road, more bridle-path than road, along which we kept for a mile or so,
when the command ‘Halt!’ was again given. Leonard and I were ordered
to dismount and give up our arms. I had none; but my orderly was soon
deprived of his. We were again put upon our horses and strapped to the
saddles in not too gentle a manner. I ventured to ask where we were
going to and who my captors were; and was told we were being taken to
Mosby’s camp by some of his men; and furthermore, I was ordered to
keep absolute silence on pain of death. From this I inferred that we
had to pass very near some portion of our own camp or pickets, and for
a moment I hoped some chance might yet arise for escape. But during
the march we saw no soldier, or even camp-fire, and this road seemed
specially devised to allow free passage from the front to the rear
of our lines by any person who knew it. In about an hour or so we
came once more upon the highway. Night had fallen, but a young moon
partially illuminated the road.
The commander, a lieutenant of these free riders, reined his horse
to my side, and said we had passed the Yankee lines, and I could now
speak if I chose. I merely said the straps hurt me which bound me to
the saddle. We halted, and Leonard and I were untied, with a caution
that any attempt to escape would only end in our death. Two of the
guerrillas still led our horses, and the commander gave the order to
gallop. We moved rapidly, until about eight P.M. For some time we had
been ascending, and then slackening our pace a little. Suddenly, before
and below us, upon a plain of no great extent, I saw a camp of from
five to six hundred men. ‘Here we are,’ said the lieutenant; and in a
very short time Leonard and I found ourselves under strong guard in the
headquarters of Colonel Mosby at Rectortown. Under the same guard were
some score more of ‘Yankee’ prisoners. Supper being over, we were given
a little cold ‘hoe’-cake and the run of a pail of water for our share.
I found that some of these my fellow-prisoners were infantry-men; and
one lad of about fourteen was a drummer of infantry. The majority,
however, were cavalry-men caught wandering too far from their commands.
Apparently, I was the only commissioned officer; but as I wore a
private’s overcoat, my rank was not known to my fellow-prisoners for
some time.
The sentinels about us paced their beats; some of the men were asleep,
and I was sitting on a log smoking, when, by the dim light of the fire,
I saw a mounted figure approach. The figure halted at the guard; and
presently the sergeant in charge called out: ‘Fall in—fall in, you
Yankees. Hurry up. Get into line there.’ Finally, all being awake and
placed to suit him, he turned, and saluting the horseman, said: ‘The
prisoners are paraded, sir.’
‘How many have you?’ asked the rider.—‘Twenty-two in all, sir.’ And
then I felt we were in the presence of that terror of the valley,
Colonel John S. Mosby, the best provost-marshal Sheridan had in the
Shenandoah.
As Mosby advanced nearer to the camp-fire, I was struck with the lack
of daring in his face and manner; but I knew he had it, from his past
career. His manner was not ferocious or tyrannical, and he quietly
turned upon us his eye, which seemed to see the whole of us at a
glance. He spoke as follows: ‘Men, your commander has seen fit to
refuse all quarter to my soldiers when captured, and hangs or shoots
them on the spot. I do not approve of this kind of warfare; but I must
retaliate; and as I capture two of your army to every one you get of my
command, that is not difficult. Just now, the balance is against you,
and five of you twenty-two prisoners must die.’
You may imagine all were wide awake at this announcement.
‘It is not for me to order out any five of you to execution, so the
fairest way will be for you to draw for your lives.’ Turning to the
sergeant, he continued: ‘Get twenty-two pieces of paper prepared—five
numbered from one to five. Let the other seventeen be blank, and have
each man draw a ticket; and you supervise the drawing.’
The sergeant hastened away for the paper and a lantern. Hitherto, I
had said nothing to any one of my rank; but now, throwing aside my
overcoat, I stepped forward, and addressing the mounted officer, asked
him if he was Colonel Mosby. The reply came: ‘That is my name, sir.’
I was boiling over with indignation at this bloody action of the
guerrilla, and I said: ‘I am an officer and a gentleman; these men are
regularly enlisted soldiers of the United States army; surely you are
not going to treat them as spies or dogs, because they have fallen into
your hands through the fortune of war. What you propose, sir, is not
justice; it is assassination.’
