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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
THE STRANGE CASE 
 
 OF 
 
 Henry Tope ass 
 
 AND Capt. Shiers 
 
 I 
 
 BV 
 
 JOHN W. POSTGATE 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 W: B, CONKEY COMPANl 
 
COPYRIGHT. 1898. 
 
 By MORRILL. HIGGINS & CO. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1898, 
 
 By W. B. con key COMPANY. 
 
f 
 
 
 
 
 . \ . 
 \ 
 
 ■t 
 
 
 * CONTENTS. 
 
 a . 
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER. 
 
 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 I 
 
 The Reporter’s Assignment. 
 
 
 
 7 
 
 II 
 
 The Reporter at Work. 
 
 - 
 
 
 15 
 
 III 
 
 A Salvation Sister. 
 
 
 - 
 
 27 
 
 IV 
 
 The Captain of the Army. 
 
 - 
 
 
 35 
 
 V 
 
 A Dreadful Shipwreck, 
 
 
 * 
 
 42 
 
 VI 
 
 The Curse of Rum. ' - 
 
 
 
 55 
 
 VII 
 
 Captain Shiers Goes Mad. • 
 
 
 m 
 
 65 
 
 VIII 
 
 Life in Lancashire. 
 
 • 
 
 
 71 
 
 IX 
 
 The Reporter Writes an Article. - 
 
 
 • 
 
 77 
 
 X 
 
 News of a Long Lost Uncle. - 
 
 • 
 
 
 83 
 
 XI 
 
 The Scar on His Forehead. 
 
 
 - 
 
 92 
 
 XII 
 
 Forebodings of Trouble. 
 
 m 
 
 
 100 
 
 XIII 
 
 The Doctor’s Strange Discovery, v - 
 
 
 - 
 
 
 XIV 
 
 At the Salvation Barracks. 
 
 • 
 
 
 X 2 I 
 
 XV 
 
 Little Bob’s Account of His Father. 
 
 
 • 
 
 128 
 
 XVI 
 
 Barton Tells His Story. 
 
 - 
 
 
 137 
 
 XVII 
 
 Jealousy at Work. 
 
 
 • 
 
 148 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Another Curious Complication. 
 
 m 
 
 
 *55 
 
 XIX 
 
 Captain Shiers Slips the Traces. • 
 
 
 •- 
 
 168 
 
 XX 
 
 Ned Barton Murdered. - 
 
 m 
 
 
 177 
 
 XXI 
 
 Breaking the News to Mrs. Shiers, 
 
 
 m 
 
 184 
 
 XXII 
 
 The Salvation Captain Dead. 
 
 m 
 
 
 192 
 
 XXIII 
 
 By the Grave at Woodlawn. 
 
 
 m 
 
 201 
 
 ■ ~v 
 
 939190 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE reporter’s ASSIGNMENT. 
 
 “See what you can make of this,” said the City 
 Editor one afternoon in June i88- when I reported 
 for duty as a member of the local staff of a Chicago 
 newspaper. He handed me the following clipping 
 from a rival journal: 
 
 There was an exciting scene at the meeting of 
 the Salvation Army last night. During their wild 
 and curious service, Captain Shiers placed his cornet 
 to his lips and played a few bars of “Nearer, my 
 God, to Thee.” A well-dressed lady in the audience 
 sprang to her feet and cried: “It is he! my husband, 
 oh! my husband!” and then fell fainting to the floor. 
 The meeting was at once thrown into a fever of ex¬ 
 citement. It was evident that the lady’s exclamation 
 had reference to the musical Salvationist, who is a 
 married man, and one of the most active members 
 of the noisy army. Captain Shiers was among the 
 first to rush to the assistance of the lady, who 
 quickly recovered from her fainting fit and threw 
 her arms around his neck, crying. “Oh! Henry, I 
 
8 
 
 THE reporter’s ASSIGNMENT. 
 
 have found you at last! Take me home! Take me 
 home! Captain Shiers seemed bewildered by the 
 lady’s conduct, and to increase the confusion into 
 which the meeting was thrown, his wife, who plays 
 the tambourine in the street parades, rushed for¬ 
 ward shouting, “The woman must be out of her 
 mind; this is my husband!” The two women stared 
 strangely at each other, while Captain Shiers, who 
 had recovered his self-possession, said calmly, “Fm 
 afraid you’re laboring under some delusion, ma’am; 
 Fve nivver seen you before; this is my waife.” The 
 tambourinist turned and glanced proudly into the 
 captain’s face, and then kissed him as though she 
 wished to give instant emphasis to^the fact that he 
 was truly her liege lord. For a moment or two the 
 lady who had caused the scene looked at them in a 
 dazed fashion, and then murmuring, “Oh! Fm sorry; 
 excuse me,” moved quickly out of the hall, and was 
 soon lost to view in the crowded street. The ser¬ 
 vice proceeded as usual after this strange interrup¬ 
 tion, Captain Shiers prayed for the poor afflicted 
 
 creature, as he termed the lady who had claimed 
 
 0 
 
 him as her husband, but his manner betrayed no un¬ 
 usual emotion. After the meeting he said to the 
 reporter, “It’s something beyond my ken. I nivver 
 
THE reporter’s ASSIGNMENT. 
 
 9 
 
 saw the woman before. Mebbe she wor carried wi’ 
 excitement—a kind of hysterical like—and she'll 
 forgit all aboot it by th’ morning. This is my waife; 
 we’ve been married sixteen years or mair.” He 
 looked lovingly at the tambourinist, who took his 
 arm proudly and confidingly as they left the meet¬ 
 ing place. No one knew the lady whose sensational 
 declaration and fainting fit added another to the 
 many queer scenes which this band of noisy fana¬ 
 tics have caused in Chicago. 
 
 “I think there is a story behind this,” continued 
 the City Editor, after I had read the article. “This 
 Captain Shiers, I am told, bears a close facial and 
 physical resemblance to Henry Toplass, the South 
 Water Street commission merchant who, you will re¬ 
 member, disappeared very mysteriously five or six 
 years ago. Toplass was an Englishman by birth and 
 a man of fair education. This Shiers has a strong 
 Yorkshire accent, and he speaks so naturally that 
 one can hardly believe it assumed. But for that 
 fact I could almost swear that he is the missing 
 Toplass. You notice that the lady called him Henry. 
 I have no doubt she is Mrs. Toplass, and that 
 she was attracted to the meeting by rumors of the 
 remarkable resemblance of the Salvationist to her 
 
10 THE reporter's ASSIGNMENT. 
 
 missing husband. Look into the matter carefully. 
 Call on Mrs. Toplass, and have a talk with Shiers 
 and his wife. If you find anything in the case write 
 it up for all it is worth. You may get a good 
 “scoop.” We can stand something lively about 
 those salvation cranks, who have been irritating the 
 public with their peculiar antics.” 
 
 I remembered the Toplass disappearance case, 
 which caused a profound sensation at the time. 
 The man was in a prosperous way of business and 
 lived in a handsome house on Prairie avenue. His 
 wife was one of the leading members of a South 
 Side Episcopal church. They had two pretty 
 children, and their domestic life was spoken of as 
 calm and happy. Toplass owned considerable real 
 estate and had a large sum invested in railroad se¬ 
 curities. Most of his property was transferred to 
 his wife a year before he disappeared. His habits 
 were reported correct in every respect. There was 
 apparently no blemish on his character. He seemed 
 devoted to his wife and children. To his clerks he 
 was kind and considerate, and he was always ready 
 with a substantial response to the calls of charity^ 
 In short, he had all the traits of an open-handed 
 
THE reporter’s ASSIGNMENT. 
 
 II 
 
 merchant, whose life was running in smooth and 
 congenial channels. 
 
 One Saturday morning in September, 187--, Mr. 
 Toplass kissed his wife and children good-by as 
 usual, promising to return early in the afternoon 
 and take them for a drive to South Park. He was 
 at the warehouse attending to business with his ac¬ 
 customed energy until lunch time, when he left mat¬ 
 ters in charge of his chief clerk, William Trowbridge, 
 remarking that he would be down early on Monday 
 morning to superintend some large shipments of 
 produce. After he turned south on Clark street, 
 Mr. Toplass was never seen again by any one who 
 knew him. 
 
 Mrs. Toplass and the little ones waited in vain 
 for the promised carriage ride. She thought busi¬ 
 ness detained her husband, and, while sorry for the 
 disappointment of the children who dearly loved an 
 outing with papa, gave herself no uneasiness until 
 after dinner, when the absence of Mr. Toplass be¬ 
 gan to alarm her. He rarely stayed away from the 
 evening meal without sending word. Something 
 had gone wrong, she was convinced, and when ii 
 o’clock struck and there was still no sign of her 
 husband, the suspense became unbearable, and she 
 
12 
 
 THE reporter’s ASSIGNMENT. 
 
 rushed to the Cottage Grove avenue police station 
 and startled the desk sergeant by a frantic declara¬ 
 tion that Mr. Toplass was robbed and probably mur¬ 
 dered. 
 
 The officer smiled when he ascertained that this 
 awful crime existed only in the imagination of his 
 excited visitor, and he said quietly: 
 
 “Do not be uneasy, madam; urgent business has 
 undoubtedly kept Mr. Toplass from home. He 
 will be with you safe and sound before long.” 
 
 The sergeant’s confident manner soothed Mrs. 
 Toplass, who was escorted home by a night patrol¬ 
 man. But she watched by the parlor window all 
 that night. Every footstep on the avenue caused 
 her to start with nervous fear; the tick of the clock 
 on the mantlepiece filled her with unutterable dread. 
 An awful foreboding of evil came upon the anxious 
 woman, and when the morning dawned and the sun 
 shot furtive rays through the curtains, her drawn 
 and haggard face told the story of that wretched 
 vigil. She looked ten years older than she did 
 when her husband kissed her good-by on Saturday 
 morning. 
 
 Unable to contain herself longer, by six o’clock 
 Mrs. Toplass was at the boarding house of Mr. 
 
THE reporter’s ASSIGNMENT. 13 
 
 Trowbridge on Wabash avenue asking tidings of her 
 missing husband. The clerk was visibly alarmed by 
 her inquiries. 
 
 “Not home yeti” he exclaimed; “I cannot under¬ 
 stand it. Mr. Toplass left the warehouse at one 
 o’clock yesterday afternoon stating that he was go¬ 
 ing home.” 
 
 Mrs. Toplass fell to the floor in a swoon. Con¬ 
 signing her to the care of his landlady, the clerk 
 posted off to police headquarters to set inquiries 
 afoot concerning his missing employer. Several 
 officers of the central detail were put to work on 
 the case, but no trace of Mr. Toplass could be found. 
 Days, weeks, and months passed, but despite the 
 most vigorous search and earnest inquiries through 
 the columns of the press, the movements of the 
 merchant from the time he turned homeward on 
 Clark street remained enveloped in mystery. 
 
 Suggestions of foul play led to no clue. There 
 was no apparent ground for Mr. Toplass deserting 
 his wife and family. His affairs were in excellent 
 shape; his business was prosperous; not the slight¬ 
 est of unfortunate entanglements was given by his 
 friends and associates. Blessed with a tranquil happy 
 home, himself of a sunny, sanguine temperament. 
 
14 
 
 THE reporter’s ASSIGNMENT. 
 
 none suggested suicide as a solution of the mys¬ 
 tery. 
 
 The detectives, with their customary perspicuity 
 decided that it was a case of robbery and murder, 
 but they did not produce a particle o'f evidence to 
 substantiate this theory. Up to this day the fate of 
 Mr. Toplass was surrounded by dense and impene¬ 
 trable obscurity. 
 
 Such, in brief, was the history of this mysterious 
 disappearance. This incident at the Salvation army 
 meeting recalled the circumstances vididly to my 
 mind. The simple intimation that Captain Shiers 
 was wonderfully like Henry Toplass was sufficient in 
 itself to arouse the professional ardor of a reporter. 
 With curious thoughts flashing through my mind I 
 put my wad of copy paper in my pocket and started 
 on the assignment. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE REPORTER AT WORK. 
 
 Like the City Editor, I had jumped to the con¬ 
 clusion that Mrs. Toplass was the woman who in¬ 
 terrupted the meeting of the Salvationists, and, also 
 like him, I had an earnest hope that Captain Shiers 
 would prove to be Henry Toplass, and thus settle a 
 case which had given an army of astute detectives 
 no end of trouble and solicitude. This hope, I may 
 add by way of explanation, sprang directly from the* 
 news instinct which governs the work of most re¬ 
 porters, and not from a desire, as some readers may 
 imagine, to revel in the salacious particulars such a 
 discovery might bring to light. 
 
 Nothing gives a newspaper man more satisfac¬ 
 tion than the solution of mysteries which have in¬ 
 terested the public and baffled the investigating 
 skill of self-styled experts. 1 f Captain Shiers turned 
 out to be the missing merchant, the public would 
 not rest content until all the details of his strange 
 disappearance, his curious masquerading and peculiar 
 relations with the sister who proudly called him 
 
l6 THE REPORTER AT WORK. 
 
 husband, were spread out in the columns of the 
 press. A metamorphosis of this kind is uncommon 
 even in these days of startling sensations, and the 
 wildest interest would be aroused by its exposure. 
 Besides, such is the unconquerable bias of society 
 when its prejudices are touched, it would intensify 
 the dislike of this strange band of religionists, who 
 think bass drums and trumpets, tambourines and 
 castanets, weird groans and wild articulations aug¬ 
 ment the saving power of the Gentle Master's name. 
 
 It was with some misgivings that I set out for 
 the Toplass residence. The task allotted me was a 
 delicate one. Few persons like to talk of their pri¬ 
 vate sorrows for publication, and every reporter has 
 a profound respect for the sanctity of grief and do¬ 
 mestic tribulation. It is true that the contrary 
 opinion prevails in non-professional circles; but if 
 those who rail about the alleged prying proclivi¬ 
 ties and heartlessness of news-gatherers had an ink¬ 
 ling of the many scandals mercifully suppressed in 
 the local room of a daily newspaper, they would 
 stand aghast at the unrevealed wickedness of the 
 world, and ask pardon of the reporters for their 
 ignorant and ill-natured censure. 
 
THE REPORTER AT WORK. 
 
 17 
 
 Now, although the disappearance of Henry Top- 
 lass was common property in a news sense, and the 
 publicity at the time of its occurence one of the best 
 means for determining his fate, yet it was improba¬ 
 ble that his wife would willingly divulge the circum¬ 
 stances which led her to attend the salvation meet¬ 
 ing and impelled the hysterical declaration that 
 Captain Shiers was her long-lost spouse. A knowl¬ 
 edge of these circumstances was necessary for the 
 investigation; how to obtain that knowledge, should 
 Mrs. Toplass shrink from disclosing the facts, was 
 the problem which confronted me when I presented 
 my card at No. — Prairie Avenue and requested an 
 audience. 
 
 I was shown into the parlor, and the neat house¬ 
 maid returned with the message that Mrs. Toplass 
 would join me in a few moments. Over the mantel 
 was the full-length portrait of a good-looking portly 
 man; it bore the signature of Ivan Peronet, and 
 was a strong and artistic piece of work. I surmised 
 at once that it was a counterfeit presentment of 
 Henry Toplass, and I made a close study of the face 
 and figure for professional purposes. 
 
 ^he face was a striking one. The forehead 
 
 broad, white and unwrinkled; the eyes a deep hazel, 
 2 G 
 
1 8 THE REPORTER AT WORK. 
 
 and with a steady, frank expression; the nose rather 
 short, fleshy and wide at the nostrils; the lips full 
 and sensual, with an incurve at the corners which 
 physiognomists say is a sure sign of weakness or : 
 irresolution. A brown mustache partly concealed 
 this defect. Otherwise the face was pleasing. It - 
 was open and honest and suggestive of kindliness ' 
 and good temper. The poise of the head denoted 
 self-possession and intelligence, and I found it difli- . 
 cult to conceive that such a man could be the leader 
 of a straggling band of religious enthusiasts 
 whose grotesque attire and curious customs laid . ' 
 them open to the abuse and scorn of ribald mobs. 
 
 While I was thus dissecting the character of ^ 
 Henry Toplass as disclosed by the portrait, Mrs. 
 Toplass entered the parlor and with a timid, nervous 
 air asked the object of my visit. She was a slender, 
 delicate woman, with large mournful gray eyes and 
 deep lines over her upper lip that told plainly of ^ ^ 
 sorrow and suffering. Her face had been beautiful; . 
 it was still refined and interesting; but the cheeks 
 were thin and sallow, and her brow, high and finely 
 curved at the temples, was creased by the busy 
 
 ■y 
 
 hand of carking care. Her manner was gentle and 
 womanly; her voice low and softly toned, albeit 
 
THE REPORTER At WORE. !9 
 
 there was a timorous quiver in it suggestive of grief 
 and anxiety. 
 
 “Pardon me, Madam,” I said, deeming it best to 
 plunge at once into the subject, “owing to an inci¬ 
 dent that occurred at the salvation army meeting 
 last night—” 
 
 “For pity's sake,” interrupted Mrs. Toplass, 
 wringing her hands nervously, “let that matter drop. 
 I was mistaken, sadly mistaken. That man cannot 
 be my husband. No! Henry would never turn a 
 deaf ear to the yearning cry of his wife's heart.” 
 
 I did not expect so sudden a verification of the 
 surmise that Mrs. Toplass was the lady who caused 
 the scene at the Salvation Army meeting. Her 
 acknowledgment promised well for the groundwork 
 of a sensational story. The plaintiveness of her 
 last words indicated a lingering doubt as to the 
 identity of Captain Shiers. 
 
 “Then you really believed your husband was 
 conducting the meeting?” I asked. 
 
 “Oh, yes I” she replied, tears springing into her 
 eyes, “I seemed to hear Henry’s own voice; the form 
 and face were the same; the expression of the eyes 
 and little tricks of action—all brought up the pic¬ 
 ture of my husband, whose absence I have mourned 
 
20 THE REPORTER AT WORK. 
 
 night and day for five weary years, and I cried out 
 in supreme desolation of spirit. But, Ah ! sir, I was 
 deceived. I suppose the strange likeness and the 
 familiar tones of voice wrought upop my anxious 
 heart until I scarce knew what I was doing. It was 
 a trying moment, sir, and my feelings overcame 
 me. 
 
 Mrs. Toplass covered her face with her hands 
 and sobbed bitterly. Before I could frame any 
 words of sympathy she mastered the tears and 
 begged of me to keep further mention of the affair 
 out of the newspapers. 
 
 “It can do no good,*' she said mournfully, “to 
 revive the story of my husband's disappearance or 
 to dwell upon the grievous mistake I made last 
 night. Think of my suffering, sir; do not, for Heav¬ 
 en’s sake, probe again the wound of a sacred sorrow. 
 You may do harm to my—to this Captain Shiers, 
 who is evidently a devout and earnest man.” 
 
 Mrs. Toplass gave a sigh of relief when I told 
 her that nothing had yet been published that con¬ 
 nected either herself or missing husband with the in¬ 
 cident of the previous night. 
 
 “Oh ! I am so thankful,” she cried. “It would be 
 such an awful thing if— 
 
 II 
 
THE REPORTER AT WORK. 
 
 21 
 
 She stopped abruptly and looked into my face 
 with some confusion. Could it be that, despite the 
 man’s emphatic denial, she still believed him to be 
 her husband? Trusting to woman’s impulsiveness 
 to settle this suspicion, I put the question bluntly. 
 
 “Tell me plainly, madam; do you still think Cap¬ 
 tain Shiers is your missing husband?” 
 
 A look of anxiety overspread her face as she 
 replied: 
 
 “Oh ! I do not know; I do not know what to 
 think. He is so much like Mr. Toplass in face and 
 manner, and, then, the way he played that hymn— 
 it was so like Henry !” 
 
 The newspaper paragraph stated that the hys¬ 
 terical cry of the unknown lady quickly followed 
 the captain’s cornet solo. I thought of this as I in¬ 
 quired: 
 
 “Did Mr. Toplass play the cornet?” 
 
