CHARLOTTE MESSENGER. VOL. I. NO. 38. THE PEOPLE'S SOHO OP PEACE. BT JOAQUIN MUM. The gnsa is srreen on Banker Hill, The waters sweet in Brandywine; The >word sleeps in the scabbard still, The farmer keeps his flock and vine; Then who would mar th? scene to-day With vaunt of battlefield or fray? Hie brave corn lifts, in regiments Ten thousand sabers in the son; The ricks replace the battle tents, The bannered tassels toss and run. The neighing steed, the bugle's blast— These be the stories of the past. The earth has healed her wounded breast, The cannons plow the fields no more; The heroes rest: Oh let them rest In peace along the peaceful shore. They fought for peace, for peace they fell; They sleep in peace, and all is well. Hie fields forget the battles fought. The trenches wave in golden grain; Shall we neglect the lesson taught And tear the wounds agape again? Sweet Mother Nature, nurse the land, Ami heal her wounds with gentle hand! Lo! peace on earth! Lo! flock and fold, Lo! rich abundance, far increase, Vnd valleys clad in sheen of gold, »Hi rise and sing the song of peace ! For Theseus roams the land no more. And Janus rests with rusted door. —Southern Exposition Programme. THE FRONTIER WAIF. “The blood; villains,” muttered '.indy McGovern to himself, as he sat >n his horse .surveying the scene of desolation and death; “the Moody, murderin' scoundrels!” In front of a little knoll on which sandy had reined his horse in was a confused heap of broken wagons. Here uni there a dead horse, already par daily stripped by the coyotes,and scat tered up and down the line of wagons the ltodies of men who evidently died lighting. It did not need the hideous red patches on top of the skulls, where the scalps had been torn off, to tell the •Id frontiersman that he saw before him all that was left of an emigrant train that had been surprised by In terns. To his experienced eyes, the •light signs which would have escaped t man new to the plains, told him that .he massacre had taken place, at the most, but two days before. As he rude slowly along he suddenly heard a faint sound. With iris nerves •trungbythe scene which lay before •ini, the frontiersman, whose senses •vere always alert, found his attention ttra teil at once, and stopping his horse he listened intently. In about a minute he heard it again, and noticed that it came from one of the wagons. Unmounting and walking to the place Me list- ned once more. In another minute he heard it again. It was some thing like a faint cry. and it seemed to ■e smothered in some way. Sandy 1 ■food close liy the wagon, his hands resting upon the footboard in front. 1 'gain he heard it, and this time more 1 atainly than before. Fairly leaping to " foot-board he opened the long box a fr.ml, the top of which forms in a r.iirie schooner the driver’s seat, and ov lying in it a little child. The big frontiersman lifted the baby . for it was scarcely more—out of its ‘range resting-place as tenderly as a o iier. He saw that the child was “ry weak from its long fast, an 1, el.icing it gently on his blankets, he , “g.in to search for something fit for tto . at. Finding a hag of flour, he made, with a little sugar, a kintl of inn gruel, heating it over a fire he had j w-tily kindled. Taking the baby in | m s arms, he fed it si >wly and cau jously. With infinite patience the »ig-bearded man went through this orange task, until, after some time. Me had the satisfaction of seeing the little one refuse to swallow any more. Then sitting on the tongue of the * tg"n, with the dead lying all around him. sandy ricked the baby in his arms “util it went to sleep. I'lueingit in his blankets and cover ing it up ■ arefully,he examined the h”t in which he had f mod it In the '■oth.ni was a rough horse blanket. rx there was a confused heap of • doting, thrust in hastily. All of 11" se things Sandy teik. He found •cj, the water in the spring beside "I. I ell the train had camped, to give 1 is newly-discovered treasure a bath, which seemed to do the little one a great deal of good. CHARLOTTE, MECKLENBURG CO., N. C., MARCH 24, 1883. For one week Sandy stayed there, spending his whole time looking after | t.ie baby. He saw the child grow strong and bright, and he found that the feeding, washing and dressing of the “kid," as he had already christ ened it, a source of ever-incrpasing de light. At the end of that time, hav ing the broken bracelet carefully stowed away in his saddle-bags, Sandy mounted his horse, and, taking the “ kid ” in his arms, left the scene of the massacre never to see it again. ****** What a wonderful change sixteen years make in men and women. The gossy brown hair may have become thin in that time, and on the once smooth face time may print more than one fine wrinkle telling of the deep fur rows to come. Sixteen years have somewhat whitened Sandy McGovern’s hair and bis figure is more portly than it was when he rode away from the s< ene of the desert massacre. And six teen years have transformed the “kid” into a tall stalwart lad of eighteen, full of health and strength. Robert Mc- Govern, as Sandy had called the baby he found in the old wagon-box, looked magnificently as lie rode up to the house, crossing the little stream in one | easy leap of his horse. For the sixteen l years had brought wealth to Sandy 1 with the gray hairs. It really seemed ; as if everything he touched prospered j alter he rescued the baby. He ! made more" money in trapping that year than he had in any two before! He got contracts to supply the stage line with horses and made money out of them. He bought a share in a claim for almost nothing, and it turned out to be enormously rich. “ Lucky Sandy.” as he was called, began to lie noted for his uniform success. Finally h“ turned his attention to cattle, and purchasing a large tract of land, stocked it and became a ranchero. He placed the “kid” at school as soon as he was old enough to go, and alter giving him a good education, brought him home to live on the. ranch and learn to manage it. “ Father,” said Bob (Sandy never called him “kid” unless they were by themselves), “there’s a party down there on the road and the stage lias broken down. I told them I'd ride up here and send a wagon down to bring them up. I said you’d be glad to have them as long as they'd stay.” “That’s right, my boy; of course we’re glad to have ’em. Here you, I’edro, harness up an’ go down to the road. Bring up all the passengers on the coach. How many is there of them. Bob’'” “ Five in all. There’s the prettiest girl, father, you ever saw, an old lady who kept looking at me, and three gentlemen.” •“ Well, my boy, we’ll try and make ’em comfortable. You better go an’ see ’bout rooms being got ready for ’em, an’ I’ll ride down to bring ’em up.” Bob dismounted, and, throwing the bridle-rein over the liitching-post, w alkcd into the house. Sandydooked after him, and mutter ing to himself, “ I declar’ that boy gets better every day,” prepared to ride down to the rescue of the passengers. It was not iong before the whole party reached the house, glad enough for the chance of staying there until they could go on with their journey. It consisted of Mrs. Bamst n and Mr. Barnston. his niece, Miss Edith Ilovee, and two friends of theirs, Messrs. James and Flynn. Sandy’s welcome was so cordial, and he was so unaf fectedly glad to see them, that all idea of formality vanished, and before sup per time the whole party had become as familiar as old friends. Bob seemed to get along very well with .Miss Edith, anil while Sandy and the other gentlemeD chatted to gether, the young piople talked about anything and everything that could furnish a topic of conversa tion. Both Sandy and Bob noticed that Mrs. Barnston was very silent, and that she did not seem to be able to keep tier eves off the young man’s face, .-lie would’look at him with a half puz zled and most anxious expression until she saw that she was noticed by the others, when, with an effort, she would join in the genetal conversation. | After supper the whole party went I out upon the piazza, when the men lit i their cigars and talked. At length Sandv, who never missed a chance of showing his boy off, called up Boh to sing, and he at once,began. in a beauti ful tenor voice, some simple melody* As be sang. Mis. Barnston became more nervous, until suib'e ily starting ! up, she hastily left the piazza. Her j ; husband followed her and after a short I absence returned. Turning to Sandy, I he said; 1•• You must excuse iny wife, Mr. Mc- Govern; but she lost her first husband ; and her boy many years ago under pe culiarly distressing circumstances, and your son’s singing has reminded her so of her first husband’s voice that she was unable to stay with us.” Sandy paused for a minute before re plying, and then in a deep tone said : “ Bob ain’t my son.” “Not your son! Why, I thought— \ but I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Barn ston. “ Pardon’s granted,” said Sandy, sen tci tiously. “What I mean is, I ain’t Bob’s real father. Ile’B my son in aftee tion and in love, but lie ain’t my natural son.” “ Well, if you’ll excuse my curiosity, where did you get him ?” “It’s sixteen years ago now,” said Sandy, slowly, “that I was riding along the South Platte. One day 1 came across a place wliar the red fiends had been fightin’ a train. When I come thar ther’ weren’t no man alive nor no horses nor nothin’. I rode along an’ I hearn a kind o’ wail, feeble like. 1 stop fieri an’ listened, an’ then I looked wbar t ie sound come from, and I found Bob thar, nothin' but a kid he were then, in a—” “ You found him in the wagon-box ! Oh, for God’s sake, say you found him there I” and Mrs. Barnston fairly ran from the door in which she was stand ing and threw her arms about Bob’s neck, turning her head toward Sandy as she spoke. Sandy started, and half rose from his chair. Then looking at Bob with an iye full of affection for a moment, he allowed his gaze to rest upon the eager face of the woman. Then he said, slowly: “Thar wer’ somethin’ as I found alongside o’ the little one.” “ I know,” said Mrs. Barnston, “the half of a bracelet.” Sandy nodded, and in a wild, inartic ulate cry of delight Mrs. Barnston fell fainting on the Door. The spectators of this intensely dramatic scene hast ened to her assistance, and when she recovered it was to find the arms of'her son around her. She hugged him, kls>ed him, laughed and cried at the same time over him. She called him her boy, her Willie, her darling—every term of endearment ever heard she lavished upon him. Bob or Willie Thorndike, as his name really was, behaved very well. While it was im possible for him to realize that he had found anew name and a mother, lie yet showed a great deal of affection. He was the first to realize, however, that Sandy had left them. “Mother,” he said, “father