I shall never forget the look on Mosby’s face as he turned toward
me, and said: ‘What justice would I get if I fell into the hands of
your soldiers? I tell you, sir, I value the life of the poorest of
my comrades far more than that of twenty Yankees. But I shall only
retaliate in kind—man for man, and that I will have. I was not aware,
sir, that you were an officer; but surely you can ask no better
treatment from me than I give your men?’
I said I wanted nothing more than he would grant to all, and stepped
back into my place in the ranks.
The sergeant returned just then, and the awful ‘Lottery of Death,’ as
I have ever since called it, began. When my turn came, I drew from the
hat a piece of paper; but I could not look at it—my heart stood still,
my knees trembled, my hand faltered; but suddenly, as from a horrible
dream, I was awakened by the word ‘Blank!—Fall back, sir.’
I was not to die by rope or bullet, at anyrate for a time. I cannot
describe to you my terror, my abject fear; nor do I know how I appeared
to others; but I do know I shall never suffer the fear of death again
so keenly.
The drawing was completed; the five victims separated from us; when,
suddenly, a boy’s voice was heard piteously asking for pardon, mercy,
anything but death. Colonel Mosby looked toward the little drummer-boy,
for he it was, and said: ‘Sergeant, is that boy one of the condemned?’
‘Yes, colonel,’ replied the sergeant.
‘Send him back in the ranks again; he is too young to die yet.’—And,
‘Captain,’ turning to me, ‘since you are so much afraid to die, we will
give you another chance.—Sergeant, place two papers—one numbered, the
other blank—in your hat, and let the captain and the man next him draw
again.’
At this second drawing, although I had only one chance in two of
escaping, I did not feel that abject fear that first overcame me, and I
stepped forward when ordered and drew another blank piece of paper. My
feeling was one of intense pity for the poor fellow who drew the fatal
number, and I hardly heard Mosby say: ‘Well, you are a lucky fellow,
captain.’
We were removed from the condemned that night. After two or three days,
with the aid of some friendly negroes and some burnt cork, I made my
escape, reaching our own lines in nine days.
Of the five condemned, two escaped, one by feigning death after being
shot, and the other was rescued by a friendly negro before death
ensued. These two men reached our army later on, and corroborated my
strange story of the ‘Lottery of Death.’ I think you will agree with me
that I had cause for showing fear at least once in my life.
ABOUT WEEDS.
Somebody once characterised ‘dirt’ as matter in a wrong place. Now,
a weed is a plant in the wrong place. It has a place in the economy
of nature, no doubt, unprofitable or even noxious as it may appear to
the farmer or gardener. It must not be forgotten, moreover, that even
the humblest weed is worthy of patient examination, and is a marvel of
physiological structure. Then, again, some of our hedgerow wildings
vie in beauty of form and elegance of habit with the cherished garden
plants. What have we more charming, for instance, than traveller’s joy
(_Clematis vitalba_), bryony, dogrose, or the large white bindweed? And
as to some other weeds, which of our garden plants figure so largely
in pictures as the foxglove, purple loosestrife (_Lithrum salicaria_),
the teasel, or the dock? Nevertheless, they are weeds, and as such, are
entirely out of place on the garden or farm. Robbers and usurpers are
they, to be ignominiously decapitated or uprooted, and consigned to the
rubbish-heap or the flames.
Nature, it must be remembered, never sleeps; she either rewards the
hand of the diligent with abundant harvests, or she scatters broadcast
her thorns and thistles, as a punishment for man’s neglect. The seeds
of many species of plants have wonderful vitality. We are not about to
quote the ‘mummy wheat’ as an example; but well-authenticated instances
are recorded of seeds that have preserved their vitality for upwards of
half a century. The seeds of the charlock and others of the Cruciferous
tribe are of an oily nature, and therefore capable of withstanding
the effects of moisture, and will germinate after being buried for
years. But the process of ‘soiling’ the banks of new railways affords
evidence of the long-continued vitality of seeds. The surface soil
which has been laid aside in heaps for the purpose, is thrown back and
spread upon the banks; and among the multitude of grasses and weeds
which spring up and form a dense emerald carpet, there are invariably
species seldom if ever found in the immediate neighbourhood. In the
case of forest fires in the Far West, almost an entire new vegetation
succeeds. Occasionally, the extensive moorlands in the neighbourhood
of Liphook, Hants, take fire, and burn for days. The heather is dotted
over with seedlings of Scotch fir, which is indigenous in the locality.
