portion of Indiana the fc bean will usually be most profitabl The Ito San, Early Browns and M dium Early Yellow (late) are amoij the best varieties. . Harvesting Bhould be done wM most of the leaves have fallen arf most of the pods are ripe. An ol fashioned self-rake reaper or a motf er with a side delivery attachmef will be found satisfactory for ha vestine. Threshing may be doif with the ordinary threshing machin with the lower concave removed aa replaced by a board and run at lo speed. A corn shredder may also if used for threshing. A.T. Wianck Purdue University. " " " Meat In the South. The Washington Post has this say about the meat scandals and to South's relation to them: "It seems in order to say, howeve that at least Southern towns, citli and communities have no tight complain. If at any time thiey hav suffered, either in their stomachs of their pockets, because of the hig price or the unwholesome characte of Chicago meat products, they hav only themselves to blame. There h never been the smallest reason wh they should not feed themselves froi their own herds, flocks, fields, dairie and barnyards. The South is rich i farming and grazing lands, and th inhabitants thereof can raise beef cattle, sheep, hogs, poultry and verf etables of the very finest quality an Why need they go to Chicago, Ka sas City, Omaha or any other distan market for food which they can pre duce themselves? And if they per sist in a policy so unnecessary an so improvident, they might have th grace to realize that it Is their faul and refrain from condemnation o others. The pastures of the Soutl can turn out as good beef and mut ton as the stockyards or cnicago cam Southern farmers are capable of fur nishine as high-class butter, milk! eggs, etc., as any farms in Iowa o Kansas. Why, then, do not th stead of calling upon Hercules tQ help them and filling the air witlf complaint and imprecation when h fails to answer to their satisfaction?! "We do not pretend to pronounce upon the truth, or lack of truth, ir all these nauseous denunciations o. the packing houses. We are quite sure, however, that the Southern peo-j pie would be in much better business to set about the task of caring foi' themselves. It is not at all necessary' for them to be dependent onjmportl p i . i : x li'l j i . P ea ioou oi any Kiua. v neii iney D3 wail the hardships inflicted on theuf by the Western trusts, they remind us of nothing so much as of tin" Texas ranch owner, thirty years ago denouncing the quality of the con densed milk he got from Minnesota."
The Roanoke Beacon and Washington County News (Plymouth, N.C.)
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Sept. 14, 1906, edition 1
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