must be told that this makes. no difference. Come with me.” Mrs. Barnston got up, and holding her son’s arm tightly went with him. They found Sandy walking to and fro outside the house. “Mother,” said Will, “you must speak to father. He ha 3 been a true father to me.” At the sound of the title he had so long been accustomed to, Sandy turned toward them. “ Father,” continued Will, “ I have found a mother, but I have not lost you.” “ I do not know wliat to say to you,” began Mrs. Barnston; “ words would be poor and weak. God bless you, Mr. McGovern, and He will bless you for what you have done. I cannot thank you, J>ut I can pray to Him that He will. Do not think that I wish to take Will away from you. You have been a father to him, and it is right that he should be your son. But he is my boy, my darling—” “Wa’al, marin,” said Sandy, as his face softened into a smile as full of pleasantness as a May morning, grasp ing, as hespoke. Will’s hand,“thar ain’t no reason,as i knows,why weean’t both love this youngster, lie’s a good boy, as good as they make'em, and I reckon we can ’range things so as to suit all parlies. You an’ your husband had better stay on the ranch for a month or two, anil we’ll have plenty of time to talk it all out. I was afeared,” con tinued Sandy, titter a pause, “ as how I might hev lost the boy long o’ your coinin', but I sees that ain’t so, an’ I bless God for the joy Hellas given you this day. Let’s ail go into the house and talk it over.” And so it was arranged. Mr. and Mrs. Barnston and Edith stayed at the ranch for three months. During that time Will’s mother had a chance to tell how she hail been carried off by the Indians and rescued by the United States troops within it week; how she had mot her then husband some eight years afterward aud married him, and how she hail never ceased thinking ‘about her hoy that liaddiisl, as she supposed, in the desert. During the three months Will discovered the fact that he was very glad that Edith Hovee was not his relation by blood. When the Barnstons did leave, they did so two days after Mr. and Mrs. William Thorndike had taken the cars on their wedding tour. Sandy gave Will one half the ranch, stocking it for him, and the last time I saw Will he told me he was going to run for Congress. He was full of the pleasure he expected to have in getting his mother, his wife and babies, and his father, as he al ways called old Sandy, together once more in his home at Washington.— Alfred Balcli. A Hainan Body Turned to Chalk. At the office of Leiteli Brothers’ steam printing works, in the city of Cineinnatti, 0., are the remains of the mother-in-law of Mr. A. L. Leitch, one of the members of the firm, in a thoroughly petrified condition. The woman lias been dead about twenty live years. The body, according to the statement of a prominent physician, is in a state of adipocere. Mr. Leitch lias been keeping it in his office since it s arrival in Cincinnati, undetermined wli t to do with it, but his brother informed a reporter that they were contemplating placing it on public ex hibition for the benefit of science. Sev eral physicians, he said, who have ex amined the body, consider it a rare specimen of adipocere, and they have broken off little pieces, a toe or a finger, and put them in their cabinets of snails and crawfish and other in teresting articles. The lady died of apoplexy, and she was buried in the graveyard of Dupont, Ind. She was seventy-two years of age at the time of her d atli. The ground in which she lias lain for the last two dozen years is mainly of limestone for mation. and small streams of water trickled through the limestone and came in contact with the body. A sci entist stated that it is unknown just what it is in the water that petrifies flesh, but it is some kind of mineral. Last November relatives of the de ceased decided to take up her bones and rebury them at Cincinnati. AVhen the grave was opened their surprise was great to find instead of only de cayed and crumbling bones, a well pre served box, an apparently new cotlin, and above all a corpse which requires no less than six men to lift. Itis lit erally a chalk woman. The limbs and body" are preserved almost perfectly. The limbs are there, but liaveshrunken and changed so much as to be barely recognizable. Tlie flesh, or rather what was once the flesh, is discolored, is dark, and lias an unnatural look. Taking a knife and cutting and scra ping this dark substance away the sub stance is found to be almost exactly like white chalk. The back of the bead is slightly decayed, but this is the only part where decay is indicated. Some parts of the body are not brittle like the rest of it, but are waxy and tough. Remarkable DneL One of the most remarkable duels on record was recently fought in the suburbs of East St, Louis, ill., and, though it did not result fatally, it was by no means bloodless. Two negroes, Bill Molack and Mike Vanderberg, were out rabbit-bunting, and met with poor success. They stopped in a sa loon in tiie edge of the town, where they met several of their friends, who twitted them about having no game, and got up an argument as to which of the two hunters was the better marksman. The argument became a hot and angry one, and it was de cided that the only way to settle it was to shoot, and each man was to be the other's target. They repaired to a field, and, taking position back to back, started