A LYNCHING YARN.

Western Star, Issue 1969, 8 December 1894, Page 2 (Supplement)

A LYNCHING YARN.

It was early in the seventies, and a party, of three of u* were seated around a table in! a corner of a German beer-garden just offb-‘ side Chicago, and close to the shores of tha lake. A fourth Englishman was nob fari away. He was our comrade Barston, andhe was otherwise engaged than we. FoP' while we were wooing our pipes and glasses he was paying earnest and eager .court to a* lively and pretty a lass as you would like to, see at the end of a day’s march. ' Presently Barston and his sweetheart left, 1 and in about half-an-hour’s time he returned,' having safely seen Miss Warner to within, hail of her home. We had a few more glasses of beer, and then adjourned to ouplodgings. • lb was getting on for noon the next day,. and we were all busy packing up our good* and chattels, ready to cross the plains, when we heard an uproar in the street, and then shouts for Barston. We all went down in a body to ascertain the cause of the row. It was soon told in a dozen different keys, and in as many diverging ways; But it all came to the same thing. The story was this: After Barston had left Polly Cheadle at her parents’ door, and burned back to rejoin us, she had remembered a message that her father had given her for him, and she had hurried after him with the intention of delivering the message,and, of course going through the process of saying “good night” a second time. She had never returned, but her body had been found in the morning in a potato patch about half a mile away from the house. The condition and position of the body of the luckless girl told its own bale. She had been first seized and thrown down, then had been cruelly outraged, and then suffocated, in order that her assailant might never b« known. Bub the scoundrel had, as most of these scoundrels usually do, made a mistake. It was impossible, as long; as he had to cross soft ground, for him bo conceal hie identity from pursuers. For his left leg was clubfooted, and left such an imprint as could not possibly be mistaken for that of any other man than Squab-footed Jim. Hence, when these peculiar marks were found imprinted in the soft ground, the words “ Squabfooted Jim” passed rapidly from lip bo lip,. and one and all made haste in the direction of the hub which was known to be occupied by the suspected man. He was nob there, and his mother declared that he had nob been there for several days. But the denial availed nob. A minute search was at once instituted. The hut was rummaged, and so were all the sheds, &c., around it, while a party of men beat the surrounding woods. For hours was the search maintained, but without avail, until someone said, “ Why don’t you look down the well?” This well was situated about a quarber-of-mile from the house, had nob been used for years, and was covered with boards. A rapid investigation and inspection of these revealed the fact that they had recently been shifted, for the loose dirt, instead of laying on them in one uniform thickness, lay only in patches. To remove the boards was but the work of an instant, and then a score of hands seizfed the windlass and began to haul up tin chain.

Sure enough ifc was heavy ; there was something more than a bucket of water at the bucket end of the chain without a doubt, and the drum went round with a rattle. Presently above the brickwork loomed out the head and shoulders of squab-footed Jim, his face absolutely ivhile with fear, and in a few seconds a score of hands had seized him and he was laying upon his back orf the • sward, bound and helpless. Hurriedly a court'was constituted, and the miserable wretch put upon his trial. But he saved all unnecessary trouble in the way of proving his guilt by confessing it, and this only left his accusers and judges to decide upon his fate. It was soon settled—a flogging, and then to bebricked-up in the well, just out of reach of the water, and there left to perish of thirst and tion. j : Very methodically was the whole matt r gone about. A “chair” was rigged, in o which the negro, after the flogging, 1 w s strapped, and then lowered half-way dov i the shaft. Next the well was bricked ovt ), with the exception of a few inches in t } centre, and then, a guard being left to a ,5 that the neighbouring negroes did n 'i release him, the culprit was left to die. Ai \ die, of course, he did. For no one official t* informed the authorities of what had be V done, and the said authorities had too mui » sympathy with the lynchers to interfe '■ upon behalf of the lynched. And, so far J I am aware, the stone has never be* j removed from the top of the well as yet. 5 “ WAIT TILL I’M A MAN.” { 4 Schoolboy's essay on this subject reat 5 ex*ccly as follows: ■ “ When I grow big enuf hime a going fi t a Soger. I don’t want to be anythin else that bean the best thing a lad thats growed big enuf can be. “ I got a uncle wats a old Soger in the Royal Tillery. He told me when I see him that when he was as young as I was lie thort as he shud not be big enuf. So he used in stead of going to bed to hang all night by his arms to the rail acrost the top of the bedsbid and hang some thing heavy on bo both of his feet - which sbritched him. “ Like wise he told me that he used to eat his vitals laying down stid of standin up wich caused the vitals to do him good long ways stid of making him fat. We haini gob no bedstid so I cant. Bub I mear bo be an Honest and Hupright boy and do my best tords it. My uncle in the Royal Tillery he says that a Sogers life ia good for any young fellow the vitals bean as much as you can eat and the time 011 your own ans such that the larx and games are all that can be dezire. I thinks a British Sogers life is more nobler than bean a trade wab you have to work at. Sard I mean like my father and my brother joe do pushing barrowes and hiesting things about in thb market, by wich you dont get enuf to buy you as much vitals as you want to eat. Not. yet close. I : “ When you are a So»er they must nn*| you in all your close to fite for your Queen , and country in and weapins to fite against the enemy. When you win a batel and gets your per motion and likewise glory end a pension, which yu can live hapy and buy as much vitals as ever you wish. “ Yours respectfully “John Broomhead.” AN ECCENTRIC DRAMATIST. Sheridan Knowles was exceedingly eccentric, as the following anecdote will show : Some years ago an opera was produced at Covenb Garden, the story of which turned upon the love of a young count for a gipsy girl, whom he subsequently deserts for s lady of rank and fortune, and in the second act there was a f£be in the gardens of tin chateau in honour of the bride-elect. Mr. Binge, who played the count, was seated in an arbour near to one of the wings, witnessing a ballet. Sheridan Knowles, who had been in front during the previous part of the opera, came behind the scenes*, and, advancing as near as he could to Binge! without being in sight of the audience] called out to him, in a loud whisper,? “Binge!” ) Binge looked over his shoulder. “ V*i’ell, what is it?” j “ Tell me—do you marry the poor gipsy J after all ?” “ Yes,” answered Binge, impatient!*® stretching bis arm out behind him, making signs with it for Knowles to back. " Knowles caught his hand, pressed it fervently, and exclaimed : “God bless you. You are a goodi fellow !” “ What is the matter with your clei’k this morning? He seems very much pub out.” “So lie is. I’ve just discharged him.”