Many of these trees are consumed with the heather, and with them some
inches in depth of the dried surface. Seeds from the fir-cones, dropped
years ago, are partially relieved from the superincumbent pressure,
germinate, and in a few years supply the places of those that are
destroyed. But every summer breeze wafts the winged seeds of the
thistle, dandelion, the coltsfoot, groundsel, and many others, far and
wide. Borne aloft on their tiny parachutes, they sail along until a
summer shower bears them down to a moist, warm, resting-place in the
field or wild.
The great weed-army which infests farms and gardens in the British
Islands numbers about one hundred and thirty species, and consists
mainly of two great classes, namely, annuals (fruitful only once) and
perennials (capable of producing flowers and fruit time after time).
About a dozen, however, are biennials; four of these are thistles; and
the most familiar of the remainder are the foxglove and the hemlock.
Some of the most troublesome farm and garden pests are perennials,
and among these, the most mischievous in their rapidity of growth and
tenacity of life are the greater and lesser bindweeds (_Convolvulacea_)
and the couch-grass (_Triticum repens_). Unless the soil be well dug
and pulverised and thoroughly sifted, the attempt to eradicate either
of these will be useless; every half-inch of the white crinkled roots
of the bindweed or bit of couch-grass to which roots are attached will
grow. The greater bindweed, perhaps, is the most difficult to get
rid of, and is especially troublesome among evergreens. The tender,
semi-transparent shoots stand quite erect under evergreens until they
touch the lower branches; they then make rapid growth, and quickly
cover the whole head of a laurel, bay, laurustinus, or rhododendron
with a thick mantle of light-green leaves, twisted stems, and
snow-white trumpet-shaped flowers. Beautiful in its way, no doubt; but
what of the handsome shrubs it has stifled in its fatal caresses, and
what of the weeks of hard labour that must be expended in the attempt
to eradicate the pest?
In Italy, however, the white, underground stems of couch-grass are
carefully gathered by the peasantry, taken to market in bundles,
and sold as food for cattle and horses. They contain a considerable
amount of starch. A variety of couch called matt grass is extensively
used in Holland for binding together the sandy dunes and flats by the
sea. Coltsfoot is a very troublesome weed; a variegated form of it,
with handsome, bold, cream-edged leaf, is wonderfully persistent in
forcing its way to other feeding-grounds. In one case under our own
observation, its roots, which are tender and brittle, found their way
from a bed, beneath a four feet margin of turf and an eight feet wide
gravel path. The only place where one is not likely to find the root is
where it was planted! In the case of the weeds hitherto particularised,
it is useless to remove the part appearing above ground; and it is
also so with several of the thistles; unless cut beneath the crown or
collar, the result is simply to force the plant to make a fresh effort
by throwing out numerous side-shoots.
A year or two ago, we were reminded by the Prime Minister, in one of
his thoughtful and suggestive speeches at Hawarden, that ‘one year’s
seeding is seven years’ weeding.’ One can appreciate the repetition
of the adage when reflecting on the enormous increase of the common
groundsel, or the still more extraordinary multiplication of the
common poppy. All the year round, even when the temperature is below
the freezing-point, the small yellow blossoms of the groundsel may
be noticed, each with its bundle of winged seeds, while round the
parent plant are a host of young seedlings. But such is the prodigious
fertility of the common poppy, that a single plant will during its year
of life produce forty thousand seeds! a rate of increase that would,
it is computed, in the course of seven years cover the area of Great
Britain; and furnish, we may further reckon, enough opium to lull the
whole population into a last long sleep. The small seed escapes when
ripe through the apertures at the base of the capsule.
Next to the poppy and groundsel we may place the charlock, chickweed,
and corn marigold, all annuals, and to be easily got rid of before
flowering by hoeing. Some years ago, I was told by an intelligent
head-gardener in the island of Colonsay, in the west of Scotland, that
seeds of the oxeye daisy arrived in some packages from London. In the
course of a few years, oxeye had taken entire possession of the island.
It is a perennial, and also seeds plentifully, and is therefore more
difficult to destroy. Both the latter and the yellow corn marigold
(_Chrysanthemum segetum_) are now affected by the æsthetic world, and
are assuming importance as articles of commerce, thousands of bunches
being disposed of on market-days at Covent Garden.
Americans inform us that about two hundred and twenty species of weeds
have been imported into their country, mostly from the British Islands.