 “No, sir; but at times he used to amuse the chil¬ 
 dren by imitating musical instruments, and one of 
 his favorite tunes was “Nearer, my God, to Thee.” 
 When I heard that played last night a peculiar turn 
 of the player recalled those happy days to my mind. 
 It seemed as if we were all around the fireside 
 again I seemed to see Henry romping with the 
 
22 THE REPORTER AT WORK. 
 
 little ones; I seemed to hear the notes of the hymn 
 dropping from his lips. It was so real, so cruelly 
 vivid. I cried out to Henry, and the picture van¬ 
 ished. It was a bitter, bitter trial.*' 
 
 The woman bent her head again and wept. I 
 was disappointed by her explanation. The task of 
 unmasking Captain Shiers would have been easier 
 had Mr. Toplass been a cornet player, as there 
 is a distinctiveness of style in the manipulation of 
 that instrument almost as valuable for detective 
 purposes as peculiarities in handwriting. But this 
 imitative faculty of the missing merchant was worth 
 remembering, and I made a mental note of it for 
 use during the inquiry. 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Toplass became composed, 1 
 asked: 
 
 “How did you learn of the resemblance of Cap¬ 
 tain Shiers to your husband?” 
 
 “Through one of the servants,” she answered. 
 “The girl, who was with us in the happy days, at- 
 tended a meeting of the Salvation army and was 
 startled by the surprising likeness. The man 
 dosen’t talk like Mr. Toplass,” she told me, “but he 
 has the same heavy voice, the same shrug of the 
 shoulders, and were it not that his hair is grayer 
 
THE REPORTER AT WORK. 
 
 23 
 
 and thinner about the temples, I could almost swear 
 to him/’ This information perplexed me. I could 
 not believe that Henry would play a double part. 
 I could not imagine him in any such role. I had 
 almost given him up as dead. More out of curios¬ 
 ity than any belief that I should find Henry, I went 
 to the meeting last night, and you know the sad re¬ 
 sult.” 
 
 Mrs. Toplass was very much agitated during 
 this recital. It was plain that hen experience of the 
 previous night would harass her for many days to 
 come. A certain hesitancy in her utterance at times 
 convinced me also that she was not fully satisfied 
 at heart that Captain Shiers was the man he pre¬ 
 tended to be. But I thought it impolitic to pursue 
 that point at present; I wanted to see the Salvation¬ 
 ist and gauge his character before venturing further 
 on so delicate a topic. 
 
 After a pause Mrs. Toplass timidly asked how 
 her identity had been discovered. 
 
 “The city editor was struck by the resemblance 
 between Captain Shiers and Mr. Toplass,” I replied. 
 
 “Did he express any decided view about it?’’ 
 she asked anxiously. 
 
24 
 
 THE REPORTER AT WORK. 
 
 “Yes. He said were it not for the Yorkshire 
 accent of the man he could almost swear that Cap^ 
 tain Shiers and Mr. Toplass were one and the same 
 person.” 
 
 “Yes, the accent is strange and bewildering,” she 
 said musingly; “it is hardly possible that it could 
 be assumed for the purpose of deception. Henry’s 
 voice was pleasant and refined, while this man is 
 course and rather vulgar. But (recovering herself 
 with a start) what am I thinking about? It is only 
 a remarkable facial resemblance—that is all.” 
 
 Something in her manner prompted me to ask 
 whether any domestic difficulty preceded the dis-, 
 appearance of Mr. Toplass. 
 
 “No, sir,” was the somewhat sharp response, as 
 a slight flush rose in her cheeks; “our domestic life 
 was calm and serene. Mr. Toplass was all any 
 woman could wish as a husband and father; he 
 loved his home and his children, and his sole 
 thoughts were for our happiness. Ah! me! But 
 why prolong this inquiry, sir; it is very painful 
 to me. I am very sorry I went to that meeting, 
 since it has reopened the wound of my great sorrow, 
 and may cause annoyance to a worthy mam” 
 
THE REPORTER AT WORK. 
 
 25 
 
 As I rose to take my leave, Mrs. Toplass again 
 entreated me, with tears in her eyes, to let the mat¬ 
 ter drop. 
 
 “You are the only reporter I have talked with on 
 this subject for several years,” she said, “you are 
 the only person who has identified me as the woman 
 who caused the scene. Pray be merciful and do 
 not use this advantage. Promise me not to print 
 anything else about it.” 
 
 “I must report to the office,” I replied, “Wheth¬ 
 er anything else is published or not will depend 
 very much on what Captain Shiers has to say.” 
 
 “Then you are going to see him,” she cried in a 
 tone of alarm. 
 
 “Yes, my instructions are to interview him.” 
 
 “Dear, dear, this is dreadful.” 
 
 Mrs. Toplass wrung her hands so pitifully and 
 looked so woe-begone that I assured her nothing 
 should be published that would give her pain. « 
 
 “Captain Shiers will doubtless regard the matter 
 as an odd case of mistaken identity,” I said, “and 
 repeat that he knows nothing of the lady who 
 caused the excitement. Then, if you will promise 
 me one thing, in giving his explanation I will take 
 
26 
 
 THE REPORTER AT WORK. 
 
 care that neither your name nor that of your hus-> 
 band is mentioned in the report.” 
 
 “What must I promise?” she eagerly asked. 
 
 “To see no other reporter until you hear from 
 
 me. 
 
 “I will gladly pledge myself to that,” she re¬ 
 sponded with a faint smile. “To avoid other inter¬ 
 viewers I will visit relatives on the west side for a 
 few days.” 
 
 “A very good plan. Perhaps you will not have 
 any other callers, but to avoid accidents I would 
 advise you to instruct your servants to tell all in¬ 
 quirers that you have gone out of town,” 
 
 Mrs. Toplass agreed to this, and gave me the 
 address of her relatives so that I might inform her 
 personally of the result of my interview with the 
 salvation captain. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A SALVATION SISTER. 
 
 In making this arrangement with Mrs. Toplass 
 I had two objects in view. I wanted, first, to get 
 her beyond the reach of other newspaper men who 
 might scent a sensation in the occurrence of the 
 previous night, and second, I wished to establish 
 friendly relations with the unfortunate lady whose 
 distress not only aroused my sympathy, but 
 strengthened the impression that in Captain Shiers, 
 the enthusiastic Salvationist, she had really recog¬ 
 nized her missing husband.. Everything seemed to 
 be working in the direction of a first class “scoop,” 
 and, while I was naturally elated over the outlook, 
 I wished to guard myself from being surprised or 
 forestalled by a professional rival. All reporters 
 will appreciate my position. A “scoop”of this im 
 portance would be a big-feather in my cap, even 
 if it did not lead to a pleasant interview with the 
 cashier. 
 
 I had no difficulty in finding Captain Shiers’ 
 quarters. He and his wife “kept house” in three 
 
28 
 
 A SALVATION SISTER. 
 
 rooms over a grocery store on South Halsted street. 
 The rooms were scantily furnished, but there was 
 an air of cleanliness about them which was refresh¬ 
 ingly wholesome in that neighborhood. It was 
 Mrs. Shiers who answered my knock and invited 
 me into the small sitting-room. Woman-like she 
 apologized for the meagreness of the apartment, 
 but, as she dusted a creaking chair for my accom¬ 
 modation, she added with cheerful resignation: 
 
 “If we are not rich in this world’s goods, sir, yet 
 vje find the Lord’s work is pleasant and profitable 
 under all conditions and circumstances. - One can 
 be happy in a garret if His divine love sustains us.’’ 
 
 Mrs. Shiers was a pleasant-featured little woman, 
 with rich auburn hair, and large hopeful blue eyes. 
 In repose her face showed some traces of care, but 
 when she spoke it was radiant with peace and con¬ 
 tent. Her words were well chosen and the sentences 
 clear-cut and refined. There was no suggestion 
 of cant in her conversation; an earnest, soulful 
 piety seemed to pervade her, and one forgot as he 
 looked in her bright peaceful face and listened to 
 her soft cheerful voice, that she played the 
 tambourine in street parades, and sonletimes 
 
A SALVATION SISTER. 
 
 2g 
 
 shrieked wildly in exhortation during the excitement 
 of a semi-barbaric service. 
 
 Mrs. Shiers divined my mission when I told her 
 I was a reporter and wished an interview with her 
 husband. 
 
 “Yes, I understand,” she remarked quietly, “you 
 want to see him about the affair of last night. John 
 and I talked the matter over; we are very sorry for 
 the poor lady, who seemed so grieved and dis¬ 
 tressed. Do you know who she is?” 
 
 “Yes,” I answered, looking steadily in her face, 
 “she is a wealthy lady whose husband disappeared 
 in a strange manner about five years ago. She was 
 told of the remarkable resemblance Captain Shiers 
 bore to him, and went to the meeting last night out 
 of curosity and was carried away by her feelings.” 
 
 “How sad,” exclaimed the little woman in atone 
 of deep sympathy, “and she really thought Captain 
 Shiers was the missing one. Ah 1 I can enter into 
 her feelings; there is no desolation like unto that of a 
 deserted wife, no misery so acute as that of a sor¬ 
 rowing woman listening for a familiar footstep, 
 longing for the ‘touch of a vanished hand and the 
 sound of a voice that is still.’ Poor, stricken thing. 
 I do hope she has found comfort in the Savior, that 
 
A SALVATIOJj SISTER. 
 
 she has thrown the burden of her grief at His feet 
 and secured that peace and consolation which the 
 world cannot give, but which is the sweet portion of 
 those who trust in the Lord during sunshine and 
 storm.” 
 
 A rapt, reverential look came over Mrs. Shiers’ 
 face; she lifted her eyes heavenward as she spoke, 
 and the tender tones of her voice came straight 
 from the well-spring of a devout and loving heart. 
 All thoughts of interrogating this woman, who was 
 evidently well and deeply learned in the mysteries 
 of human sorrow, left my mind. She said her 
 husband would be home presently, and while wait¬ 
 ing for him, as I refrained from further mention of my 
 business, we drifted into a conversation on the aims 
 and methods of the Salvation Army. 
 
 As might be expected, Mrs. Shiers was an 
 enthusiast on this subject. “The army,” she said, “was 
 not organized to supplant existing forms of devo¬ 
 tion: it was not expected that its barracks would 
 take the place of the churches of any denomination, 
 but it was intended to reach a class of people whom 
 the churches, with their formal ritual, prosperous 
 ministers and well-dressed pewholders, did not 
 attract. The blare of trumpets, the thunder of 
 
A SALVATION SISTER. 
 
 31 
 
 drums, and the jingle and rattle of tambourines 
 were necessary to awaken the dull sensibility of the 
 lower strata of society; the red-striped uniform, 
 the military caps, the martial air of the commanders, 
 and disciplined obedience of the rank and file, 
 filled the common ideal of the army of the Lord and 
 largely aided the assaults on the strongholds of sin. 
 In crowded quarters where the conditions of life 
 are severe and the temptations to carnal indulgence 
 strong, the beat of the Salvation drum warned sin¬ 
 ners of thSir mortal peril and rallied them to the 
 Cross. The work of the army was largely mission¬ 
 ary in its nature; it carried news of the gospel to 
 places where ministers seldom penetrated, and coun¬ 
 teracted the vice and misery which seem inseparable 
 from foul air, vile surroundings and squalid pov¬ 
 erty.” 
 
 “There are such districts in every large city,” 
 said Mrs. Shiers, “and from them we obtain our 
 most valuable recruits, for no man can touch the 
 heart of the weary, oppressed, struggling poor like 
 one who has experienced the hardships of their lot 
 and knows the full measure of their trials and mis¬ 
 fortunes. Ah! sir, many a. noble soul is groveling 
 in the by-lanes and alleys of this great city whom 
 
p 
 
 A salvation sister. 
 
 the sound of the drum will yet awaken to a burning 
 consciousness of guilt, and, who, saved by the 
 glorious grace of salvation, will in turn rescue hun¬ 
 dreds of his fellows from the grinding bondage of 
 sin. It is a great work, sir, the saving of souls.” 
 
 The woman grew eloquent as she dilated on this 
 work. There was no mistaking her earnestness or 
 her simple, trustful piety; she had the elements of 
 a saint in her composition, and undoubtedly found 
 the mild species of persecution to which many of 
 the Salvation sisters have been subjected act like 
 balm on her martyr-like spirit. I hinted that it 
 must be unpleasant to parade the streets and 
 hearken to the scoffs and jeers of the mob. 
 
 “Unpleasant 1” she exclaimed reprovingly; “no, 
 sir; it is one of the greatest joys of my heart to 
 know that I am doing the Master’s work. What is 
 the laugh or scorn of the world to me? I have 
 known what it is to sit with the scornful, and I 
 thank God sincerely for showing me the sinfulness 
 of my heart and washing me clean in the blood of 
 the Lamb. The jeers and ribalry of the crowd 
 only make me more determined to do all in my 
 power to defeat the machinations of the devil and 
 liberate souls from the thraldom of sin.” 
 
A SALVATION SISTER. 33 
 
 “How long have you been an active member of 
 the army?” I asked. 
 
 “Only four years,” she responded with a sigh, 
 “I count every day prior to my conversion as mis¬ 
 spent and lost. It was a glad day when John came 
 home from his pilgrimage a changed man. We had 
 been separated a long time, sir. He was a head¬ 
 strong, sinful man for years after our marriage, but 
 
 his heart was all right; he was only blinded and 
 
 % 
 
 maddened by the snares and pitfalls of the evil one. 
 The Salvation Army saved his soul, sir. It kept 
 him from drink, it softened his spirit, it moulded 
 his passionate nature into tenderness and fired his 
 heart to work for Christ. The holy peace of the 
 last few years has repaid me a hundredfold for the 
 miseries and wretchedness of the past. I praise 
 God every hour for his great mercy to John and 
 myself; had I a thousand lives I would gladly con¬ 
 secrate them to the cause which has wrought such 
 a wonderous, glorious change in our hearts.” 
 
 It did one good to listen to this enthusiastic 
 
 advocate of a band of workers whose sole worldly 
 
 portion, according to my restricted vision, consisted 
 
 in jibes and jeers and vulgar abuse. The past to 
 
 which Mrs. Shiers so pathetically referred to must 
 3G 
 
34 
 
 A SALVATION SISTER. 
 
 have been a dismal one, since it was hard to con¬ 
 ceive that this refined and sensitive woman could 
 ally herself to the Salvationists unless the condi¬ 
 tions of her life had been uncommonly dreary and 
 severe. I was on the point of asking about the 
 separation of herself and husband when a heavy 
 step was heard on the creaking stairs. 
 
 “Here comes John,** she cried, her face illumi¬ 
 nated with smiles; “he will be very glad to see you 
 and give you his version of that unfortunate occur¬ 
 rence at the meeting last night.’* 
 
 The door opened and a splendid specimen of 
 physical manhood stepped into the room, saying, in 
 a strong, cheery voice: 
 
 “Iw’ve browt steak for supper, lass. Gieusakiss 
 an* git it riddy. Iw’m welly clemmed, and we maun 
 be stirrin* early to-neet.** 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN OF THE ARMY. 
 
 Captain Shiers was a living counterpart of the 
 portrait in Mrs. Toplass* parlor. He had the same 
 well-knit form, the same broad intellectual forehead, 
 the same kindly, steadfast eyes, the same expression 
 of geniality and good humor. True, as the servant 
 described, the hair was mixed with gray and thin¬ 
 ning around the temples, and there were slight 
 wrinkles on the brow which were not in the paint¬ 
 ing, but those finger marks of time did not affect 
 the striking likeness, and I was not surprised that 
 Mrs. Toplass had been moved into greeting him as 
 her husband. 
 
 He came into the little sitting-room with a light, 
 elastic tread; his frank face was wreathed with 
 pleasant smiles, and the blithe and cheery tone of 
 his deep chest voice seemed to derive additional 
 charm from the strong Yorkshire dialect. He caught 
 sight of me as he advanced towards his wife with 
 the beefsteak wrapped in brown paper. 
 
 ‘‘Excuse me, sir,” he said with homely courtesy, 
 “I thowt Lizzie wor aloan. We family folk hev got 
 
$6 THE CAPTAIN OF THE ARMY. 
 
 to luke efter th’ inner mon and thou munnat maind 
 th* saight of a bit of provender.” 
 
 Mrs. Shiers took the parcel from his hand and 
 said, smilingly: 
 
 “This gentleman is from one of the newspapers, 
 -John; he wants to hear what you have to say about 
 what happened at the meeting last night.” 
 
 “Ah! that's aril reet,” he responded in the same 
 hearty manner, as he drew up a chair near where I 
 sat; “I cannot tell him mair than what wor printed; 
 but go ahead wi' thy questions, lad.” 
 
 “The lady who interrupted you,” I said, “has had 
 a very sad experience. Captain. When she cried 
 out in the meeting she was firmly convinced you 
 were her husband, who disappeared several years 
 ago and concerning whom nothing has since been 
 learned.” 
 
 “Poor creetur!” said the man with true sympa* 
 thy in his voice, “and she thowt I wor her mon. 
 Mebbe her head wor a little turned.” 
 
 “She certainly is distracted with grief, but other¬ 
 wise she is perfectly responsible.” 
 
 “What does thou meen?” he asked quickly, with 
 a puzzled expression on his face, “thou certainly 
 doesn’t think I’ve got two wives, eh?” 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF THE ARMY. 
 
 37 
 
 “No, certainly not, sir,” I hastened to respond, 
 as I noticed a shadow flash across Mrs. Shiers’ brow; 
 “certainly not, but you bear such a striking resem¬ 
 blance to the missing man that I thought you might 
 probably be a relative.” 
 
 “What wor his naame?” 
 
 “Henry Toplass; he was a commission merchant 
 of Chicago.” 
 
 “Toplass!” he exclaimed, in amazement. “Why, 
 that wor my mother’s maiden naame, but we’ve no 
 relations in America, and I doan’t know of ony in 
 oor family who lukes laike me. It bean’t a common 
 naame, neither; there’s nobbut a few Toplasses in 
 Yorkshire, and we can traace them for welly a hun¬ 
 dred years back.” 
 
 “Would you mind giving me a little of your 
 family history, sir?” I asked. 
 
 “Why, no. I’ve no objections to that, lad,” was 
 the ready response, “but I cannot see what good 
 it’ll do. My naame’s not Toplass, and I nivver set 
 foot in Chickargo until three months back, when I 
 came to work i’ th’ Lord’s vineyard.” 
 
 “But the name, you say, belongs to your moth¬ 
 er’s family, and, then, this strong resemblance which 
 misleads e¥ - 
 
38 
 
 THE CAPTAIN OF THE ARMY. 
 
 “Coom, coom,” said the Salvationist, with a 
 slight chuckle and a humorous twinkle in his eyes! 
 “doan’t beat abawt th’ bush, my lad. Oot wi’ it, 
 Thou cam* here thinkin* thou’d faind this wooman*s 
 husband; noo didn’t thou? Speeak oot laike a 
 mon!” 
 
 “Well, as you put it that way,” I stammered, 
 being a little surprised by the Captain’s good hum^ 
 ored bluntness, “I must confess the situation was a 
 strange one, but—” 
 
 “But,” he interrupted in the same bluff fashion, 
 “but efter seein’ and talkin’ wi’ my lass, thou didn’t 
 think I could be so treacherously bad as to deceave 
 this little wooman, cruelly leave th’ other yane to 
 pine her life awaay, and act th’ pairt of a lyin’ hyp¬ 
 ocrite in th’ saight of my Maaker. Bean’t that it?” 
 
 “John,” said his wife, before I could frame a 
 reply, “the gentleman has said nothing of the kind. 
 Don’t be foolish, dear.” 
 
 She stepped to his chair and stroked the man’s 
 forehead gently. He caught her hand and /lissed 
 it, and from the look they exchanged—a soft, 
 warning expression on her part and a responsive, 
 assuring glance on his—I imagined t eCaptain 
 \yas not always sure of his temper. 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF THE ARMY. 
 