at a given signal from the third negro, the agreement being to ‘walk twenty steps, wheel and fire. Vanderberg walked faster than Mo lack, and, turning first, fired just as Molaek turned. Molack dropped his gun and staggered. Seeing this. Van dent rg ran, but Molack braced up, seized His gun, and gave chase, shout ing, “1 must have my shot.” Seeing he was about to be overtaken, Vander berg turned, and as he did so Molack fired, and then sunk exhausted in the snow. Vanderberg also fell. Both negroes were bleeding profusely, aud the field where they fell looked like a slaughter-house. Friends cared sos them. Both had their faces and armr filled with shot, and each lost an eye. The building of several woolen mills is in contemplation in lowa, Missouri and Illinois, the farm ra thinking it will be more profitable to manufacture their own goods then to wnd to East ern markets. f. C. SMITH. Mistier. Railroad “Beats.” A man who has been aecuatomedto traveling on railroads by hook or crook, without paying fare, has been detail ing some of his experiences to a Chi cago Times reporter. “A great scheme.”said he, “is to fee the yard master and have him seal you up in a freight car. The party must have a sharp knife. With this he cuts a round hole nearly through in the vicinity of the lock while on bis journey, and when he arrives he knocks a hole through the door and pulls out the piug, or breaks the seal fastening to the door, and walks away. On t.be Louisville and Nashville, Illinois Central, Atchi son, Topeka and Santa Fe, and many other roads, ‘empties’ are run with open doors, affording ample facilities to travelers, though sometimes the tables are turned by a trainman, who slyly locks the door which the traveler has closed in order to be more solitary. I remember coming over the Iron Moun tain once in a box car filled with cot ton bales. Some officious meddler shoved the end door together, and I remained in that car four days, finally gazing upon God’s glorious sunlight once more in the city of Cincinnati.” “Did you ever get caught?” “Not often, though I cannot tell ft lie. Ido not wholly deny the soft im peachment. A"ears ago it was a com mon thing for twenty or thirty toughs to board a train in Californi i and ride as far as they wanted. It was a strange sight to see the old miners, each with a blanket, riding on top of the freight cars. The Central Pacific, however, succeeded in getting some vory strin gent legislation through, and when fel lows in small numbers accepted the courtesy of a ride without pay, they were suddenly, severely and heavily sat down on. The scheme there among the knowing ones was for the three or four, or as many as happened to be captured, to swear that they bad each paid some trainman half a dollar, and the justice usually dismissed the case, for if the allegation came to the ears of the general officers of the Central Pacific they forthwith dismissed every man on that train. Tlie doors of loaded freight cars are frequently ‘sprung’ witli fist plates. The ‘fakir’ gets in, taking bis fist plate with him, and an outside party springs the door back. When the traveler has gone far enough he springs the door open with his fist plate, and walks forth. The interiors of mail cars, too, it is said, furnish excellent facilities for free riding if the mail agent is properly fed. The emigrant trains are all easy to work, and a man who can’t work his way in a high-toned emigrant car from Chicago to .San Francisco in ten days has not the stuff in him out of which milliouaires are made. If a fellow lias a little money with him with which to tip the conductor his journey will be as smooth and pleasant as the ab sence of rude remarks and unpleasant forebodings can make it. The last and highest form of free traveling is on passes. I usually go to the general managers of the roads direct. Some- . times I’m a missionary, at other times I’m on my way to locate huge paper mills on the line, and again I am the editor of a leading metropolitan paper. Very often I approach a man, repre senting myself as the general manager of the Sitka, Panama and Horn route,- or some other line. Sometimes . I boldly announee that my name is the; same as that of the general manager whom I address, and then suggest that I have forgotten his name. Ths' freight departments can usually be worked in case of failurs with the general manager. 1 quietly say to the general freight agent that 1 have one hundred cars of string beans that I want to ship in a week, but must arrange for their reception at destination. Will he give me a pass over his line and connections to Yoka homa and return? To be sure ho will.” Speaking with a general .superin- • tenileut of one of the leading Western roads, he told the reporter that a freight train had not left Chicago for ten years that did not carry a deadhead either under the trucks, in some freight ear, on the engine, In front of the en gine, or just back of and behind the cowcatcher, in a vacant place in which, ' if a tramp once gets snugly stowed, he . is safe for a ride until the train stops* The number of passes issued by the railroads lias of late years grown to enormous numbers. Some of the great Western roads, it is stated, issue as high as five thousand annual passes, while trip parses are munificently handed over to almost anyboJy who has the assurance to apply. It is not necessary to use water ift ■ pouring over a bonk.