In 1837, there were said to be only one hundred and thirty-seven. The
common plantain is known among the Indians as the ‘Englishman’s foot,’
as though following the steps of the white settlers. The common yellow
toadflax was, it is said, introduced by a Mr Ranstead as a garden
flower, and is now known as the Ranstead weed. In 1788 it had overrun
the pastures in the inhabited parts of Pennsylvania, and was the cause
of bitter complaints. Chickweed is said to have been introduced as
bird-seed, and the Scotch thistle arrived in a bedtick filled with
thistle-down. Feathers being cheap, the bed of down was replaced by
feathers, and the former thrown by the wayside. The seed soon found a
congenial home. There is a troublesome American water-weed, however
(_Anacharis alsinastrum_), which has avenged our transatlantic cousins
threefold by choking our ponds, rivers, and canals. Another little
intruder from the Cape (_Azolla pinnata_) may be troublesome. It is a
charming little aquatic, and most interesting under the microscope.
Some one had thrown a handful of it on a pond we wot of, where the
common duckweed (_Lemna_) flourished; but azolla quickly monopolised
the whole surface and crowded out the duckweed.
With regard to weeds generally, it must always be borne in mind by the
farmer and gardener that they not only deprive the growing crops of
the food intended for _them_ only, but their presence robs the young
plant of the air, light, moisture, and heat essential for its healthy
development. It is quite possible, however, that some of the plants
we now condemn as weeds will some day be utilised as green crops and
ploughed in. The entire constituents of the crop are in such case
returned to the soil. It is unnecessary to allude here to another
aspect of the weed question further than to remark, that a garden owes
much of its charm and neatness to its order, cleanliness, and entire
absence of weeds.
TECHNICAL EDUCATION AT GORDON’S COLLEGE, ABERDEEN.
A little over two years ago (March 22, 1884), under the title of
‘A Practical Science and Art School,’ we gave an account of the
transformation that had taken place at Gordon’s College, Aberdeen, the
old ‘hospital’ having been converted into a day and evening school,
both possessing sections specially devoted to technical instruction.
The first independent examination of the College (day-school) has just
been made, the examiners being Professor Birrell of St Andrews, and
Professor Kennedy of University College, London, who report highly
on the appearance made and the work done by the pupils, and on the
general condition of the College. They mention that the College has
so prospered under its new constitution, that whereas the pupils in
attendance previous to 1881 at no time exceeded two hundred, the number
on the register for this session (1885-86) exceeds eight hundred. Of
these, one hundred and twenty are foundationers, who are entitled to
free education, books, and an allowance of £15, 12s. per annum for
maintenance and clothing, &c.; and this is all that remains of the
‘hospital’ system. We excerpt the portion of the Report bearing on
‘Handicraft,’ as being of general interest:
‘A certain number of the most promising boys in the third division are
allowed to receive workshop instruction for from one and a half to two
hours a week; while in the fourth and fifth divisions of the Commercial
School it forms a regular subject of instruction, to which about four
hours a week are allotted. Some boys have only one year of this work,
some (occasionally) over two years. A year and a half seems to be about
the average. The work done by individual pupils depends upon their
ability and probable future employment, each having free choice so far
as it is practicable. All boys occupy themselves with simple woodwork
for about a year after entering. Later on, they obtain practice in
fitter’s work (filing, chipping, scraping, &c.), and in work at simple
machine tools (simple and screw-cutting lathes and planing-machines),
also in forging and greensand moulding. Those who require it are
also taught something of tinplate and plumber’s work. From twenty to
twenty-five lads work in the workshop at one time—there is not room
for more. At present, about eighty lads in all are receiving practical
instruction in four detachments. Earlier in the session (a large
number of the more advanced boys having left for situations in the
early spring), the total number was about one hundred and twenty-five,
receiving instruction in five divisions.
‘For the purposes of inspection, we requested that boys at all the
different stages might be put in the workshop simultaneously, in order
that both elementary and advanced work might be examined. The younger
boys were making wooden joints, half-lap, scarf, dovetail, &c.; and
from this, various grades of work were represented up to the different
parts of a slide-rest lathe which was in process of construction.