 39 
 
 “Don’t be afeered, lass,” he said with a pleasant 
 smile; “th* owd Adam is deed enuff noo. Thank 
 God! th’ daay when unjust suspicion and fause accu¬ 
 sation could roose me is lang past. I nobbut wanted 
 this lad to be oot-spoken—to show me reet awaay 
 what wor th’ wurst he thowt, so that I mowt meet 
 it manful laike and crush ony divil’s invention at 
 burth. Noo, lad, oot wi’ it.’’ 
 
 Thus appealed to, I told the man frankly that I 
 did entertain the suspicion before meeting him that 
 he might be the missing merchant, but that his 
 honest, manly way in meeting me more than half¬ 
 way convinced me that I was mistaken. 
 
 “That’s spokken laike a mon,” he cried, with 
 bluff heartiness; “it’s allers best to be honest and 
 abuve boord. Noo, I doan’t maind tellin’ thee that 
 I’m sorely tempted at taimes to resent th’ treatment 
 we get i’ this coontry. Folk seeam to think, becos 
 our waays bean’t loike theirs, that we’re actin’ a 
 pairt—that when we maerch through th’ streets wi’ 
 oor drums and trumpets, playing and singin’ God’s 
 music and praaisin’ Him in th’ manner we think 
 pleasin’ to Him and helpful to His holy cause, we 
 do it for a low kaind o’ self-glorification. But I 
 want to tell thee, lad, that ivvery thing we do—oor 
 
40 
 
 THE CAPTAIN OF THE ARMY. 
 
 drum beetin* and cries of ‘Hallelujah/ oor streat 
 prayers and calls to th’ wicked—coom fram hairts 
 swellin, wi’ luv for oor fellow-bein’s and burstin’ wi’ 
 a desire to bring them aril under th’ saavin’ graace 
 of Jesus. Mobs may hoot and jeer; they may drive 
 us aboot laike felons; they may pelt us wi’ mud and 
 jostle us inti th’ gooters; but we can stand aril this 
 and mair; we can endure aril manner o’ scorn and 
 abuse and persecution wi’ th’ prood consciousness 
 that aril we do, and aril we suffer is for the saake of 
 lost humanity, for whom Christ suffered and died 
 on th’ Cross.” 
 
 There was something grand and noble in the 
 man’s face as he defended the conduct of his 
 peculiar sect.' The rough eloquence of his lan¬ 
 guage had a pleasing cadence. I could readily 
 imagine, from his homely outburst, how powerfully 
 Captain Shiers might sway his fellows. There was 
 an emotional quality in his voice, a quaint pathos 
 in his dialect, which could not fail to stir the heart 
 of sympathetic auditors. 
 
 “Noo,” he continued, “hevin* set oursels reet to 
 start wi’, if thou’rt still of a maind to hear summat 
 o’ my laife Iw’ll accommodate thee wi’ pleasure. 
 And I may as well tell thee at yance it winnat help 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF THE ARMY. 
 
 41 
 
 thee i’ th’ wairk of faindin’ th’ hoosband o* that 
 poor wooman. It’s a groosoom story—fooll of hairt- 
 burnin’s and sinfulness, runnin* ower wi’ blunders 
 and wickedness, but, thank th* Lord, roonded at 
 last wi’ graace fram heaven and smoothed wi’ th’ 
 gentle hand of a forgivin’ Savior.” 
 
 “I will esteem it a great favor, indeed. Captain 
 Shiers,” I said, “to listen to your history.” 
 
 “Aril reet, lad; thou shall hev it,” said the Cap¬ 
 tain, “Lizzie, my lass, thou'd better go and get 
 sooper riddy, an’ keep Bob awaay for th’ present.” 
 
 This suggestion was accompanied by a significant 
 glance at his wife, who at once arose and left the 
 room. I inferred that there was something in the 
 coming recital which he did not want Mrs. Shiers 
 to hear. The Captain’s next remark verified my 
 suspicion, for as soon as the door closed he said:. 
 
 “She’s a good lass, sir—ower good for me—and 
 there’s soom things I doan’t laike to speeak abawt 
 afore her. I’ll just hev a bit o’ ’bacca, and then I’ll 
 make my confession, which’ll be an honest and 
 oppen yahe, and, I trust, will be good for my souL” 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK. 
 
 Filling and lighting a briar root pipe, Captain 
 Shiers puffed at it composedly a few seconds, a 
 quiet, thoughtful look overspreading his face as he 
 felt the soothing influence of the weed. 
 
 “There’s nowt laike a bit o* ’bacca for reflective 
 purposes,” he began; “soom folks saay it beant 
 Christian laike to smoak, but I doan’t agree wi’ 
 ’em. ’Bacca mayn’t be good for soom chaps wi’ 
 poor stomachs and weak yeds, but it’s a raar solace 
 for those wi’ active mainds and broad showlders— 
 men who hev to bustle through laife and hev few 
 comforts to console them efter a haard day’s wark. 
 There’s nowt said i’ th’ Baible abawt smoakin’, and 
 when the Holy Writ is silent on a subject so closely 
 concerning mankind I’m content to follow coostum 
 and enjoy my paipe. ’Bacca doan’t craaze a man 
 loike drink; it don’t mak’ him starve his wife and 
 beat his childer; it doan’t fill prisons and pest 
 houses; it doan’t mak’ froot for the gailows tree. 
 '' giental disinfectant and a good kaind frind to 
 
A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK. 43 
 
 tired folk; and I’m goin’ to stick to my paipe so 
 lang as it doan’t interfere wi’ my duty while yeildin’ 
 me bodily coomfort. Besides, Lizzie laikes to see 
 me smoak; its so home-laike, she says. I tell thee 
 this, lad, so thou may knoaw hoo I stand on th’ 
 ’bacca question.” 
 
 “We’re in accord on that subject,” I remarked, 
 taking a cigar from my vest pocket, “ and if you 
 have no objections I’ll take a few whiffs myself.” 
 
 “That’s reet, lad,” was his hearty response; “mak’ 
 thysen at whoam.” 
 
 He puffed away in silence a while, as though 
 meditating how to begin his story. Then, slowly 
 emitting an unusually large cloud of blue, curling 
 smoke, he said: 
 
 “Noo, my lad, in what I’ve got to say thou’ll 
 faind soom strange and sad things which’ll go to 
 show that I’ve bin a bad mon, unworthy of th* 
 graate blessin’ which has fallen on me since I wor 
 saaved. Soom folks doan’t loike to speeak abawt 
 their sins, but it’s allers best to mak’ a clean brist 
 of ivverything, especially when yan is in a religious 
 callin’; for its woonderful hoo gratified men are to 
 faind that other folk hev bin warse than themsens 
 and still hev bin purified by Divine graace. I’m 
 
44 
 
 A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK. 
 
 not much of a philosopher, but I think I*m reet in 
 saying that ivvery mon has his oan .roole of conduct 
 and conscience by which he not oanly maps oot his 
 oan laife but measures that of others. Finnicky 
 people doan't laike to listen to th’ rough tales o* 
 reformed men, becos they cannot enter into their 
 trials and feelin’s; but sprid afoar men hoo’vebin on 
 th* grindstane of bitter experience, thoase tales hev 
 a woonderful evangelizing result; they speak straight 
 whoam to th* hairt and bring scores under the peace¬ 
 ful inflooence of th’ Gospel of Trooth. 
 
 *‘Noo, my roole of laife wor selfishness. I thowt 
 of neebody’s coomfort but my oan. If I thowt a 
 glass o* yale wud gie me pleasure, I tuk it, and 
 didn’t maind hoose hairt wor wrung when I got th’ 
 drunken staggers and cussed and swoar till I wor 
 black i’ th’ face. I wor yedstrong when I wor a 
 babby, and I got warse and warse as I grew owder 
 and owt to hev known better. It’s such a poower 
 of satisfaction to hev yan’s oan waay, and I wad hev 
 maine in spite of ivverything and ivverybody; and 
 I got it, and sairly I soofered fram it when I grew 
 to manhood and tuk upon masen th’ graave respon¬ 
 sibilities of wedded laife. 
 
A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK. 
 
 45 
 
 “But I’m gettin’ a-yed o’ my story. I wor born 
 near Whitby in Yorkshire, just forty-two years sin. 
 You mebbe hev heard o’ Whitby. It’s a taidy sea¬ 
 port on th’ coast, wi’ a comical-lookin’ quay, narrow, 
 cobble-stane streats, and fishy-smellin’ hooses, th’ 
 moss-covered ruins of a faamous owd abbey, a puffy 
 owd bellman hoo cries doon scowldin’ wives, adver¬ 
 tises auction saales, and lots of other curus things 
 in brick and mortar and human flesh. It’s there 
 where they get jet for brooches and other fal-lals, 
 and where they find those petrified fossils and shell¬ 
 fish which tell th’ wiseacres hoo owd th* world is, 
 and \^hat a poor unsignificant creetur mon is efter 
 aril’s said and dune. 
 
 “My folks wor farmers twelve miles oot of 
 Whitby. They wor honest. God-fearin’ people, and 
 as I wor th’ oanly son, th’ owd mon wanted to mak* 
 me useful wi’ th’ plow and harrow and dibble, so 
 that in good - taime I maight tak chaarge o’ th’ 
 plaace, and become a yeoman o’ th’ soil. But 
 I nivver tuk kaindly to th’ idee; easterly winds used 
 to blaw 'sea scud ower oor fields, and we cud hear 
 th’ dull roar o’ th’ waaves dashin agin th’ High cliffs 
 o’ Whitby, and soomhoo or other I got th’ sea faiver, 
 and nowt would content me but a birth in a Baltic 
 
46 
 
 A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK. 
 
 trader. Faather tried horsewhippin*, layin’ on heav¬ 
 ily wi’ th* feear o’ th’ Lord in his hairt; muther tried 
 prayin’ and greetin’; but it wor all to no purpose, 
 for I ran awaay to Hartpond in Doorham when I 
 wor a shaaver of fowerteen, and shipped as cabin 
 boy in th’ Rising Sun, a fine clipper-built brig, saaled 
 by Skipper Johnson, as braight and cheery a mari¬ 
 ner as iver trod th’ deck of a North Country collier. 
 
 “I’ll never forget my fust and last voyage; it 
 knocked aril th’. romance of capstan sangs and fo* 
 castle yarns oot o’ my hairt and cured me forivver 
 of sea-farin’ desires. Lang afore we reached 
 Dantzic on th’ outward trip I wor sick of a sailor’s 
 laife, and if we’d been in an English port when we 
 cast anchor there, I should hev thrown overboord 
 what little pluck I’d left, slipped my moorin’s, and 
 hoisted saal for whoam wi’oot askin’ or waitin’ for 
 clearance paapers. But I had to grin and bear th’ 
 haardships of a cabin boy’s lot in a forrin’ port, and 
 faace th’ unknown miseries o’ th’ passage back wi’ 
 as stoot a hairt as I could muster. 
 
 “We maad faine weather for three days efter 
 leaving Dantzic and aril hands wor gay wi’ th’ thowts 
 of a quick run. Th’ skipper wor in raar good 
 
A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK. 
 
 47 
 
 spirits, and he kept jokin’ th* mate abawt his sweet- 
 hairt, for he’d buxom Nancy Meredith’s picture hung 
 up near his berth in th’ cabin. 
 
 “Thou woan’t need to be smirkin’ at her picture 
 much langer’. Captain Johnson would say with a 
 hairty laugh. ‘We’ll be in Hartpond Bay in fower 
 daays mair, and Nancy’ll be around thy neck afoar 
 we’re moored to th’ quay.’ 
 
 “And Jack Nelson, th’ maate, would purse oop 
 his lips to stop th’ bowndin’ joy of his hairt, and 
 blithely whistle ‘Sweethairts and Waives.’ 
 
 “That’s reet, my braave lad. Captain Johnson 
 would say, wi’ a queer twinkle in his small gray eyes, 
 dinnat fash thysen abawt speakin’; thy couldn’t do 
 mair wi’ a foghorn to thy lips. Stick to “Sweethearts 
 and Waives;” my lad; they’re all th’ joy and coom- 
 fort Jack hes afloat or ashore.’ 
 
 “And then th’ skipper would daive doon th* 
 companionway, pull th’ picture of his wife fram th’ 
 locker of his chest and kiss it tenderly. I’ve seen 
 him do it a dozen taimes a daay. 
 
 “Well, on th’ fowerth daay oot th’ sky cam black 
 aril at yance, and th’ wind, which’d bin blawin’ 
 steadily abeam, dropped wi’ a weird moan into th’ 
 bosom of th’ ocean. Th’ saales flapped clumsily 
 
48 
 
 A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK.. 
 
 against th* masts wi* an uncanny sound, and there 
 was a stillness and heaviness abawt th* air which 
 struck every yane wi’ fear. 
 
 ‘‘ ‘Aril hands close reef topsails,” shouted th* 
 skipper, and as th* men scampered oop the riggin*, 
 he said to th* maate: ‘We*re in for a stiff nor’easter 
 or I’m a Dutchman.* 
 
 “This wor terrible news to me. There wor no 
 signs of a gale to my maind, but I hed full faith in 
 Captain Johnson’s nautical wisdom, and I’d seen 
 enuff of storms on th* German Ocean to knaw what 
 
 to expect from a nor*easter. I wor in a fearful 
 stew, and soom minnits efterwards th* skipper 
 feawnd me on my knees in th’ cabin prayin* as fast 
 as my chatterin’ teeth would let me. 
 
 “ ‘Git oop, thou lubber,’ he said, giving me a cuff 
 on th* lugs. ‘This bean’t no taime for prayin’! Thy 
 plaace is on deck, where ivvery sailor owt to be 
 just noo. Oop fram thy knees and bear a hand 
 aloft, or I’ll gie thee a taste of rope’s end thou’ll 
 remember aril thy born daays.* 
 
 “I knew what a rope’s endin’ meant, and I wor 
 on deck in a jiffey, summat ashaamed of bein’ caught 
 skulkin’. But there wor nowt for me to do. Ivvery- 
 thing had bin maade snu^ and ship-shaape, and th* 
 
A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK. 
 
 49 
 
 crew wor gathered round th* galley spinnin’ yarns 
 abawt th’ perils o’ th’ deap. My courage cam back 
 as I listened to their rollickin’ talk, and I sune lost 
 aril dread o’ th’ cornin’ storm. 
 
 “We hadn’t lang to waat for’t. A low, sullen 
 boom wor heard due east; th’ heaviness in th’ air 
 wor suddenly relieved; th’ sea, which for an hour 
 hed bin black and almost motionless, wor stirred 
 into long, swellin’ rollers. Then, from th’ thick, 
 murky sky came a tremendous crash o’ thunder; a 
 fierce, howlin’ blast was upon us like a flash; th’ 
 rain pelted down in big, angry drops, and th’ heavy 
 rollin’ waves turned into furious breakers, snarlin’ 
 and foamin' at th’ crests. 
 
 “Eh! but it wor a dreadful saight! Th’ brig 
 
 rocked and groaned in awful agony. Noo, she d be 
 
 quiverin’ on th’ top of a huge waave, and then she’d 
 
 be strugglin’ in th’ trough, wi’ th’angry sea swashing 
 
 ower th’ decks and th’ blocks and tackle rattlin’ 
 
 laike mischief. We’d aril we could do to keep from 
 
 washin’ overbooard. Captain Johnson wor lashed 
 
 to th’ wheel, dingin’ to th’ spokes laike grim deeth; 
 
 but th’ helm wor powerless to guide us amang the 
 
 big blustering waves, which knocked th’ brig 
 
 abawt laike a cockle shell and swept th’ decks wi* 
 4G 
 
50 
 
 A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK. 
 
 a savage, hissing swiss, threatenin’ ivvery minnit to 
 crush us in their ponderous maws. 
 
 “For two daays we wor buffeted abawt at th* 
 maircy o’ th’ gaale. No reckonin’ could be tune; 
 nayther th’ skipper nor th’ maate could tell where 
 we wos. At last, on th’ mornin’ o’ th’ third day, 
 land wor spied dead ayed. Th’ storm had summat 
 abaated and th’ brig, laike a spoiled youngster, wor 
 answerin’ sullenly to th’ turns o’ th’ wheel. We had 
 a little canvas on th’ foremast; th’ mizzen had gone 
 by th’ boaard th’ day befoar. Th’ wind, still gusty 
 and fierce, wor apt to rip this saal in pieces at ony 
 minnit, but it held oot; and in about half an hour 
 we maade out the th’ yedland of Hartpond Bay. 
 
 ‘Tt wor a welcoom discovery, but we aril knew 
 th’ danger of that treacherous coast, and hope 
 trimbled fitfully in oor brists as, wi’ gritted teeth 
 and desperate maind, Captain Johnson tried to 
 steer us safely through th’ wild churning sea. Th* 
 brig seemed disposed to behave hersen. There wor 
 occasional lulls i’ th’ gaale, which quickened oor 
 pulses, and th’ waaves, while they still beat us stiff¬ 
 ly seemed to be spending their force. 
 
 “But of a sudden th’ tempest raged again as 
 furiously as ivver; th’ Rising Sun became onmanage- 
 able, and black despair tuk possession of oor hairts. 
 
A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK. 
 
 51 
 
 We wor driven nor’ard, past th’ lighthoose, where 
 we wor caught in an eddyin’ swirl of waters which 
 sucked us neerer th* gloomy ootlaine o’ th* towerin’ 
 cliffs, which, we could see, were thronged wi* hun¬ 
 dreds of folks watchin* and pityin* oor distress. 
 
 “ It’s aril oop, my braave lads,” cried Captain 
 Johnson in despair, leavin’ th’ wheel to faind tem¬ 
 porary safety in th’ foreriggin’; we’re on th’ rocks, 
 and there’s nobbut a rocket line betune us and 
 deethi” 
 
 “What my feelin’s wor at this moment I nivver 
 could descraibe. My nature seemed to hev bin 
 chaanged by this awful crisis. I weren’t frightened 
 at th’ prospect of deeth; th’ thowt of bein’ dashed 
 to atoms on th’ ugly black rocks, hoose points 
 frowned fearfully through th’ froth o’ th’ billows, 
 didn’t phaaze me. I wor wet through and through, 
 and shiverin’ like th* ague. But I didn’t want to 
 dee. A kaind of dull longin’ for life cam over me. 
 From th’ companionway, where I’d lashed mysen 
 in this dire extremity, I watched wi’ a queer numb 
 feelin’ th’ efforts o’ th’ coastguardsmen on th’ cliffs 
 above to send us a rocket line. I could hear the 
 cries of pitying wimmin as th’ angry waaves cam 
 roarin’ and swashin’ ower th’ deck. 
 
52 
 
 A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK. 
 
 “By this time we wor wedged tightly in a ridge 
 between two darkling rocks. Th’ cliff wor nobbut 
 two cables awaay. Th’ big waaves dashed agin oor 
 portsides laike batterin’ rams, makin* th’ starbooard 
 beams crunch on th’ sharp* teeth o’ th* rocks. It 
 wor nobbut a question of very little taime ere we’d 
 be dashed to pieces i’ that narrow ridge, and then 
 God have maircy on oor souls. I thowt of my poor 
 mother on th’ fairm, and th’ dull feelin’ in my hairt 
 gave waay to a fierce, intense yearnin’ to be saved. 
 
 “Line after line fram th’ cliffs swept past us to 
 th’ north. Once there wor a feeble cheer fram th’ 
 foremast, where th’ skipper and crew were lashed, 
 when a line came athwart th* riggin*. A ringin’ 
 cheer went oop fram th’ folks ashore, but th’ glad 
 hope it inspired speedily died awaay; the line wor 
 lost in soom onaccountable manner, and in another 
 second th* mast crashed over oor starbooard side, 
 and captain and crew were dashed beneath th’ 
 waaves. 
 
 “This was th’ supreme moment of my laife. Th’ 
 groan that followed from th’ cliff chilled me to th’ 
 marrow. Would they try again? I thought I 
 maun be invisible in th’ companionway. I soofered 
 
A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK. 53 
 
 ivvery pang possible to monkind durin* th* next 
 few seconds. 
 
 “But there wor another flash from the cliff; the 
 whiz o’ th’ rocket maade my hairt leap into my 
 mooth. Th’ line cam clear across th’ hull, a’most 
 to my very feet. With a joyous cry I seized it and 
 tugged on it for dear life. 
 
 “A shoot o’ triumph cam fram th’ cliffs as the 
 coastguardsman felt th’ laine tawten. That cry 
 gave me new strength. I pulled wildly on th’ line 
 until the hawser cam aboard. I fastened it as best 
 I could. Prisintly th’ basket cam, but I didn’t know 
 hoo to v7ork it. 
 
 “Reason was oot th’ question at that critical 
 time. I saw oanly yane chance to saave my life. 
 I tied th’ life-laine roond my my waist, cut awaay 
 my lashins and sprang on th’ hawser, intendin’ to 
 work hand ower hand to th’ shore. I felt a sharp 
 tug and knew no mair till I woke to consciousness 
 on th’ moor above surrounded by weepin’ wimmen 
 and kaindly men, and bruised and contused in 
 ivvery part of my fraame. 
 
 “They towd me efterwards that I’d bin dragged 
 through the foamin’ surge, across th’ sharp, jutting 
 
54 
 
 A DREADFUL SHIPWRECK. 
 
 rocks, and oop th* side o’ th’ high and jagged cliff; 
 and that it wor a miracle I reached th’ top wi* a 
 vestige of laife i’ my body.” 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE CURSE OF RUM. 
 
 The narration of this terrible experience affected 
 Captain Shiers deeply. His eyes filled with tears 
 as he told of this miraculous escape from a dreadful 
 death, and he took two or three turns around the 
 room before recovering his composure. Reseating 
 himself and charging his pipe again, he continued: 
 
 “The memory of that awful daay, lad, will be wi’ 
 me till deeth. It wor a great maircy I wor spared 
 to ask forgiveness of my poor mother, and it owt to 
 hev bin a lesson to me for th’ rest o’ my laife. But 
 it wor nowt o’ th’ kind. Of coorse I wor penitent 
 for a time, and I shed bitter, scaldin’, remorseful 
 tears when th’ owd lady cam to th’ hospital and 
 helped to nurse back my strength. Aril she could 
 do and saay, hooiver, couldn’t get me back to th’ 
 fairm; th’ shipwreck hadn’t crushed my wilful, obsti¬ 
 nate spirit, although it cured me o’ th’ hankerin, 
 for a seafarin’ laife. I wor determined to learn a 
 trade, and mother had fain to leave me wi’ Grand- 
 faather Toplass, hoo kept a ship chandler’s shop in 
 
56 
 
 THE CURSE OF RUM. 
 
 Hartpond. Th* owd chap said he’d apprentice me 
 to a watchmakker and put me i’ th’ waay of earnin’ 
 my livin’ by th’ taime I maun straike out for mysen. 
 Hoo mony times I regretted my stubburnness and 
 wished I had gone back whoam to smoothe th’ last 
 hours of th’ owd folks! But it weren’t to be. Sum- 
 mot drives us forard in oor good and evil courses, 
 roundin’ oor life accordin’ to th’ fate shaped oot for 
 us by th’ Almighty. Lang befoar my time wor 
 oot, both faather and muther wor called to their 
 last restin’ place. Th’ farm wor sowd and proceeds 
 put in trust for me, and I cam to luke upon Hart- 
 pond as my whoam, and to rely on Grandfaather 
 Toplassfor th’ little counsel and direction I’d tak as 
 to my future. 
 
 “Grandfaather wor a character, and my morals 
 didn’t prosper under his care. He wor one o’ th’ 
 owd stamp of Yorkshire bits, shrewd and shaarp in 
 tradin’, but ower fond o’ th’ public hoose, where I 
 used to go wi’ him quite often and lamed to tak’ a 
 nip wi’ th’ best of ’em. Hartpond wor a great place 
 for tipplin’; gin and brandy wor luked on as cure- 
 alls, and a pint of steamin’ mulled yale, wi’ yor feet 
 in het watter and a blanket round yor yed, wor a 
 prime receipt for inflooenza. There wor nobbut 
 
THE CURSE OF RUM. 
 
 57 
 
 yan real oot-and-oot teetotaler V th^ toon; he wor 
 an alderman by natural selection and a joiner by 
 trade—a great mon at penny-readin’s and lectures. 
 His name wor Bridges, and the publicans said his 
 cognomen explaaned ivverything, as wi'oot watter 
 bridges wad be no use. 
 
 “Owd Tommy Toplass, as grandfaather wor 
 called, could stand a power o* lush; but yance a 
 moonth, just at change o’ th’ moon, it got away wi’ 
 his yed, and he’d maerch nine times round Billy 
 Purvis’ gravestone in th’ owd churchyaard, and then 
 preambulate up and doon th’ High Street yellin' 
 like mad. Nobody tuk ony notice of his antics; 
 they said he’d got a knock on th’ yed durin’ a 
 smugglin’ expedition when he wor young, and was 
 to be pitied, poor mon, when th’ fits cam on. 
 
 ‘‘Noo, wi’ such a jockey, it weren’t to be expected 
 that my trainin’ wad be uncommon good. I got to 
 be real fond of toddy, and got fuddled at ivvery 
 holiday. Then, to make things worse, I joined th* 
 Rifle Band, which practiced in th’ club room of a 
 public, and we hed lots of taime for yale atween 
 pieces, which th’ bandmaister, who was fond of a 
 jorum hissen, tuk pains should be short and trotty 
 like a donkey’s gallop. 
 
58 
 
 THE CURSE OF RUM. 
 
 “But I maun skip ower thoase times when I wor 
 sowin’ tares for a sorry reapin’. In due time I 
 coorted and married. Thou has seen my lass, and 
 knows that I got a good wife. She owt to hev 
 wrought a chaange in ony mon, but her love and 
 gentleness made no difference in me. I wor quick 
 and smart in my trade, and made good money in a 
 little shop; but in ivverythaing else I wor a fule and 
 a broote, spendin’ my neets at th’ White Hart and 
 goin’ whoam wi’ oaths on my lips and a mad wish to 
 do soom desperate deed. Lizzie tried her haardest 
 to wean me fram drink. She nivver uttered a 
 haarsh word or a reproach; she browt coolin’ 
 draughts to me i’ th’ mornin’ and coaxed my appe¬ 
 tite wi’ aril kinds o’ tidbits; she talked to me gently 
 and showed me plaan enuff that th’ gait I wor goin’ 
 wad lead me to ruin and deeth. But it wor no use; 
 I knew she wor reet, and that I wor sinkin’ plumb 
 doon to th’ gooter, but Owd Nick hed me tight in 
 his clutches, and I laughed her to scorn. Efter Bob 
 wor born I did sprooce up a bit; I rushed awaay 
 when th’ spells cam on and struggled wi’ John 
 Barleycorn like a good ’un. But John hed a fast 
 grip on me; I fell time and agin, despite pledges 
 and promises, and befoar Bob wor twelve months 
 
THE CURSE OF RUM. 59 
 
 owd I wor as oad as ivver. Lizzie luked for conso¬ 
 lation i* th’ church. It wor raar she murmured 
 abawt th’ misery of her lot’ but th’ saight o’ th’ 
 Baible and prayer buke riled me like fury, and I 
 pitched them oot o’doors scores and scores o’ times. 
 
 “Then th’ neebors began to talk. They wor aril 
 drinkin’ folks, but the stuff didn’t tak howd o’ them 
 as it tuk howd o’ me. I began to hev ragin’ spells 
 like grandfaather; I wad brood ower fancied troubles 
 for daays, and then my mind wad boonce wi’ excite¬ 
 ment, and afterwards I wad hev queer shivverin’ 
 fits, which tuk aril my strength awaay, and doctor 
 hed to gie me stuff to braace my system. Th* par¬ 
 son wad coom and pray wi’ me, but I turned cowd 
 shoulder to his advice; and by and by I wor left to 
 my oan wicked devices, and folks said I maight go 
 my oan gait to th’ divvil. 
 
 “And sure enuff I wor on th’ reet road to him. 
 Lizzie’s face, which bloomed like a rose when we 
 wor wed, becam peaked and yellow; she dropped 
 awaay to a shadow, and her bonny eyes, which used 
 to dance wi’ honest glee, faded into a dim haunted 
 gleam, and lines of sooferin’ furrowed her dimpled 
 cheeks. She wor pinin’ away, but I couldn’t see it. 
 As lang as I could get my two-pennorth’s o’ rum, I 
 
Go 
 
 THE CURSE OF RUM. 
 
 had thowt for nowt else. Rum wor my God; it sup-- 
 planted wife and babby in my hairt; I varily believe 
 that I’d have bartered my soul for a noggin o’ grog. 
 
 ‘^Things wor at this pass when an owd friend o* 
 my wife’s came to work i’ th’ town. He was a 
 printer to traade, a soft-spokkin* chap, wi* th’ 
 smooth, artful ways of sooth countrymen, and hed 
 got acquainted wi’ Lizzie when she wor at service 
 somewhere in Middlesex. Soom said he wor an 
 owd sweethairt, and when they saw hoo pleased 
 Lizzie wor to see him, they even said they’d been 
 engaged and quarreled, and she’d married me to 
 spite him. I paid no attention to such gossip at 
 first; but when Lizzie began to twit me wi’ th’ stead¬ 
 iness of Ned Barton—that wor his name—and said, 
 wi* sighs in her throat, hoo happy we could be if I 
 wor like him, th’ devvil got into my hairt and I be¬ 
 came as suspicious and jealous as that blackamore 
 i’ th’ plaay hoo smothered his fair and virtuous 
 young bride. 
 
 “Jealously, my lad, is a sad coompanion for a 
 drinkin’ mon. Lizzie wor as pure and honest as th’ 
 drivven snow; bad as I wor, she wor leal and true; 
 nivver a wrong thowt entered her mind. Low and 
 brootal as wor my waays, she loved me with that 
 
THE CORSE OR RUM. 
 
 6 i 
 
 endurin’ love which is pairt o’ th* soul of a true 
 wooman. Fulelike, hooiver, I couldn’t see it then. 
 I magnified innocent actions into evil deeds; my 
 rum-sodden brain was afire wi’ foul thowts; ivery 
 fiber o’ my fraame throbbed wi’ black and murder¬ 
 ous jealousy. 
 
 watched for signs to inflame my passion. 
 Deeper and madder I plunged in debauchery, and 
 madder and deeper grew my wild and furious 
 thowts. Th’ drink began to hev a queer effect on 
 me; it didn’t make me bluster and stagger as for¬ 
 merly. I wor quieter i’ my coops, and after my 
 usual ’lowance, though my talk wor fairly rational 
 and my actions natural enuff, I wor as unconscious 
 of things abawt me as a child unborn. People used 
 to tell me of straange things I did in this condition, 
 and when I said I didn’t remember, they’d shrug 
 their showlders and say: 
 
 “That winnet do Jack; thou weren’t full, and 
 we don’t want thou to mak’ thysen a bigger leear 
 than thou art.” 
 
 “Things went on in this sad way for soom months, 
 my hairt growin’ savager towards Lizzie ivery daay, 
 and buzzin’ thowts of vengeance for soom imaginary 
 
62 
 
 THE CURSE OF RUM. 
 
 wrong crowdin’ themsens in my maind. One morn- 
 in’ efter cornin’ fram an early nip, wi’oot which I 
 couldn’t bring mysen to eat, I wor astoonded to see 
 Lizzie wi’ a black eye. 
 
 “ ‘What’s happened to thee, lass, * I asked 
 surlily. 
 
 “She burst into tears and said: 
 
 “‘Eh! John; thou knows. It has coom at last. 
 I nivver thowt thou’d raise thy hand agin me. But 
 it weren’t thy fawt; it wor th’ drink.’ 
 
 “Noo, as sure as I’m sittin’ here, lad, I knew 
 nowt abawt strikkin’ that little wooman; and I 
 couldn’t believe then that I’d dune so. I thowt she 
 wor deceivin’ me for soom reason, and my anger 
 rose and I cried savagely: 
 
 “ ‘Does tha mean to saay that I struck tha?’ 
 
 “‘Yes, John,’ she said, wi’ a sad, pitiful strain in 
 her voice, ‘thou felled me to th’ yearth efter callin’ 
 me ivery vile name under th’ sun.’ 
 
 “ ‘Thou’rt a dommed leear,’ I cried mad wi’ raage; 
 I may be fond of a sup, and mayhap sometimes I get 
 full, but I nivver raised ma hand to thee. That’s 
 yan o’ thy tricks to excuse thy doin’s wi’ that 
 tramp, Ned Barton.* 
 
THE CURSE OF RUM. 
 
 63 
 
 ** ‘John, John,’ she shrieked, wi’ agony plainly 
 written on her face; ‘ doan’t say that when th’ art 
 sober, lad. I’ve been a true and dutiful wife to 
 thee, John. Tell me thou doan’t mean it.’ 
 
 “ ‘Doan’t mean what?’ I sneered. 
 
 “‘What thou said last neet; that—that I wor 
 too thick wi’ Ned Barton.’ 
 
 “‘If I said that last neet, thou brazen huzzy, I 
 cried, doublin’ ma fist and shaakin’ it in her 
 faace; ‘ if I said that I meant it and mair too. Domm 
 thou! I’ve had enough o’ thy slobberin’, sneakin’ 
 waays; thou’d better pack thysen off wi’ that smooth¬ 
 faced, oily-tongued lover afoar I do him some 
 bodily hairm.’ 
 
 “She dropped into a chair and moaned and 
 turned as pale as deeth. Th’ divvil got in me at th’ 
 saight of her white face and quiverin’ lips, and I 
 stepped up to her, helpless and stricken as she wor 
 by my foul chaarge, and struck her violently on th’ 
 yed. As she fell senseless to th’ floor little Bob 
 toddled oop and, claspin’ my knees wi’ his wee, 
 chubby hands, cried: 
 
 “ ‘Oh! daddy, daddy! Doan’t beat mother.’ 
 
64 
 
 THE CURSE OF RUM. 
 
 “I pushed him roughly awaay, and he fell sobbin* 
 
 ower the prostrated body of my waife. 
 
 ‘‘In another moment I wor on my way to th* 
 
 White Hart to fire my anger wi’ mair rum.** 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CAPTAIN SKIERS GOES MAD. 
 
 “What happened efter I went in to th’ White 
 Hart tap-room I oanly knaw by hearsay. I remim- 
 ber hevvin* two-three noggins o’ rum, but iverything 
 else wor a blank until I woak next mornin’ on a 
 cowd stone slab in th* toon jail. My tongue wor 
 thick and paarched, my limbs weak and tottery, 
 my hands dothered laike grass on th’ moor. 
 
 “ ‘Well,’ I muttered to niysen, lukin’ roond th* 
 bare, grim cell disconsolately, ‘thy’s browt thy eggs 
 to a fine mairket at last! Domm thysen for a fule. 
 Jack Shiers!’ 
 
 “Superintendent o’ th* Police heard me movin’ 
 aroond and cam and luked through the graatin.’ 
 
 “Hello! Dawson!’ I cried, ^this is a nice trick to 
 play on a man hoo allers pays his raates and owes 
 nebody nowt. Send for a pint o’ yale. I’m chokin,’ 
 
 “He turned on me a luke I’ll niwer forget; it 
 wor a mixture of malignity and pityi and set me 
 
 shaakin’ warse than iwer. 
 
 5G 
 
66 
 
 CAPTAIN SKIERS GOES MAD. 
 
 “Chokin!’ Thou greet big fule,’ he cried, in a 
 terrible voice; ‘chokin’! Happen thou’ll choke sune 
 enuff.* 
 
 “‘What does thou mean?* I asked, alarmed by 
 his manner. 
 
 “ ‘Mean!’ echoed he. ‘I mean that thou’ll swing 
 sure as fate if he dees.’ 
 
 “‘Dees!’ exclaimed I, frightened a’most oot o’ 
 my wits; ‘if hoo dees?* 
 
 “‘Thy bairn, thou chuckle-yedded broote,’ he 
 answered savagely; ‘bonny little Bob, hoom thou 
 stabbed in thy drunken fury,’ 
 
 “ ‘Stabbed my Bob!’ I cried excitedly. ‘Coom, 
 Dawson, noan o’ thy cussed joakes noo. Doan’t 
 saay I stabbed Bob.’ 
 
 “ ‘Luke at thy sleeves, thou bloodthirsty skoon- 
 drel,’ he exclaimed, impatiently. ‘Does thou think 
 I’d joak ower a cowdblooded murder?* 
 
 “I glanced at my airms; th’ coat sleeves v^or 
 daubed wi’ blood. Wi’ a frightened yell I threw 
 mysen on th* stone cot and tore my hair in a frenzy 
 of remorse. 
 
 “ ‘Ay! thou may well raave,’ cried th’ officer, ‘if 
 we hadn’t nabbed thou in time, happen thy wife 
 
CAPTAIN SHIERS GOES MAD. 67 
 
 wad hev soofered in th’ saam waay. Get oop, th’ 
 magistraates are waitin’ for thee.* 
 
 “He unlocked th’ door o’ th’ cell and led me to 
 th’ coort-room upstairs. Th’ plaace wor crooded 
 wi’ toonfolk, and as I wor put i’ th’ dock an angry 
 murmur went oop which th’ crier tried haird to 
 repress. I luked abawt me in a dazed fashion. 
 There wor three magistrates on th’ bench, men 
 hoom I knew weel and had taken mony a drink wi’; 
 but their faaces were set stern agin me noo, and my 
 limbs trimbled so when they towd me to stand oop 
 that a bobby hed to support me. Th' owd white- 
 yedded toon dark read a chaarge of attempted 
 murder and asked if I’d owt to say for mysen. 
 
 “I wanted to tell him that I wor innocent, but 
 my tongue stuck to th’ roof o’ my mooth and not a 
 word could I utter. 
 
 “ ‘Let Officer Hopkins be sworn,* said the dark 
 in a terrible voice. 
 
 “Hopkins came for’ard and kissed the buke. He 
 wor an owd chum o’ maine and I thowt surely he’d 
 faavor me wi’ a mairciful story. But I wor sadly 
 mistakken. He began to swear awaay my laife as 
 if I wor th’ greatest straanger i’ th’world. ‘Your 
 Honors’ said he, touching his forelock politely, ‘I 
 
68 
 
 CAPTAIN SKIERS GOES MAD. 
 
 wor on my beat in Northgate at elivin o’clock last 
 neet, when I heard cries o’ murder cornin’ fram th’ 
 prisoner’s hoose. I rushed in and fawnd prison¬ 
 er’s wife howdin’ him by th’ airms and screamin' like 
 mad. In his right hand wor this knaife, which I 
 produce.' 
 
 “Hopkins gave th' dark my jack-knaife and I 
 shivered as I saw big splatches of blood on th’ 
 blaade. 
 
 “On th’ bed wor prisoner’s little lad wi' a graate 
 gash in his left showlder,’ pleeceman went on. 'Hoo 
 did that?’ I asked. ‘John,’ said prisoner’s wife. I 
 handcuffed him and took him to th’ jail.’ 
 
 “Did th’ prisoner mak’ ony staatment?’ inquired 
 the dark. 
 
 “ ‘No, your Honors, he wor kaind o* stupefied 
 when th’ darbys wor put on, and he cam quietly 
 enuff. I didn’t ask him onythin’, knowin' that it 
 wor agin th’ rools o’ th’ service.* 
 
 “‘Quite reet, my man!’ said th* Mayor; *stan(J 
 doon, and call Mrs. Shiers.’ 
 
 “Lizzie wor lead to th* witness box in a fainth' 
 state. Poor lass, it wor a haird trial for her—he? 
 hoosband i' th’ dock charged wi’ attemptin’ to mur¬ 
 der owr oanly bairn, and she asked to gi’c evidence 
 
CAPTAIN SHIERS GOES MAD. 
 