There seemed no tendency to take the work as play; it was carried
on as seriously and in the same spirit as every other part of the
educational course. The results were correspondingly satisfactory. It
is not intended or supposed that work of this kind will supersede the
necessity of apprenticeship in practical work; but it is believed that
it will send the boys to their apprenticeship much better prepared than
they would otherwise be to take advantage of the opportunities they
then have of learning, and much more likely to be soon useful to their
employers. Carried on in the spirit in which the workshop at Gordon’s
College is carried on, these results are certainly achieved, and can
only be spoken of in terms of thorough commendation. The work turned
out by the boys was not, of course, equal to that of journeymen; but
judged from its own point of view, as the work of boys having had at
most very little training, it was as satisfactory in execution as in
intention.’
It may not be out of place to mention that Mr F. Grant Ogilvie, the
Science teacher at Gordon’s College, has recently been appointed
Principal of the Heriot-Watt College, Edinburgh; while Mr T. A. Clark,
Superintendent of the workshop at Gordon’s College, has been appointed
to the corresponding post at Heriot’s Hospital School.
AN EXPERIMENT IN CO-OPERATIVE FARMING.
We learn from a contemporary that the experiment in co-operative
farming now being made by the Duke of Portland on his Gringley
estate is exciting considerable attention in the country amongst all
classes. The farm referred to, consisting of about four hundred and
eighty-five acres, has been rilet, together with all the stock, horses,
and implements upon it, and with all the rights of the tenant, to an
association of six agricultural labourers. It is chiefly arable, there
being only thirty-six acres of grass; and the soil is a deep peat,
growing good wheat, and also oats, but not barley. The terms upon
which the farm is let or leased are, it is said, a fixed rent, payable
half-yearly. The tenant-right has been valued by parties mutually
chosen, and three per cent. is to be charged on the amount, to be paid
half-yearly with the rent. The horses, stock, and implements left upon
the farm have also been valued by the same valuers, and three per cent.
is to be charged thereon. The tenant-right, the stock, and implements
are at all times to be kept up after a style of good husbandry, and
the landlord, his agent, or servants are to have every facility shown
them to ascertain that the capital is being in no way deteriorated. The
shooting is not let with the farm. The agreement is the one usually
in force on the Duke’s estate, but it has been found necessary, under
the peculiar circumstances of the case, to enter into a subsidiary
agreement giving power to resume possession at any time, and this
document will necessarily come under the Bills of Sale Act. The amount
of the valuation is said to be £2431, 10s. The farm buildings are
in good order, and sufficient for the requirements of the farm. The
live-stock on the farm has been valued, as also the farming implements
and general stock, including sufficient seed-corn. There are four
houses on the farm; but in order to meet the requirements of the six
men and their families, two of the houses have been divided, and other
alterations may also be made. A deed of partnership is being drawn up
amongst the men, which shall be in force for seven years. Each man is
to receive a wage of four pounds a month; accounts are to be balanced
yearly; and after the rent, interest, and all other charges are
deducted, the remainder is to be paid over towards reducing the amount
of the valuation.
THE CONSUMPTION OF TEA.
The Australian colonies and New Zealand, according to one of the Indian
journals, drink far more tea per head of population than the British
Islands. The Australians come first, with 7.66 pounds per head; the New
Zealanders next, with 7.23 pounds per head; while the people of Great
Britain, though appearing third in the list, consume only 4.90 pounds
each. Newfoundland and Canada come next; while in the United States
the consumption is only 1.30 pound per head; and in Russia, which is
always regarded as a great tea-drinking country, the consumption is
only 0.61 pound per head. Belgium, Sweden, Austria-Hungary, and Spain
consume less than the other European nations; but there is not one
nation on the continent, with the exception of Holland, in which the
annual consumption exceeds one pound per head. But in certain parts of
the countries named, tea-drinking is much more common than in others.
In certain Russian districts, especially, tea is drunk constantly and
copiously, and it is this fact which has given rise to the notion that
Russia is the most bibulous of all tea-drinking countries.
TO A CHERRY BLOSSOM.
O cherry blossom! have you loved?
I have loved.
A maiden sweet as summer skies,
With tender lights in hazel eyes,
I have loved.
O cherry blossom! you are fair.
She was fair.
Her thoughts were whiter than your face;
She wore no proud pretending grace,
All so fair.
O cherry blossom! can you weep?
I can weep.
Her frail white form is buried now,
And over it the lilies blow—
Blow, and weep.
O cherry blossom! you will die.
All things die.
The sweetest things that we receive,
Ah, these of us take soonest leave—
You will die.
W. D. F.
* * * * *