 69 
 
 that maight send him to th' gallows. Th* coort- 
 room wor as still as th’ grave when she began to 
 speeak. Her voice wor low and shrinkin’; the story 
 hed to be dragged fram her piecemeal. Ivery noo 
 and then, she’d lake at me wi’ brimmin’ eyes and 
 shaake laike dotherin’ grass. Eh! lad, if iver mon 
 on ycarth soofered tortures o* th’ dommed, I did as 
 Lizzie’s words dropped laike het coals on my 
 quaakin’ hairt. 
 
 “ ‘He didn’t mean it, your worships,* she cried 
 pitifully; *it wor th’ drink which crazed him. He*S 
 good and kaind when th’ liquor is out of him; oh! he 
 didn’t meean it!* 
 
 “ ‘Yes, yes, my good woman,’ said th* Mayor 
 gently, ‘but what induced this deadly outbreak? 
 Tell us hoo it happened.’ 
 
 “ ‘Well, sir,* sobbed Lizzie, ‘John hed bin drinkin’ 
 aril day on an empty stomach. We hed a few 
 words early i’ th’ mornin,’ and he tuk the huff and 
 wadn’t eat his breakfast. He cam in close upon 
 • elivin last neet. His eyes wor stann’ wild, and he 
 cried, ‘I’ve got th* villain at last; bring him oot or 
 I’ll brain thou and kill him efterward.’ ‘Hoo does 
 thou meean?’ 1 asked. ‘That skoondrel, Ned Bar¬ 
 ton/ he shouted: *he’s in thereT He jumped to 
 
70 
 
 CAPTAIN SKIERS GOES MAD. 
 
 th* bedroom door, and before I could stop him he 
 oot wi’ his knife and struck at little Bobby wi’ it. 
 Th’ blood spouted ower th’ coonterpaan, and I 
 caught his hands and screamed, and—and—oh! 
 that is aril I know.’ 
 
 “She fell back in a faintingfit. It aril came on me 
 laike a flash. Fd nursed my wrath until drunken mad¬ 
 ness seized me, and Fd stabbed my oan bairn, think- 
 in’ he wor Ned Barton foulin’ my sheets. 
 
 “The coort-room reeled befoar my eyes; a 
 straange buzzin’ noise wor in my ears; I clutched 
 wildly at th’ air and fell to th’ floor wi’ a shriek. 
 
 “When I cam to my senses I wor in Sedgefield 
 Asylum. Th’ attendants said Fd bin there eight 
 years a raavin’ lunatic. 
 
 “ ‘My waife and babby,’ I cried, ‘ what’s coom o’ 
 them?’ 
 
 “ ‘They’re in Lancashire,’ said yan. ‘Bob didn’t 
 dee, and thou’s nearly cured. Thank God, my mon, 
 and let drink aloan i’ th’ future.’ 
 
 “In a few weeks they let me oot. Eight 
 years of my laife had gone by in that madhoose— 
 eight years completely blotted oot of memory, for 
 iverything wor an utter blank fram th’ taime I 
 dropped i’th’ prisoner’s dock till th’ daay they towd 
 me I wor on th’ road to mental health again.” 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LIFE IN LANCASHIRE. 
 
 Tears streamed down Captain Shiers* cheeks 
 and, seemingly oblivious of my presence, he fell on 
 his knees and offered up a fervent prayer, thanking 
 God for restoring his reason and reuniting him to 
 his wife and child. There was no doubting the 
 man’s devout nature. His gratitude sprang from a 
 humble, contrite heart. Whatever he had been in 
 the past—and his story was an awful revelation of 
 human weakness and wickedness—it was plain that 
 his spirit had undergone a wonderful change for the 
 better. He seemed the embodiment of a trusting, 
 faithful servant of the cross as he knelt praising 
 God for his infinite mercy to a penitent sinner. 
 
 “ That’s my story, lad,” he said, after rising from 
 his knees, “and thou can oonderstand hoo much I 
 hev to be thankful for and hoo graate is the debt I 
 hev to pay to th’ Lord. My punishment wor severe, 
 but I deserved it aril. It tak’s a power o’ scourgin’ 
 to break soom folks in. I had to be browt to th’ 
 foot o’ the scaffold befoar my stubborn sinful hairt 
 
72 
 
 * LIFE IN LANCASHIRE. 
 
 wor brokken. That shipwreck wor bad enuff, but 
 it wor a flea-bite compared to th’ predicament which 
 rum and passion put me in.” 
 
 “ ‘How did you come to join the Salvationists?” 
 
 I asked. 
 
 “ ‘1*11 tell thee. Efter leavin th* asylum I hunted ^ 
 oop Lizzie. She left Hartpond becos of th* painful 
 associations, and went to Wigan, where she wor 
 maintainin' hersen and Bob by dressmakin*. Mony a 
 wooman wad hev severed aril connection wi’ me, 
 but she’s yan o* thoase hoo stick to a mon till deeth. 
 Ivery moonth she wrote to the asylum abawt me; 
 she’d abidin* faith that 1 wad coom oot aril reet and 
 mend my waays. I woan’t attempt to descriabe 
 oor meetin* after thoase eight weary, dreary years. 
 On my knees 1 asked her forgiveness, and pledged 
 mysen to keep from th* cursed drink. Her loanli- 
 niss and soofferin* Hed browt her near to Christ; 
 she wor a Sunday-skule teacher and a member o’ 
 th* Methodist Church. ‘John,* said she, thou’ll 
 nivver stick unless God Is on thy saide; ask him to 
 bless thy endeavors*. I’d nivver prayed sin I wor 
 a babby, but I began noo. It seamed laike gropin’ 
 i’ th* dark for a lang while. I had dull spells and 
 doubtin’ spells, and th* waay often luked black and 
 
LlfB IN LANCASHIKN. 
 
 73 
 
 gloomy. But 1 persevered^ aiid finally th* light 
 broak in upon me. £h! but it wor a blessed 
 moment when I felt sin drop from my hairti and 
 th’ peace and joy which passeth aril understandin’ 
 filled my soul. 
 
 “Wigan wor a ruff and wicked plaace. There’s 
 thoosands o’ pitmen there and th’ drinkin’ and 
 swearin’ and fightin’ is awful on pay days. Wommirt 
 dress themsens in troosers and work i’ th’ pits wi* 
 th’ men, and they go drinkin’ wi* them on Saturday 
 neets. No pitman is happy unless he has either a 
 bloody nose or a brokken yed by midnight. Why, 
 their wives leave them at th’ publics while they go 
 marketin’, and just abawt cloasin’ time th’ wommin 
 luke in th’ tap-rooms and saay: 
 
 ‘Jack, hes thou foughten yet?’ 
 
 “And if Jack says .‘naw/ they cry oot: 
 
 “ ‘Then get foughten, lad, and coom whoam,^ 
 
 “There’d be no peace wi’ lots of them on Sunday 
 unless Saturday neet finished wi’ a row. Well, th’ 
 Salvation Army came to Wigan efter I wof saaved 
 and began to work among the pitmen. 1 went to 
 yan o* th’ meetin’s and felt mysen drawn on th’ 
 platform. I towd the story o’ my laife in language 
 they aril knew. Wommin began to cry and men 
 
74 
 
 LIFE IN LANCASHIRE. 
 
 cam forard and praayed. I saw that God had given 
 me a work to do. ‘Lizzie/ I said to my wife, Fm 
 mainded to go wi’ the airmy; what does thou saay? 
 ‘It’s God’s dooin’, was her reply. ‘I’ll go wi’ thee.* 
 And from that daay to this we’ve worked together 
 in th’ holy cause. It hesn’t all bin smooth and 
 pleasant; often we’ve bin sair pressed for victuals 
 and a place to sleep, and half a dozen times we’ve 
 bin in jail; but the Lord is wi* us arlways* and 
 crackers and cheese wi’ a thankful hairt is sweeter 
 than th* stalled ox in th* tents o’ th’ unrighteous. 
 
 “Two years ago they asked for volunteers for 
 America, and Lizzie and Bob and mysen cam to 
 help carry on th’ good work. We faind it a little 
 different here. People laugh at oor straange tongue 
 and saay wi mak’ a pantomine o* religion. Oor 
 waays are mebbe not orthodox, but oor hairts glow 
 wi’ love o* the gospel, and thoosands hev followed 
 oor drums to salvation. That’s aril I need saay, 
 lad. I’ve given thou my history fram th’ cradle to 
 th’ presint time, and if thou cam here thinkin’ I wor 
 masqueradin’ wi’ wicked, hypocritical desaigns, thou 
 maun admit noo, like a mon, that thou’rt mistakken.” 
 
 I assured Captain Shiers that this account of 
 himself was perfectly satisfactory and that I would 
 
LIFE IN LANCASHIRE. 75 
 
 take pleasure in refuting any statement that might 
 in any way refleci: on his character. 
 
 “That’s spokken fairly, lad,” he cried in his 
 honest, hearty fashion, “and I thaank thee. Noo, 
 thou’ll stop and tak’ pot-luck wi’ us; sooper’s just 
 abawt riddy.” 
 
 “Pray excuse me. Captain,” I said, “I must be at 
 the office before 7 o’clock.” 
 
 “Well, thou’rt welcome, lad, if thou hes time. 
 At any raate, thou maun see Bob.” 
 
 He went to the sitting-room door and shouted. 
 
 “Coom here. Bob.” 
 
 A fine, yellow-haired, blue-eyed lad of fourteen 
 entered the room in response to the call. His face 
 had a happy blending of his father’s frank features 
 and his mother’s gentle refinement. His left arm 
 hung listlessly at his side. Captain Shiers observed 
 me looking at it and he said significantly: 
 
 “Yes, that’s it; but Bob’s aril reet otherwise. 
 Shaake hands wi’ this gentleman, lad; he’s one o’ 
 thoase chaps that write for th’ paapers.” 
 
 The boy came forward and extended his hand 
 with a pleasant smile and, with a voice resembling 
 his mother’s, said; 
 
76 
 
 LIFE IN LANCASHIRE. 
 
 “rm very glad to see you* sir. I’ln studying hard 
 to become a writer myself, sir. 
 
 “And what do you intend to write about, Bob?” 
 asked I. 
 
 “About poor people and their ways, sir,” 
 
 “That’s reet, my lad,” said Captain Shiers, his 
 face beaming with fatherly affection. “Allers try 
 and help th’ poor; th’ rich can tak’ care o’ them- 
 sens.” 
 
 As I took my hat to leave the Salvationist re¬ 
 marked: 
 
 **I’m worried abawt that poor wooman, lad. I 
 hope she’ll faind her hoosband, and that th’ Lord 
 will sustain her soul to bear meekly her great 
 afBiction. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE REPORTER WRITES AN ARTICEB. 
 
 “How did you make out, James?'* asked the city 
 editor when I returned to the office. ‘*Is it a scnsa- 
 *tion or a fizzle?” 
 
 “A little of both,” was my reply. “Mrs, Toplass 
 is the woman who fainted at the meeting and claimed 
 Captain Shiers as her long-lost husband. She 
 acknowledges having been unduly excited by the 
 man’s remarkable resemblance to Toplass, but is 
 apparently satisfied that she was mistaken and 
 simply overpowered by her feelings. She is annoy¬ 
 ed by the discovery of her identity, and pleaded 
 hard for the suppression of her name in any further 
 mention of the affair. The likeness of Shiers to a 
 portrait of Toplass which hangs in the parlor at—• 
 Prairie avenue is wonderful. But Shiers and his 
 wife tell a straightforward story; he gave me his 
 history from his boyish days to the present moment, 
 speaking unreservedly of a past which is by no 
 means a creditable one. The man, however, is un¬ 
 doubtedly earnest and sincere in his present work; 
 
78 THE REPORTER WRITES AN ARTICLE. 
 
 he speaks and acts like a conscientious, God-fearing 
 man, who has repented of the error of his ways and 
 is striving hard to expiate past shortcomings by an 
 upright and sober life.” 
 
 “He has evidently made a deep impression on 
 you,” remarked the city editor, with a smile. 
 
 “He most assuredly has, sir, for I never met a 
 man in his circumstances and calling with less cant 
 and pretensions or more manliness and simple piety. 
 Shiers is a character well worth studying.” 
 
 I gave a rapid sketch of the man’s career, indi¬ 
 cating as best I could Captain Shiers’ open and 
 graphic manner of narration. 
 
 “That’s mighty good stuff,” said the city editor, 
 who was profoundly interested, “but it isn’t live 
 news’ and we can’t spare the space just now for an 
 old story, however spicy. Keep it in mind, though, 
 it will make a good special some day. Write up 
 enough about last night’s affair to show that we 
 are acquainted with the inside facts, and keep your 
 promise to Mrs. Toplass; it would be cruel to bring 
 her personally before the public in view of all she 
 has gone through. It wouldn’t be amiss to keep 
 track of Shiers and her; Toplass may turn up yet. 
 
THE REPORTER WRITES AN ARTICLE. 79 
 
 and then you’d have a splendid chance to work out 
 a rattling sensation.” 
 
 The article I wrote was as follows: 
 
 Cases of mistaken identity are common enough 
 in police court annals, but it is not often that they 
 occur in society circles or affect the status of leaders 
 of religious movements. The exciting episode at 
 the meeting of the Salvation Army on Monday 
 night was the subject of wide comment yesterday. 
 The members of this peculiar sect have laid them¬ 
 selves open to adverse criticism by reason of their 
 grotesque proceedings on the public streets and in 
 their barracks. All manner of opprobrious re¬ 
 marks have been made concerning their character 
 and conduct, and it only needed an incident of this 
 kind to emphasize the growing dislike the noisy 
 band has aroused in the public mind. Numbers of 
 persons chuckled over the scandal implied in the 
 hysterical declaration of the unknown lady that 
 Csptain Shiers, the energetic leader of the Salvation 
 Army, was her husband. The fact that one of the 
 sisters was married to Captain Shiers gave addition¬ 
 al zest to the situation. A reporter carefully inves¬ 
 tigated the matter yesterday, and, while the result 
 is interesting, it is only fair to state that the 
 
80 THE REPORTER WRITES AN ARTICLE. 
 
 suspicion directed against Captain Shiers and his 
 estimable wife is wholly unfounded. The lady who 
 disturbed the meeting moves in the highest circles 
 of society. Two or three years ago her husband, a 
 prominent citizen of Chicago, disappeared in a 
 strange and unaccountable manner, and despite 
 vigorous search and diligent inquiry not a clue was 
 obtained as to his fate or whereabouts. Captain 
 Shiers has the good or bad fortune to resemble the 
 missing man in a startling degree. The likeness, 
 however, extends only to form and face; the differ¬ 
 ence between the two men in conversation, manner, 
 and history is as wide as the poles. Some one in¬ 
 formed the sorrowing lady of the strange likeness; 
 she attended, the meeting out of curosity, and, in a 
 moment of intense nervous excitement, excusable 
 and natural under the circumstances, she was be¬ 
 trayed into making the startling assertion that at 
 last her long-lost husband was found. ‘T am 
 thoroughly convinced of my mistake,’’ she said to 
 the writer yesterday afternoon, *-and am truly sorry 
 if Captain Shiers is caused any annoyance by my 
 unfortunate conduct. He will no doubt pardon mo 
 when he learns how my feelings overpowered me 
 and my heart cried out in the very ecstacy of woe.” 
 
THE REPORTER WRITES AN ARTICLE. 8l 
 
 Captain Shiers was indubitably correct in stating 
 that he never saw the unfortunate woman before. 
 In the course of a long interview yesterday evening 
 he gave the reporter a detailed account of a career 
 as remarkable for exciting and dramatic incidents 
 as was ever set forth in modern romance. What¬ 
 ever may be thought of the strange service of the 
 Salvation Army, there is no doubt that in Captain 
 Shiers it possesses a leader whose simple, honest 
 piety and manly frankness would reflect credit on 
 a minister of any recognized denomination. 
 
 Just as I was finishing work that evening a note 
 was handed me from Captain Shiers. It read; 
 
 Dear Mr. Burbanks; —Lizzie and I have talked 
 over the affair of that poor lady, and she thinks that 
 perhaps she will never be satisfied until I personally 
 convince her that I am not her husband. My wife 
 is a tender little woman, with keen, active sympa¬ 
 thies, and I’ve no doubt she is right on this, as she 
 is on every other subject. Therefore, if you deem 
 it proper, 1 would like you to arrange for me to 
 have an interview with Mrs. Toplass. No harm can 
 possibly spring from our meeting, and probably the 
 Lord will direct it to some good end. Please tell 
 
82 
 
 THE REPORTER WRITES AN ARTICLE. 
 
 the messenger when I can see you, and oblige your 
 obedient servant and brother, John Shiers. 
 
 This request struck me as singular, but under¬ 
 standing that Captain Shiers was a man whose 
 habits and thoughts did not run in ordinary chan¬ 
 nels, I sent word for him to meet me next morning, 
 when we would discuss the advisability of the pro¬ 
 posed interview with Mrs. Toplass. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 NEWS OF A LONG LOST UNCLE. 
 
 “No doot,” said Captain Shiers when we met 
 next morning, “no doot thou thinks my request 
 strange, and mebbe it is a bit oot o’ th’ common, but 
 I cannot let mysen rest till I see that poor lady and 
 show her conclusively that I am not her husband. 
 My waife says it is a duty I owe to society; she says 
 th’ wooman is brooding over her great sorrow, and 
 mebbe her mind will give waay unless summat be 
 dune to put it into a healthier channel. So, my lad, 
 I’d like thou to tak me to her at yance.” 
 
 I was not sure that any good result would follow 
 a meeting of this kind, but the man was so earnest 
 in his desire for an interview that I consented to 
 mention the matter to Mrs. Toplass. 
 
 “I have an appointment with the lady,” said I; 
 “you can accompany me and I will ascertain if she 
 will receive you.” 
 
 “Arllreet,” said he; “I know she’ll see me.” 
 
 “What makes you so confident?” 
 
84 NEWS OF A LONG LOST UNCLE. ^ 
 
 “Becos Lizzie towd me she wad; she’s nivver 
 mistakken where a wooman’s hairt is concerned.” 
 
 The man had unbounded faith in his wife's wis¬ 
 dom, and the thought struck me that Mrs. Shiers 
 had suggested the meeting for some secret purpose 
 of her own. It was hard to conceive this sincere, 
 trustful little woman capable of any deceit, but it 
 did seem singular that she should advise Captain 
 Shiers to seek an interview with Mrs. Toplass. 
 What could be her object? She could not suspect 
 her husband of duplicity of any kind; her calm, 
 peaceful eyes forbade any suspicion of jealousy or 
 concealment. She had a motive undoubtedly, but 
 for the life of me I could not determine what it was, 
 and why my mind instinctively rejected the expla¬ 
 nation Captain Shiers gave. 
 
 The friend whom Mrs. Toplass told me she would 
 visit lived near Garfield Park. We took the Madi¬ 
 son street cars. On our way out Captain Shiers 
 did not talk much; he was in a quiet, contemplative 
 mood, his mind probably busy with the prospective 
 interview. He acquiesced in my suggestion that he 
 remain at a convenient place in the neighborhood 
 until I learned how the lady entertained the idea of 
 receiving him. 
 
NIWS 07 A LONQ LOST UNCLE. 
 
 85 
 
 I found Mrs. Toplass nervous and excited. She 
 thanked me for suppressing her name from the 
 article and eagerly listened to my account of Cap¬ 
 tain Shiers and his wife. 
 
 “You have no doubt, then,” she said, “that Cap¬ 
 tain Shiers is the man he claims to be?” 
 
 “Noneat all,” I replied. “He is a manly, simple- 
 hearted fellow, thoroughly imbued with the spirit 
 of his work, and apparently incapable of duplicity 
 or deceit. He is very anxious to meet you, so that 
 any lingering suspicion you may have as to his 
 identity may be removed.” 
 
 The lady turned a shade paler, and her lips 
 trembled as she said, hesitatingly: 
 
 “Such a meeting would be painful, I am afraid. 
 The man is so like Henry.” Then, with a sudden 
 turn of resolution, she added: 
 
 “Well, perhaps it would be well to set all doubts 
 at rest.” 
 
 “Pardon me,” I said, “do you doubt the man's 
 story?” 
 
 “I cannot explain myself,” she replied, “every¬ 
 thing is so strange and bewildering. I was becom¬ 
 ing reconciled to my loneliness when fate took me 
 to that meeting. OhI it was cruel, cruel! To see 
 
86 
 
 NEWS OF A LONG LOST UNCLE. 
 
 him so near after all these dreary years of waiting, 
 and then to rudely awaken from the brief dream of 
 bliss. It was cruel, cruel!” 
 
 She began to cry, but when I intimated that she 
 might decline the interview, she quickly dried her 
 eyes, and remarked with forced composure: 
 
 “Oh, no! I will see Captain Shiers. A few words 
 with him will probably steel my heart for the future. 
 When will it be convenient for him to call?” 
 
 “He is in the neighborhood, madam; if agree¬ 
 able I can bring him now.” 
 
 A slight shudder passed over the woman’s 
 frame, but there was renewed steadiness in her 
 voice as she replied: 
 
 “Yes, the sooner it is over the better. I will 
 receive him here, and I will deem it a favor, Mr. 
 Burbanks, if you will be present during the inter- 
 view.” 
 
 Of course I gladly consented to this arrange¬ 
 ment. Mrs. Toplass’ manner convinced me that 
 she was still unsatisfied, and that something inter¬ 
 esting might be expected from the meeting. I 
 went for Captain Shiers, who was awaiting me with 
 ill-concealed impatience in a livery stable. 
 
 “Well, lad?” he queried, in an anxious tone. 
 
NEWS OF A LONG LOST UNCLE. 8/ 
 
 “Mrs. Toplass has consented to see you/’ I re¬ 
 sponded. “She is still a little excited, and I would 
 advise you to be careful not to wound her feelings 
 in any way.” 
 
 “Nivver fear, lad,” he said cheerily; “I’ll saay 
 nowt that’ll harm her in ony waay.” 
 
 Mrs. Toplass was rocking herself in an easy 
 chair in the parlor when we entered. She rose 
 somewhat unsteadily, and I noticed her clutch at 
 the bosom of her dress when Captain Shiers, in his 
 Salvation Army uniform, stood bowing awkwardly 
 before her. The light from the windows fell on her 
 face, which was slightly flushed; her lips were drawn 
 tightly together, but her large mournful eyes were 
 steadier than I had seen them before. It was evi¬ 
 dent she had nerved herself for the trying ordeal. 
 
 Captain Shiers face took on a strange, puzzled 
 expression as he looked at the woman. His lips 
 twitched uneasily, and I thought he started 
 as their eyes met. This may have been 
 fancy, however; my senses were strung to their 
 highest tension as I had a presentiment that, 
 in some way or other, the interview would have a 
 sensational ending. 
 
88 
 
 NEWS OF A LONG LOST UNCLE. 
 
 Mrs. Toplass was the first to speak. There was 
 a perceptible quiver in her voice as she said: 
 
 *‘Pray be seated, gentlemen.” 
 
 The Salvationist took a chair at the side of the 
 window directly opposite to where Mrs. Toplass sat. 
 I seated myself on the lounge, where I could watch 
 the faces of both. 
 
 After an awkward pause Mrs. Toplass said: 
 
 “I owe you an apology, Captain Shiers, for any 
 annoyance my presence at the meeting caused you. 
 It was an unfortunate mistake, and I pray you to 
 pardon it.” 
 
 Her eyes were fixed steadily on his face as she 
 spoke. I thought there was a peculiar emphasis in 
 her voice; my imagination may have been again at 
 fault. But there was no mistake about the troubled, 
 half-frightened air with which the man glanced 
 furtively at her, and his voice seemed to have lost 
 its honest, sturdy ring as he replied: 
 
 “Doan’t apologize to me, ma’am. This mon has 
 explained iverything. I thowt you’d mebbe laike 
 to see me to satisfy yoursen that it wor your feelin’s 
 carried you awaay. Lizzie—that’s my waife—said 
 it wor a sensible and proper thing to do, for of 
 coorse, when you saw and talked wi* me, it wad be 
 
NEWS OF A LONO LOST UNCLE. 89 
 
 plainer still that you wor mistaken, and kind o' ease 
 your maind.” 
 
 Mrs. Toplass listened with a pained look; she 
 never once removed her eyes from the man's face, 
 and her steady gaze seemed to disconcert him. He 
 was unmistakably uneasy, and the unfavorable 
 opinion which had been forming in my mind since 
 the introduction gathered strength from his awk¬ 
 ward manner. 
 
 “Yes,” responded Mrs. Toplass, sighing slightly 
 though her voice was firm; “it was very kind and 
 considerate of you. I need not tell you how your 
 appearance deceived me; you are very like, and yet 
 unlike my poor husband. You have the same deep 
 tone in speaking, but he did not talk like you, and 
 he was a Yorkshireman too.” 
 
 “Indeed, ma’am,” exclaimed Shiers, “what mowt 
 his given name be?” 
 
 “Henry,” replied Mrs. Toplass. 
 
 “Henry!” echoed the man in surprise; “Henry! 
 Why I had an uncle named Henry Toplass; he wor 
 very little owder than me.” 
 
 “Could he have been my husband?” cried the 
 lady excitedly. 
 
90 NEWS OF A LONG LOST UNCLE. 
 
 “Hardly, ma’am,” was the reply with a solemn 
 shake of the head, “he wor lost at sea nigh on 
 twenty years ago.” 
 
 “Ah!” 
 
 There was bitter disappointment in this ejacula¬ 
 tion. The slight hope raised by the similarity of 
 names was dashed ruthlessly to the ground. Still 
 Mrs. Toplass struggled to revive it. 
 
 “Can you tell me something of his history?” 
 she asked, anxiously. 
 
 “There is little to tell, ma’am. He wor my 
 grandfather’s youngest son, and wor born at Ripon 
 a little betoar niy mother wor married. He wor a 
 wild, restless kind of a chap, and ran awaay to sea 
 efter he left th’ grammer skule. He wor maate of 
 a ship which wor lost wi’ aril hands on her way to 
 Valparaiso in 1856. Noo I mention it. I’m reminded 
 that folks used to saay I wor th’ living image of 
 him.” 
 
 “Might not some one have been saved from the 
 wreck?” queried the lady, in the same anxious 
 tone. 
 
 “No; that seems impossible, ma’am; th’ ship wor 
 reported lost in midocean durin’ a severe storm. 
 Not a soul was ivver heard 01. Besides, ma’am, 
 
NEWS OF A LONG LOST UNCLE. 
 
 91 
 
 supposin’ Uncle Harry wor saaved, doan’t you think 
 he’d bin mon enuff to let th’ owd folks know? We 
 Yorkshire folks are ruff, ma’am, but we beant so 
 bad as that.” 
 
 “True! true!” cried Mrs. Toplass, with deep de¬ 
 jection in her voice, and then added suddenly: 
 
 “But my Henry went away and has never been 
 heard of.” 
 
 “Yes, ma’am, and a very sad caase, too, I’m 
 towd,” responded Shiers with feeling and a touch 
 of his old manner, which I was pleased to observe. 
 
 “And,” continued the lady in a peculiar tone, 
 “he was born at Ripon in Yorkshire.” 
 
 “You doan’t say sol” 
 
 Shiers was plainly bewildered by this state 
 ment. His eyes opened wide in amazement and 
 his breath came quick and hard. 
 
 “You doan’t say sol” he repeated, with an awe¬ 
 struck inflection. 
 
 ‘Tt is true!” cried Mrs. Toplass, with renewed 
 symptoms of excitement; “and, what is more, his 
 father’s name was Thomas Toplass and he was in 
 the ship supply business at Hartpond.” 
 
 “My conscience!” exclaimed the man, springing 
 up and seizing her by the hands; “can it be that 
 Uncle Harry was saaved and thou’rt his wife?” 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE SCAR ON HIS FOREHEAD. 
 
 It almost passed comprehension that in her 
 search for her husband, Mrs. Toplass should find 
 his nephew and confound him with the missing 
 man; it was equally strange that the discovery of 
 the nephew should lead to news of an uncle long 
 since mourned as dead. One might search the 
 realms of curious circumstances in vain for a para- 
 lel case. I was delighted with this sudden and un- 
 
 m 
 
 expected turn of affairs, which bade fair to expand 
 into a rich and rare sensation. 
 
 Mrs. Toplass received this emotional outburst 
 of her putative nephew with outward composure. 
 She must have been prepared for something of the 
 sort, for I had held back no important item in my 
 hurried recapitulation of the exciting incidents in 
 Captain Shiers* career, I thought it strange that 
 she did not give me some hint of the relationship 
 which she must at once have seen existed between 
 her husband and Captain Shiers. Her manner led 
 me to believe that she agreed to the interview with 
 
THB SCAB OM HIS rOKEHBAD. 
 
 93 
 
 the simple purpose of removing all doubts as to the 
 honesty and good faith of the Salvationist. But 1 
 had no time to analyze her motives; the situation 
 was dramatically interesting, and it mattered little 
 whether it was totally unlooked for or cunningly 
 contrived for some hidden object. ' 
 
 Quietly releasing herself from the man’s hearty 
 grasp Mrs. Toplass said: 
 
 “Let us compare notes a little further, Captain 
 Shiers. Perhaps it will smooth things if I relate 
 what I know of my husband’s past.” 
 
 “Most certainly it will, ma’am,” said the Salva¬ 
 tionist, resuming his seat. “I'm aril at sea, noo. 
 Eh! but it wad hev bin grate news for grandfaather 
 before he deed. Think on it, ma’am; we aril 
 thought Uncle Harry wor deed and gane. Why, 
 there’s a yedstane to his memory in St. Hilda 
 churchyaard wi’ some poetry on it abawt th’ dan¬ 
 gers of thoase who go down to th’ sea in ships. 
 Hoo did he manage to escape?” 
 
 “I first met Mr. Toplass at an entertainment 
 given by the St. Andrew’s society,” began the lady, 
 settling herself in the chair and again fixing her 
 large eyes on Captain Shiers, who still fidgeted a 
 little under their steady look. “He was introduced 
 
94 
 
 THE SCAR ON HIS FOREHEAD. 
 
 by a mutual friend, and we danced together several 
 times ere the party broke up. I was greatly pleased 
 with his manner and conversation; he was smilingly 
 frank and open, and gave me the impression of a 
 cultured and honorable man. He asked permission 
 to call upon me and I consented. His pleasant, 
 genial ways soon made him a favorite with my 
 parents, and I could not help admiring his noble, 
 manly qualities. We fell in love and were married 
 after a courtship of six months. Mr. Toplass had 
 only been in Chicago about a year, but he had been 
 very successful in business and was able to go to 
 housekeeping in comfortable style. We rented a 
 flat on Wabash avenue at first, but his affairs pros¬ 
 pering rapidly in the course of a year my husband 
 built the house on Prairie avenue where I now live 
 with my two children. 
 
 “Mr. Toplass had been very reticent about his past, 
 merely stating that he was an Englishman of hum¬ 
 ble parentage, and that he was estranged from his 
 relatives for a reason he did not care to explain. I 
 was perfectly satsified with this account; he was all 
 a woman could wish as a husband—kind and de¬ 
 voted—and the universal respect with which he was 
 regarded in the business community was proof of 
 
THE SCAR ON HIS FOREHEAD. 95 
 
 his urbanity and integrity. After little Harry was 
 born he talked more freely and seemed anxious to 
 communicate with his relatives, but he kept post¬ 
 poning the matter, and up to the time of his dis¬ 
 appearance he had not written the long-deferred 
 letter of reconciliation. He told me that he was 
 born at Ripon, Yorkshire; that his father was 
 Thomas Toplass, of Hartpond; that he had one 
 sister who was married to a farmer, but I do not 
 remember his mentioning the name of her hus¬ 
 band.** 
 
 “That wad be my mother,” interrupted Captain 
 Shiers with moistened eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Toplass paid no heed to this remark, but 
 went on with a composure that struck me as singu¬ 
 lar: 
 
 “He said that he had received a fair education, 
 and was intended for a veterinary surgeon, but that 
 there was Norse blood in his veins and he could not 
 settle on land, and that, despite the entreaties of 
 his parents, he went on board ship and spent 
 several years as a sailor. His last voyage was as 
 mate of the Honduras, which sailed from Liverpool 
 for South America in April, 1856.** 
 
96 THE SCAR ON HIS FOREHEAD. 
 
 “The very ship,” exclaimed Captain Shiers. “Eh! 
 but this is strange!” 
 
 “He told me of the storm and shipwreck, stat* 
 ing that he contrived to get in a small boat when 
 the Honduras foundered, and was washed about for 
 three days before being rescued by a Norwegian 
 bark, which landed him at Galveston, Texas. Tired 
 of the sea after this rough experience he looked 
 about for work on shore, and obtained a situation 
 as hotel porter. He saved money in that humble 
 calling, and began trading on a small scale. Every¬ 
 thing prospered with him, and he soon owned a 
 store similar to that of his father in Hartpond, 
 When the war broke out he removed North, and 
 was in business in New York and Boston. The 
 roving spirit took possession of him again, but it 
 did not draw him to sea this time; he drifted about 
 the country for years, and finally located in Chicago, 
 and went into business as a commission merchant. 
 This is all I know of my husband’s history, sir. We 
 lived happily, ah! so happily together. There 
 never was a better man—so true, so gentle, so lov¬ 
 ing. Our home was a joyous one until that sad day 
 he dropped suddenly out of our lives, snapping the 
 cord of our happiness, making the days blank and 
 
THE 8CAR ON HIS FOREHEAD. 
 
 9 ; 
 
 dreary and the nights full of gloom and desolation. 
 Never was woman so wretched as I. Oh! Henryl 
 where are you now?” 
 
 In an instant the woman’s composure left her, 
 and she moaned and sobbed as though her heart 
 was breaking. Moved by her grief Captain Shiers 
 took her hands gently and compassionately. 
 
 “Cheer oop, ma’am,” he said with manly tender¬ 
 ness; “We aril have our griefs in this world. The 
 Lord will surely lighten thine. Cheer oop, happen 
 Uncle Harry will coom back again, and th’ reunion 
 will be brighter and happier than hairt can con¬ 
 ceive.” 
 
 She let her hands rest quietly in his; her sobs 
 grew fainter; hope and love gleamed in her brim¬ 
 ming eyes.- 
 
 “Yes! yes!” she cried; “he will come back. God 
 will not let him remain away forever. He will 
 come back to his children and me.” 
 
 “That’s reet,” said the man, ‘‘hope on, hope 
 ivver; its a blessed soothin’ thing to hope.” 
 
 The woman looked in his face with hungry, 
 yearning eyes; her bosom heaved, and with a wild, 
 convulsive sob, she threw herself on his breast, cry- 
 
98 
 
 THE SCAR ON HlS FOREHEAD. 
 
 “O Henry! Thank God, you have come.” 
 
 “Captain Shiers drew back with a horrified ex¬ 
 pression. She clung to him passionately. 
 
 “Why, oh! why do you spurn me, Henry, my 
 husband?” 
 
 “My good wooman,” faltered the man, looking 
 amazedly in her face; “my good wooman, why this 
 madness.” 
 
 “No, no,” she cried in beseeching tones; “I am 
 not mad, Henry; only hungering for your love 
 again.” 
 
 He looked at me in bewilderment, muttering 
 something I could not make out. Mrs. Toplass 
 passed one hand rapidly over his forehead, crying: 
 
 “I’m not mad; I’m not deceived. See, there is 
 the scar caused by a falling block. Oh! Henry, do 
 not deny your own wife!” 
 
 On the man’s brow, partially hidden by the hair, 
 was a white scar. Captain Shiers staggered back¬ 
 ward as she pointed to it. He was pale and trem¬ 
 bling and big drops of perspiration gathered on his 
 forehead. 
 
 “What can this mean?” he cried huskily. 
 
 “It means that you are Henry Toplass, my hus¬ 
 band.” 
 
THE SCAR ON HIS FOREHEAD. 99 
 
 The soft pleading tones had left her voice. She 
 drew herself to her full height, and scorn flashed 
 from the eyes erst while bathed in pitiful tears. 
 
 “It means, also, that you are a craven wretch,” 
 she cried; “a base impostor, a cowardly deserter of 
 wife and children ” 
 
 / 
 
 “Unsaay thy words, ma’am,” said Captain Shiers 
 in a trembling voice; “as God is my judge, thou’rt 
 mistakken and crazed with thy sorrow.” . 
 
 “As God is your judge and mine,” she retorted 
 with increasing scorn, “you are my miserable, 
 worthless, despicable husband. Go to your wanton! 
 Go!” 
 
 She pointed to the door. The man’s head 
 dropped before her flashing eyes. He glanced 
 timorously at me and left the room with a sorrowful, 
 dejected air. 
 
 Mrs. Toplass fell wailing on the floor. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 - FOREBODINGS OF TROUBLE. 
 
 For a time I was stunned by this termination of 
 the interview. Mrs Toplass had acted strangely 
 from the first. She was cool and excited by turns; 
 at one time she seemed to put implicit confi¬ 
 dence in Captain Shiers* story; at another her lan¬ 
 guage denoted extreme skepticism. She tacitly 
 sanctioned the impression that Henry Toplass was 
 the man’s uncle, and then, veering like the wind, 
 claimed Shiers as her husband in the face of power¬ 
 ful evidence that he was her nephew. 
 
 Was the woman’s brain affected? Or had she, 
 with subtle feminine perception, penetrated a dis¬ 
 guise that deceived even a reporter in quest of a 
 sensation? Was Captain Shiers, the honest manly 
 fellow I believed him, or was he the base scoundrel 
 Mrs. Toplass denounced? 
 
 The case was growing more and more compli¬ 
 cated. There was evidently method in her madness, 
 if the woman was mad. Affording him every chance 
 to declare himself, slowly revealing the agony of 
 
FOREBODINGS OF TROUBLE. IQI 
 
 her spirit in her relation of past happiness, the ex¬ 
 posure of the scar was a masterstroke to bring the 
 man to her feet—a conscience-stricken supplicant for 
 forgiveness. That failing, her heart revolted, the 
 man became an object of scorn and loathing, and 
 she cast him off forever with that last passionate 
 exclamation. 
 
 But could Captain Sheirs, or any one with the 
 common feelings of humanity, stand calmly in the 
 presence of a deserted wife and solemnly reject her 
 tearful claims for sympathy and love? His uneasi¬ 
 ness during the interview, the half-frightened air 
 with which he met her gaze, the dejected manner 
 in which he slunk away, were strong points against 
 him; but what object could he have in leaving a 
 comfortable home and prosperous business, in re¬ 
 nouncing social standing and domestic peace and 
 allying himself to a lowly band of religionists who 
 often depended upon the scant offerings of Impov¬ 
 erished followers for the bare necessities of life? 
 
 Was there a skeleton in the Toplass closet? Mad 
 Mrs. Toplass a dread secret of connubial sorrow 
 locked in her bosom? Was Mrs. Shiers, who pro¬ 
 posed this meeting, an honest woman or had she 
 
102 
 
 FOREBODINGS OF TROUBLE, 
 
 guilty knowledge of the true position of the man 
 she proudly called husband? 
 
 These and kindred thoughts crowded upon me; 
 my mind was burdened with perplexity as I raised 
 the sobbing woman from the floor. She thanked 
 me in a feeble voice and bade me leave her. 
 
 “ My heart is crushed she wailed in piteous tones, 
 “ That man is my husband; he denies and scorns me 
 to live a life of sin with a dissolute woman. Oh! 
 why can’t I die!” 
 
 It was no time to question the women. Her eyes 
 glistened wildly through the tears; the veins throbed 
 on her brow, and her breath came in quick convul¬ 
 sive gasps. 
 
 I rang for assistance, and with a partial explana¬ 
 tion of the cause of the seizure I left the house to 
 follow Captain Shiers. Only a few moments had 
 elapsed since he departed, but he was nowhere in 
 sight. Taking a car east on Madison street I got 
 off at Halsted street and hurried to his house. 
 
 Mrs Shiers responded to my knock at the door. 
 There were deep circles around her eyes and other 
 traces of sorrow in her sweet, womanly face. 
 
FOREBODINGS OF TROUBLE. 
 
 103 
 
 ‘‘Come in, sir, she said, with a smile; “strange 
 things have happened since John went out this morn¬ 
 ing.” 
 
 I entered the shabby little sitting room. On the 
 lounge lay a man in a pitiable condition. His eyes 
 were bloodshot, white flecks of froth were on his 
 lips, his face was bleared and blotched with dissipa¬ 
 tion, his hands and feet twitched incessantly. His 
 clothes were torn and bespattered with mud, and 
 hideous moans came through his chattering teeth. 
 
 f 
 
 There was no mistaking the fellow’s plight; he was 
 in the first stage of delirium tremens. 
 
 “I found him in the gutter this morning,” said 
 Mrs. Shiers, answering my questioning look. “How 
 sad and strange it is! A few years ago he was well 
 dressed, sober and healthful—a man whose appear¬ 
 ance inspired confidence and respect. And see him 
 now!’* 
 
 She bestowed a look of mingled pity and disgust 
 on the shaking wretch. 
 
 “You know him, then?” I queried. 
 
 “Yes; he is Edward Barton, a friend of ours in 
 the old country.” 
 
 “Edward Barton!” exclaimed I, in amazement; 
 “why that is the man whom— 
 
t04 FOREBODINGS OF TROUBLE. 
 
 She touched my arm warningly and responded: j 
 
 “Yes, you know the story, but don’t refer to it 
 now, please.” ^ 
 
 There was need of the warning, for at the 
 mention of his name the man raised himself on his 
 elbows and shrieked: 
 
 “They’re coming! Oh! They’re coming! Save 
 me, save me!” 
 
 Mrs. Shiers went to his side and stroked his head ■ 
 gently. His fear subsided under her sympathetic 
 touch. The frightened expression died on his face 
 and he sank weakly down on the couch, muttering: 
 
 “Keep them away; don’t leave me!” 
 
 “She gave him a spoonful of medicine from a 
 bottle and motioned me out of the room. 1 went 
 into the kitchen where Mrs. Shiers soon joined me. 
 
 “He is easier now,” she said. “I called in a 
 doctor as soon as I got him up stairs. He says the 
 poor fellow is in a critical state, ^but that careful 
 nursing will bring him round.” 
 
 “And you have undertaken to nurse him?” 
 
 “Certainly, sir; I could not leave him to die on 
 the street.” 
 
 “But your husband—how will he tolerate him 
 under the same roof?” 
 
FOREBODINGS OF TROUBLE. 10$ 
 
 She looked surprised at the question. 
 
 “Ah! sir!” she said softly, “you forget that John 
 is a changed man. The love of God takes all malice 
 and hatred and jealousy out of the heart, and fills 
 it with peace, good will and loving kindness to all 
 mankind. John will aid me to reclaim that poor, 
 sinful man.*’ 
 
 “And you have no misgiving that the old anger 
 will return?” 
 
 “No, sir,” was the reply, with one of those sweet 
 tender smiles which gave a saint-like glory to her 
 face; “our new life has taught us to be charitable 
 and help the afflicted. John would never forgive 
 me if I turned my back on Ned Barton now that he 
 is in need of pity and tender care.** 
 
 Here indeed was Christianity manifesting itself 
 in good works. I began to hate myself for harbor¬ 
 ing vile suspicion against this calm, trustful, help¬ 
 ful little woman. 
 
 “Where is Captain Shiers?'* 1 asked. 
 
 “1 was about to ask you that question, sir. He 
 went out this morning to keep an appointment with 
 you, I understood.** 
 
 “Yes, we met, but he left Mrs. Tdplass in ad* 
 vance of me, and 1 expected to find him at home." 
 
I06 FOREBODINGS OF TROUBLE. 
 
 “Something may have detained him,’* she said 
 quietly; “How did you find that poor lady?” 
 
 I hesitated before replying. Would it be pru¬ 
 dent to enlighten her as to that strange interview? 
 I thought it advisable to let her husband give her 
 the particulars, and merely replied: 
 
 “She is very much excited.” 
 
 “It must have been a very trying ordeal,” said 
 Mrs. Shiers, in a tone of deep sympathy. “But 
 she’ll be better and more resigned after being 
 thoroughly convinced of her mistake.” 
 
 “But,” I could not help responding, “but she is 
 not convinced.” 
 
 “Not convinced!” she exclaimed nervously, 
 “why, she surely does not think now John is her 
 husband.” 
 
 “I am afraid she does, madam,” said I. 
 
 “How sad.” 
 
 “Mrs. Shiers shook her head mournfully; she 
 seemed to think grief had bereft the poor lady of 
 her senses. I was about to reply when Captain 
 Shiers’ step was heard on the stairs. His wife’s 
 face lightened up when she heard the familiar sound. 
 She went to the landing to meet him. I heard her 
 
FOREBODINGS OF TROUBLE. 
 
 107 
 
 whisper something about the sick man in the sitting 
 room and then they came into the kitchen together. 
 
 Captain Shiers’ face was clouded. He started 
 nervously and glanced anxiously at his wife as he 
 saw me. 
 
 “Has hetowdthou?” he asked huskily. 
 
 “Told me what?” inquired Mrs. Shiers. 
 
 “What that wooman said.” 
 
 His voice was still thick and the troubled look 
 deepened. 
 
 “No, Mr. Burbanks has told me nothing.” 
 
 “I thank thee, lad,” he said to me; “its bet> 
 ter my lass should hear th* story fram my oan lips.” 
 
 Mrs. Shiers glanced anxiously at the man and 
 cried: 
 
 “Thou’s in trouble, John; what is it?” 
 
 “Get me my pipe,” he said, assuming a lighter 
 tone; “if iver I wanted a bit o* 'bacca it’s noo.” 
 
 His" wife brought pipe and tobacco from the 
 sitting room. 
 
 “Sit thee doon, lass, and listen to as straange a 
 tale as wor ivver towld i’ th’ fairy bukes.” 
 
 He lighted his pipe, his brow clearing a little 
 under the influence of the narcotic and related what 
 had occurred with great fidelity to detail. His wife 
 
0 
 
 I08 FORSBODINQS OF TROUBLBt 
 
 listened intently and was visibly perturbed during 
 the narration. 
 
 “That scar!” she cried, “how could she know of 
 that scar?” 
 
 “God oanly knows,” replied the husband; “it 
 puzzles me sairly. That mark wor put on my broo 
 when I wor dragged oop th* cliffs o' Hartpond 
 Moor. Happen Uncle Harry had a scar there." 
 "Then you think your uncle was her husband?” 
 
 I queried. _ 
 
 “I divven’t know what to think. We aril i-howt 
 
 he wof at th’ bottom o’ th* Atlantic. Mebbe he wor 
 saaved, as she said, but my yed’s aril muddled. 
 Vance I thowt I’d seen her befoar.” 
 
 “Seen her before the meeting?” exclaimed Mrs. 
 Shiers. 
 
 “Ves, lass; there wor a luke on her face which 
 wor familiar, and sometaimes her voice rang in ma 
 ears wi* a likely soond. Why of coorse (speaking 
 with sudden inspiration, it seemed) they wor famil¬ 
 iar!” 
 
 His wife and I regarded the man with intense 
 surprise; his sparkling eyes gave evidence of a glad 
 discovery. 
 
FOREBODINGS Of TROUBLE. lOQ 
 
 ’That’s it,” he cried, animatedly, pointing to 
 Mrs. Shiers; “luke, lad, it wor her face and her voice 
 I heerd.” 
 
 I looked at the little anxious woman, and sure 
 enough there was an expression about her eyes and 
 mouth which recalled the sorrowful face of Mrs. 
 Toplass. It was a fleeting, flickering resemblance 
 which was gone almost ere it could be defined; it 
 gleamed fitfully in her eyes when pity or anxiety 
 were at work in her heart. There was a similar 
 look in Captain Shiers face when he was moved by 
 deep feeling. I regarded it as another singular co¬ 
 incidence in this marvelous web of curious gircum*’ 
 stances. 
 
 “Of coorse,” continued the Captain, “I’m sorry 
 for th’ poor wooman, for much grief has unsettled 
 her mind, Mebbe I owt to hev staayed and rea¬ 
 soned wi’ her, but she wor so wrowt oop I wor afraid 
 q’ th* consequences. Thou mebbe thowt it queer I 
 left when I did,” 
 
 “Yes, I did. Captain,” was my reply, ”and I fol¬ 
 lowed as soon as 1 could to put a few questions to 
 you.” 
 
no 
 
 FOREBODINGS OF TROUBLE. 
 
 “Ah! fire awaay, my lad. Oot wi' thy suspicions, 
 for I knaw thou maun hev soom efter th* queer 
 events o’ this morning.” 
 
 “Your explanation has answered them, Captain. 
 I saw you were uneasy when Mrs. Toplass gazed so 
 earnestly in your face; that undoubtedly arose from 
 the fact that you could not then account for her fa¬ 
 miliar expression.” 
 
 “Exactly; it worried me up till a mornent gone, 
 when I happened to luke at Lizzie there.” 
 
 “And as to the scar-” 
 
 “Thou thowt it queer she should faind th’ same 
 maark on my yed,” he interrupted. “Ay, so did I, 
 but accoont for the strange coincidence I cannot. 
 I can oanly repeat what I said befoar: This is my 
 oan true loving wife; we’ve bin married sixteen 
 years or mair, an’ I’m as innocent o’ th’ chaarge of 
 bein’ that wooman’s hoosband as my bairn Bob. 
 Lizzie, show him the marriage laines. 
 
 Mrs. Shiers went to the sitting-room and re¬ 
 turned with an oblong certificate of blue paper pur¬ 
 porting to be a true copy from the register of St. 
 Hilda Church. It set forth that John Shiers and 
 Elizabeth Moor were married in the parish church 
 of Hartpond, according to the rites and ceremonies 
 
FOREBODINGS OF TROUBLE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 of the Established Church, after publication of 
 banns, by Alfred Turnbull, surrogate, in the pres¬ 
 ence of Henry Johnson and Abigail Pounder, on 
 July 5, 1869. 
 
 “Noo I hope I’ve satisfied thee, at least,” said 
 Captain Shiers, after I had inspected this interest¬ 
 ing document. 
 
 “I was satisfied before,” I remarked, “only-” 
 
 “Oanly this unlooked for chaarge unsettled thy 
 faith,” he interrupted. “I don’t blame thee, lad; 
 it’s nobbut natural, an’ I maun confess I’m mystified 
 and muddled and troubled mysen. But I can do ne 
 mair than aw’ve dune.” 
 
 “We can pray God to restore the husband of 
 that poor lady,” said his wife, devoutly, “or if he is 
 past earthly restoration, we can ask Him to give her 
 strength to bear her lot and to reunite them in 
 eternity.” 
 
 “Ay, we can do that,” cried the man, with a re¬ 
 turn ot his hearty manner. 
 
 “And there’s a poor stricken sinner in the other 
 room who need; our prayers also,” added Mrs. 
 Shiers. 
 
 “Who is th* poor chap?” asked the Captain 
 kindly. 
 
XU FQRSBOPJNQS QF TBOVBLl. 
 
 “Ned Barton, John.” 
 
 “Ned Barton I Merciful heaven, trouble seeni* 
 to be clutherin* roond me.” 
 
 His face turned red and pale by turns, and th^ 
 anxious, perplexed look came back. The presence 
 of his old rival was evidently as unwelcome as it 
 was unexpected. He looked wonderingly at his 
 wife, who kissed him tenderly on the forehead, and 
 said: 
 
 “He needs our help, John.” 
 
 “Well, God’s will be dune, lass,” he said, with a 
 heavy sigh, as he passed his hand nervously through 
 his hair, “but trooble seems to be clutherin’ roond,” 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE doctor’s strange DISCOVERY. 
 
 When I reported at the office that afternoon, Dr. 
 Gillman, the celebrated South Side physician, was 
 awaiting me. 
 
 “I am going to reverse the usual order of 
 things,” said he, smiling, “and interview a reporter. 
 I want some information in regard to a patient of 
 mine.” 
 
 “1 divined his errand at once and said: 
 
 “You refer to Mrs. Toplass?” 
 
 “Hello! Burbanks,” responded the doctor, peer¬ 
 ing into my face with a professional air. “You need 
 a sedative; your mind is a little too active. There 
 is always danger in these psychological pranks; 
 they betoken inherited neurosis, and are the direct 
 forerunners of disease and death.” 
 
 “None of your scientific jargon, doctor,” said I 
 laughing; “am I not right?” 
 
 “You are, my friend,” said Dr. Gillman, seriously. 
 “I was summoned to the lady by telephone and 
 
 found her in a very precarious condition. Her 
 8G 
 
114 the doctor's strange discovery. 
 
 temperature is very high and her utterance inco: 
 herent; I am afraid of brain fever. She has had a 
 severe mental shock, I und^stand. You were pres¬ 
 ent when the attack came on, and I want you to tell 
 me all about this Captain Shiers, whom she persists 
 in calling her husband. Remember that I am the 
 friend as well as the physician of the family, and 
 knew poor Toplass well.’' 
 
 “Then we may be of mutual assistance, doctor,” 
 I responded, “for the case is perplexing in the high¬ 
 est degree.” 
 
 I told him the facts already set forth in these 
 pages. The doctor interrupted me several times to 
 put questions concerning the man’s behavior during 
 the exciting interview with Mrs. Toplass. 1 in¬ 
 formed him of my suspicions and the manner in 
 which they were dissipated by Captain Shiers. The 
 incident of the scar impressed him deeply. 
 
 “That scar is the main obstacle to the truth of 
 the man’s story,” said Dr. Gillman. “It is a peculiar 
 mark. The surgeon who attended Toplass was not 
 very skillful; the stitches were defective, and a de¬ 
 pression was left in the center of the forehead, 
 which is observable to a quick eye and a sensitive 
 
THE doctor’s STRANGE DISCOVERY. II5 
 
 touch. I could swear to the scar among a thous¬ 
 and.” 
 
 “Then it’s lucky you’ve been called into consul¬ 
 tation; we can easily devise a decisive test of the 
 man’s identity.” 
 
 “Yes, but this is an affair in which we must make 
 haste slowly. We don’t want to make a hullabaloo 
 and flood the papers with sensational articles. Top- 
 lass was a reputable man, and there’s no telling 
 what may have driven him to this extreme.” 
 
 “You forget, doctor, that we sprung this quarry 
 ourselves, and it is legitimate game.” 
 
 “I forget nothing, Burbanks; you deserve a 
 great deal of credit for the considerate manner in 
 which you have pursued the investigation, and you 
 newspaper men are too high-minded to wantonly 
 publish matters which can conserve no good pur¬ 
 pose.” 
 
 “Thanks, doctor; praise from Dr. Gillman is 
 praise indeed.” 
 
 “The doctor laughed, and said slyly; 
 
 “We’ve got to smooth you fellows down occa¬ 
 sionally; you get more kicks than ha’pence, and a 
 little judicious praise is a good button for the sharp 
 point of a pencil.” 
 
Il6 THE doctor's strange DISCOVERY. 
 
 “We are getting away from the immediate point 
 at issue," said I; “the propriety of publication is a 
 question that can be deferred until we probe the 
 mystery. As we are speaking confidentially now, 
 tell me if everything was smooth and pleasant in 
 the Toplass household." 
 
 “My boy," responded Dr. Gillman, “let me again 
 warn you about that brain of yours; it is far too 
 active to be entirely healthy, A sea voyage, with 
 the gentle murmur of the waves to lull your senses 
 into forgetfulness, or a trip to a mining camp, where 
 the piff-paff of the pistol soothes like the tick of 
 your grandfather’s clock, is what I advise. But, 
 seriously, why do you ask?" 
 
 “But for a satisfaction of my thought, doctor; 
 no further harm.” 
 
 “Well, to tell the truth, which there is no keep¬ 
 ing back from you quick-witted fellows, Mrs. Top- 
 lass was a trifle exacting and inordinately jealous." 
 
 “And had cause?" 
 
 “Not quite so fast, my friend; she had no cause. 
 Toplass was a noble, manly fellow, passionately 
 fond of his wife and babies. He had no eye for any 
 other woman, although treating the sex courteously 
 and considerately as every gentleman should. But, 
 
THE doctor’s strange DISCOVERY. II7 
 
 as often happens where the husband is eminently 
 trustworthy and constant, Mrs. Toplass was often 
 distraught with the green-eyed monster which plays 
 havoc in so many homes. Her sighs and groans 
 and anxious espionage led him a dance sometimes 
 which was exceedingly trying to a sensitive organ¬ 
 ization.” 
 
 Wouldn’t this unfortunate habit of his wife afford 
 Toplass a reasonable excuse for turning up miss¬ 
 ing?” 
 
 “There’s no determining what result jealousy 
 may have in any given case. Constant dripping 
 wears away stone, and a loyal heart may become re¬ 
 bellious by reason of continued accusations of dis¬ 
 loyalty. But we will postpone this discussion. 
 Show me the note you received from this Captain 
 Shiers.” 
 
 I handed him the note; as he read it his face 
 assumed an aspect of intense satisfaction. 
 
 “Didn’t you notice anything strange about this 
 epistle?” he asked. 
 
 “Only one thing.” 
 
 “And that is?” 
 
 “That it is couched in better language than one 
 plight expect from a man of Shiers’ position and 
 
Il8 THE DOCTOR’^S strange DISCOVERY, 
 
 limited education. Of course, it is rarely the case 
 that a man writes as he talks, and the absence of 
 dialect in the note did not surprise me; but it is 
 reasonable to suspect some little trick of phrase¬ 
 ology which would betray homely methods of 
 thought and expression.” 
 
 “Very true, my friend, but there is something 
 even more remarkable in this brief missive.” 
 
 “Explain.*' 
 
 “It is unmistaxably in the handwriting of Henry 
 Toplass, late commission merchant of Chicago! 1 
 know the characters well!” 
 
 This was a great discovery; taken in connection 
 with the scar, it was irrefragible proof that Captain 
 Shiers, whose simplicity of life and solemn affecta¬ 
 tion of humble piety had beguiled me into sympa¬ 
 thy and admiration, was a base impostor. 
 
 “Let us unmask the scoundrel at once,” I cried. 
 
 “Don’t get excited, Burbanks,” said the doctor, 
 quietly. “We must proceed calmly and deliberate¬ 
 ly. This may not be a case for a policeman’s club. 
 It is just as likely that the man is in an unconscious 
 state of pernicious, mental and physical activity, 
 and that the services of a humane physician are re- 
 q«ire<l" 
 
THE doctor’s strange DISCOVERY. Iig 
 
 “What do you mean?” 
 
 “That Toplass may be in a peculiar psychologi¬ 
 cal condition thatiinpells him to act and speak like 
 another person, and that he has no consciousness 
 of his past life or real character.” 
 
 “Why, that is lunacy.” 
 
 “Yes, that is the vulgar appellation,” responded 
 the doctor, grimly, “but modern science is progres¬ 
 sive and in some respects euphonious. The South 
 Side preacher who bodily appropriated the sermon 
 of an eloquent divine was afflicted with unconscious 
 cerebration. In characterizing the conduct of Top- 
 lass, who is personating the life and manners of 
 
 some unknown individual, why not be equally as 
 lenient and call it a complicated case of unconscious 
 cerebration. The cases are analagous, inasmuch as 
 they both evince the imperfect action of a diseased 
 brain.” 
 
 “Well, what course do you propose, doctor?” 
 
 “I think we’d better let the fellow enjoy the 
 felicity of his present domestic arrangements in 
 peace and study him in his war-paint at the meeting 
 this evening.” 
 
 ^‘Agreed," 
 
120 THE doctor’s STRANOl DISCOVERY. 
 
 Meantime let us keep our own counsel, and 
 medical skill, in conjunction with reportorial sagac¬ 
 ity, will bring order and harmony out of this chaos 
 of confusing conjectures.” 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 AT THE SALVATION BARRACKS. 
 
 Carrying out their craze for military nomencla¬ 
 ture the Salvationists call their meeting places bar¬ 
 racks. At the time of this story they were dreary, 
 desolate-looking halls, as a rule, for the owners of 
 well-appointed places refused to rent them to the 
 army because of the boisterous character of their 
 congregations. Broken chairs and creaking benches 
 comprised the furniture, indicating physical 
 rather than spiritual welfare; and the dusty windows 
 stuffed with rags suggested that tidiness and clean¬ 
 liness were not regarded as akin to godliness. 
 
 / 
 
 The barracks over which Captain Shiers exer¬ 
 cised command were as bare and dirty and cheer¬ 
 less as the veriest sloven could wish. More than 
 half the panes were out of the windows; the chairs 
 were rickety, the walls streaked with finger-marks, 
 the ceiling smoked and flecked with paper pellets, 
 and the floor an inch thick with dust. 
 
 When Dr. Gilman and I entered, the army had 
 just ended its street parade, and with beating drums 
 
122 
 
 AT THE SALVATION BARRACKS. 
 
 and tinkling tamt)ourines, were pushing their way 
 through a motly, ill-smelling crowd to the platform. 
 Captain Shiers, flourishing his cornet frantically as 
 he marshaled his forces, was the most conspicuous 
 figure in the band. His face was streaming with 
 perspiration; his voice sounded strangely uncouth 
 as he alternately bawled commands and shouted 
 “Glory!” and his eyes flashed with excitement when 
 he reached the stage and mopped his shapely head 
 ' with a red cotton handkerchief. 
 
 “That’s our man, sure as fate,” whispered Dr. 
 Gillman; “I cannot be mistaken.” 
 
 The soldiers toOk their station on the platform. 
 They numbered thirty in all. Some were attired in 
 red guernseys, others had military jackets with red 
 facings and braided epaulets. The sisters wore 
 short sombre print gowns and broad-brimmed hats, 
 whose only trimming was a bright red ribbon with 
 “Salvation Army” printed thereon in black letters. 
 In repose they were demure, timid looking women, 
 whose facial characteristics were pinched cheeks 
 and large, hungry, glittering eyes. When the clar¬ 
 ion notes of the cornet sounded the attack on the 
 hQ 9 ts of 9int baahf^ln^ss and fimidity were thrown 
 
AT THE SALVATION BARRACKS. I23 
 
 to the winds, and they screamed and jesticulated as 
 if Bedlam had broken loose in their midst. 
 
 Mrs. Shiers was not there, and I was glad of it. 
 I could scarcely bare to think of that calm, spiritual 
 little woman shaking a tambourine and aiding in 
 that wild jumble pf discordant sounds. She was, no 
 doubt, engaged in more congenial work at home, 
 nursing that trembling inebriate back to health and 
 sobriety. 
 
 There was little in the service to induce respect. 
 Songs and exhortations followed one another with 
 bewildering rapidity. The base-drummer thanked 
 God for rescuing him from a life of sin. He said 
 the very drum with which he awoke the echoes of 
 that dismal hall had startled him in the middle of a 
 burglary, and he dropped the dark lantern and 
 jimmy and became a soldier of the cross. A lank, 
 lantern-jawed youth, who marked time with a tri¬ 
 angle, declared that the drum-beat recalled him 
 from sneak-thieving and drunkenness and directed 
 his steps to Calvary. A peaked-faced damsel of 
 eighteen, with shocky hair and a shrill voice, averred 
 that the same solemn note aroused her from the 
 vilest lethargy of sin and tnade her cling to the Rock 
 of Agesi 
 
134 at thb salvation barracks* 
 
 So the pitiable record or past wretchedness went 
 on. Each and every one of the soldiers had a tale 
 of wickedness and reclamation to tell. The shouts 
 of “glory** and “hallelujah** which greeted every 
 confession made the rafters ring. 
 
 The effect on the audience was peculiar. The 
 men were rough-looking. Numbers were coatless 
 and collarless; scores bore the impress of vTce and 
 dissipation. Some were there to scoff, and inter¬ 
 rupted the services with coarse ejaculations. Others, 
 attracted by curiosity, and probably influenced by 
 that potential drum, listened to the prayers and 
 confessions with serious, awe-struck faces. Their 
 attitude suggested the mysterious awakening which 
 the speakers declared must precede conversion. 
 The soldiers directed all their batteries against 
 them, and loud shouts of victory went up when one 
 conscience-stricken man arose in the body of the 
 hall and begged for prayers for his soul. 
 
 Captain Shiers read a passage of Scripture and 
 delivered a brief sermon on the saving power of 
 the Gospel. His quaint dialect and magnetic elo¬ 
 quence swayed the audience wonderfully, silencing 
 the scoffers and moving many of the truth-seekers 
 to tears. He told what religion had done for him^ 
 
AT THE SALVATION BARRACKS. 125 
 
 how hard Satan beset him in youth, dragging him 
 through shifting scenes and stages of wickedness 
 intil the scaffold, with its horrible dangling noose, 
 ttared him in the face. 
 
 “God had to get me doon and jump on me,” he 
 cried, “befoar Fd relinquish my evil waays. Oh! 
 my friends, diwent wait until you’re in that strait; 
 doan’t tempt your Heavenly Faather too much. Th* 
 patience of God is graat beyond oonderstandin*, but 
 it hes its limits. Doan’t try to measure that limit; 
 howl oot your hands, noo, open your hairts to th’ 
 blessed dew of divine graace. Ivery moment is 
 precious; time is slipping past us into eternity; noo 
 is th* accepted hour; Coom, poor sinner; throw 
 your burden on th’ cross. Begin th’ new life to¬ 
 night. Oh! it’s a graat and glorious life, full of 
 sweet joy and peace. Sin is poisoned pleasure; th’ 
 gowden chalice hes bitter, bitter dregs. Dash it to 
 th’ groond and drink of th’ waters of iverlastin’ life. 
 Th’ draught will be sweeter than wine; it nourishes 
 while it cheers, it maks glad th’ soul and opens th’ 
 hairt to delights unknown to th’ followers of Satan. 
 Coom, my friends, th’ good Lord is callin’ you. He 
 stretches oot His hands to snatch you fram th’ pit. 
 
126 
 
 AT THE SALVATION BARRACKS. 
 
 Doan’t hesitate—hesitation means deeth and dom- 
 nation; acceptance means life in Heaven wi* angels 
 and saints and joy everlastin*. Coom, th’ Savior 
 knocks at your hairts; oppen them and let Him in.” 
 
 Several men cried out for mercy; the simple, 
 touching appeal had struck home to their hearts, 
 and their piteous plea for help evoked a loud paean 
 of praise from the soldiers on the platform. The 
 meeting was dismissed soon after this triumphant 
 result of Captain Shiers’ rough eloquence. 
 
 “Shall I introduce you?” I asked Dr. Gillman, 
 who had watched the Captain earnestly during the 
 meeting. 
 
 “No,” was his quiet reply, “the time is not ripe.” 
 
 “Are you of the same opinion still?” I queried, 
 thinking I detected a tone of doubt in his voice. 
 
 “Most decidedly; Captain Shiers is no other 
 than Henry Toplass.” 
 
 * How do you account for the dialect?” 
 
 “I account for nothing just now,” he replied. 
 The man who led that meeting is Toplass, and, 
 moreovei, he is a genuine, thorough-going Chris¬ 
 tian, if there ever was one in the world.” 
 
 “But your assertion embraces a contradiction.” 
 
AT THE SALVATION BARRACKS. 127 
 
 “I know it; but no more buts at present. I am 
 going home to cogitate. To-morrow I may be able 
 to suggest a plan whereby we can change an honest, 
 simple follower of the cross, into a money-grabbing 
 but respectable Chicago merchant. Good night. 
 Come to my State street office at lo in the morn- 
 ing. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 LITTLE bob’s ACCOUNT OF HIS FATHER. 
 
 No man was better qualified than Dr. Gillman to 
 deal with a case of dual personality arising from 
 psychological causes or brain disorder. He was a 
 profound student of mental science, and his treatise 
 on ‘‘Insanity in its relations to Metaphysics’* was 
 emphatically indorsed by the American Psycho¬ 
 logical Association, a body of learned and practical 
 men, who do not exempt any function of mind, 
 however exalted, from physical research, but seek 
 the indelible records of eternal truth in the laws of 
 nature. His monograph on “Conscience,” in which 
 he traced an essential connection between moral 
 sense and brain, and boldly concluded that con¬ 
 science was largely a function of organization, 
 caused a great commotion in religious circles, in 
 which he was denounced as an “impious monster, 
 using a perverted intellect to destroy belief in the 
 separate existence of the soul.” 
 
 The doctor was not a master of this kind of in¬ 
 vective. He replied to his critics in a c^lm, philo¬ 
 sophical style, which carried confusion into their 
 
LITTLE bob's ACCOUNT OF HIS FATHER. 1 29 
 
 ranks. “Evangelists and theologians,” he wrote, 
 fight and haggle over the ‘souls’ of men, forgetful 
 of the recognized scientific fact that morality and 
 ‘spirituality*, which appertain to the functions of 
 'soul,* depend upon organization, and the physical 
 condition of the body and brain. Perfect physical 
 and mental action result in perfect lives. Exalta¬ 
 tion of any kind is caused by disease or unhealthy 
 action of the brain. If the millennium ever reigns 
 on earth it will be after centuries of close attention 
 to health and physical development have eradicated 
 the effects of inherited imperfections of mind and 
 body, which are the cause of all the misery, disease 
 and wretchedness afflicting mankind.” 
 
 Dr. Gillman’s declaration that Shiers, whom he 
 believed to be no other than his old friend Henry 
 Toplass, was an earnest and devout Christian, struck 
 me as singular. Thoroughly impressed with the 
 Doctor’s theory of the man’s identity, I was more 
 inclined to dub him a worthless, hypocritical, big¬ 
 amous scoundrel, and I was anxious to see him in 
 the dock receiving sentence for his infamous crime. 
 
 I did not forget that the doctor hinted at a men¬ 
 tal disturbance which might render Shiers unac¬ 
 countable for his actions, but I could not persuade 
 .9G 
 
130 LITTLE BOB'^S ACCOUNT OF HIS FATHER. 
 
 myself that this occult condition palliated an offense 
 against the laws of the state. 
 
 I met Dr. Gillman, as appointed, next morning. 
 He had just returned from a visit to Mrs. Toplass 
 and was in a thoughtful, contemplative mood. 
 
 “She is a little easier,” he said in answer to my 
 inquiry. “The danger of brain fever is not so great, 
 although it has not entirely passed. Her mind is 
 rambling and her talk wild and disconnected. She 
 needs perfect quiet.” 
 
 “Well, as to Shiers—what had we better do?” 
 
 “Let him alone for the present. His is a peculiar 
 case and wants careful handling.” 
 
 “Why not tell him he is found out and bring 
 matters to a crisis?” 
 
 “Because such a proceeding might effect a 
 further complication. He is not in his right mind;' 
 I am firmly convinced of that, and is unconscious 
 of wrong-doing. A sudden shock might be disas¬ 
 trous in more ways than one. I have set inquiries 
 afoot in England by cable, and want to ascertain 
 what truth there is in his story before disturbing 
 him in any way. That romantic tale of shipwreck, 
 drunkenness, and attempted murder, may be the 
 figment of a diseased brain.” 
 
LITTLE bob’s ACCOUNT OF HIS FATHER. I3I 
 
 ‘‘Then you still believe him insane?’* 
 
 “What other conclusion can be drawn? The 
 man is in an exalted state, and it is lucky that his 
 madness takes this harmless form. You were sur¬ 
 prised last night when I told you he was a devout, 
 
 I 
 
 earnest Christian. Certain forms of religious belief 
 and conduct are directly traceable to an ill-balanced 
 intellect; but if they tend to conserve the interests 
 of morality we cannot complain, since the great 
 requisite of the age is increased morality in public 
 and private life. Toplass’ mind has been turned 
 into a profitable groove, for he is undoubtedly bet¬ 
 tering the moral condition of a class of people 
 whose organization is responsive to faith in contra¬ 
 distinction to works. Let him go on with his mis¬ 
 sion for the present. We’ll have the parsons down 
 on us with their anathemas quick enough when we 
 show this evangelical medium actuated by a morbid 
 condition of the brain.” 
 
 “Do you think the woman he is cohabiting with 
 is afflicted with the same species of insanity?” 
 
 “That’s a hard nut to crack at present. From 
 your account of her, she seems to be one of those 
 high-strung, emotional natures who excuse social 
 irregularities on all kinds of irrational pretexts. 
 
132 LITTLE BOB'S ACCOUNT OF HIS FATHER. 
 
 But it’s no good, discussing her; I’ve not seen her 
 and know nothing of her past.” 
 
 “Then the boy, Doctor,” said I, thinking for the 
 first time of this stumbling-block to our theory, “he 
 is old enough to give information in regard to his 
 parents.” 
 
 “Confound it,” responded Dr. Gillman, “Fd for¬ 
 gotten the boy. Fourteen years old you say, and 
 bright and intelligent? I think you’d better manage 
 to talk with him alone. Unless he is trained'in de¬ 
 ceit, and I cannot imagine such a thing, we may get 
 something out of the boy which will be of service 
 when we undertake the restoration of his putative 
 father’s reason.” 
 
 “Or something that will knock all our calcula¬ 
 tions into a cocked hat,” suggested I, with glimmer¬ 
 ing faith in Shiers and his wife. 
 
 “Don’t be a simpleton,” bluntly cried the doctor; 
 “whatever the boy may tell you will not alter the 
 fact that this Salvation fellow is Henry Toplass. 
 Now, we’d better stop speculating on the subject. 
 Unless something important transpires, we will wait 
 for advices from England. Meanwhile, I must get 
 Mrs. Toplass on her feet and put her mind into a 
 
LITTLE BOB*S ACCOUNT OF HIS FATHER. 1 33 
 
 condition to receive her husband with all charity 
 and loving kindness. 
 
 Leaving the doctor to attend to a score of 
 patients awaiting him in the reception room, I went 
 to Halsted street to talk to Bob Shiers. It was not 
 likely that his mother would allow him much in the 
 house while Barton was in a delirious condition, and 
 I wanted to meet him outside and interrogate 
 him cautiously. I took up a position in a drug 
 store opposite the Shiers abode and watched for the 
 lad’s appearance. In about half an hour he came 
 out of the house and walked leisurely northwards. 
 
 “Hello! Bob!” I said, overtaking him, “where 
 are you going and how’s your father and mother?” 
 
 “They’re all right, sir,” replied the lad with a 
 pleased look of recognition. “We’ve got a sick man 
 in the house and I’m taking a walk to be out of the 
 way for a while.” 
 
 “Ah! that’s Mr. Barton; how is he getting 
 along?” 
 
 “He kept us all awake last night, sir, shouting 
 and screaming. He seems terribly afraid of some¬ 
 thing, and mother prayed with him a good deal. He 
 doesn’t like father near him. The doctor was in an 
 
134 LITTLE bob’s ACCOUNT OF HIS FATHER. 
 
 hour ago, and says he’ll be all right in a day or 
 two.” 
 
 “Did you know Mr. Barton in England, Bob?” 
 
 “No, sir, but I’ve heard mother speak of him; 
 he was a friend of hers and she was very sorry to 
 find him here sick and without money.” 
 
 “Your father knew him, too, didn’t he?” 
 
 “Yes, sir.” 
 
 “How long are you going to stop in Chicago, 
 Bob?” 
 
 “I don’t know, sir; we may be ordered away at 
 any time. The Western commander may want 
 work done in some other place, and father is always 
 ready to go where the Lord calls.” 
 
 The boy’s face beamed as he spoke of Captain 
 Shiers’readiness to respond to the call of duty; it 
 was apparent that he shared the religious enthusi¬ 
 asm of his parents. 
 
 “Do you like traveling. Bob?” 
 
 “Yes, sir; its nice to go about and see places, 
 and besides father says its powerful training for the 
 young.” 
 
 “Your father has traveled a great deal, I believe.” 
 
 “Oh! my, yes! He was away for seven or eight 
 years once, and mother didn’t like it at all. It was 
 
LITTLE bob’s ACCOUNT OF HIS FATHER. I35 
 
 while we lived in Lancashire, and she used to cry a 
 good deal and couldn’t sleep at nights. She never 
 said much, but often when she thought I was asleep 
 she’d get out of bed and walk the floor and moan 
 and pray for him to come back. She used to read 
 the ‘Pilgrims Progress’ to me, and say father was on 
 a pilgrimage and that he’d come back when he’d 
 got rid of his burdensome pack.” 
 
 “Do you remember when he returned?” 
 
 “Oh! yes, sir; we were in Wigan. He came iL 
 one night at supper time, looking quite pale and 
 weary, and mother fell into his arms and cried. I 
 cried, too, for mother told me that he’d suffered a 
 great deal, and I must love and be kind to him, and 
 it pained me to see him so worn-like and sickly. 
 He said, ‘And this is little Bob?’ and he kissed me 
 and cried himself when he saw my lame arm. He 
 soon picked up and said we’d never be parted again; 
 that where he went we should go; and, oh! we’ve 
 been so happy since, for mother’s face got round 
 and smooth again, and her eyes lost the lonesome 
 look. She never cries now, except for joy, she 
 says.” 
 
136 LITTLE bob’s ACCOUNT OF ilI 3 FATHER. 
 
 This.was all the boy knew. It was enough, how¬ 
 ever, to throw doubt on the Doctor’s confident asser¬ 
 tion that Shiers was Henry Toplass, and submerge 
 me again into a sea of bewildering conjectures. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 BARTON TELLS HIS STORY. 
 
 Other newspaper duties kept me so busy that I 
 had little time even to think of the Shiers-Toplass 
 mystery during the next fortnight. I heard occa¬ 
 sionally from the Doctor, who was awaiting news 
 from England before deciding upon a course of 
 action. Mrs. Toplass had recovered sufficiently 
 from her illness to be removed to her own house. 
 She was nervous and irritable, and threatened to 
 bring a divorce suit against Henry Toplass, alias 
 John Shiers, Dr. Gillman had not mentioned the 
 last phase of the case to her, but Mrs. Toplass now 
 thoroughly contemned the man whose memory she 
 had so recently revered. It was with the greatest 
 greatest difficulty the unhappy lady was persuaded 
 to postpone action until her nervous system was 
 strong enough to bear the severe ordeal of the di¬ 
 vorce court. 
 
 “I want to see Toplass clothed in his right mind 
 again,” said Dr. Gillman during one of' our brief 
 conferences, ”and reunited to his wife and children. 
 
BARTON TELLS HIS STORY. 
 
 13^ 
 
 We must keep this affair out of court. Toplass is a 
 fine fellow at bottom, and ought not to have his 
 misfortunes paraded before the public. There is 
 altogether too much dirty linen washed in the courts 
 for our common good.” 
 
 While the affair was in this quiescent state, T re¬ 
 ceived a visit from the boy Shiers at the office one 
 afternoon. The little fellow was out of breath when 
 he came into the reporters’ room, and I surmised 
 that he had come post haste from home with an 
 urgent message. 
 
 “Mother would like to see you at once, sir,” he 
 gasped; “she has something important to tell you.” 
 
 “What is it. Bob?” I asked. 
 
 “I don’t know exactly, sir, but it’s something 
 about the lost man.” 
 
 I hastily dispatched the work on hand and hur¬ 
 ried to the West Side. The hope that I entertained 
 that Captain Shiers had regained his senses and re¬ 
 vealed his identity, was dissipated by the eager, 
 radiant face of Mrs. Shiers, who said, on admitting 
 me: 
 
 “I am glad you’ve come, Mr. Burbanks; we have 
 a clue to the missing merchant.” 
 
BARTON TELLS HIS STORY, 
 
 139 
 
 She led me into the sitting-room, where sat Ned 
 Barton, his clothes worn and shabby, and his hands 
 trembling, but with a bright eye and clear complex- 
 ion which denoted extraordinary recuperative power. 
 Mrs. Shiers introduced him as an old friend. 
 
 “And very nearly a dead one.” said Barton, with 
 a smile; “I owe my life to this kind-hearted Chris¬ 
 tian woman, who rescued me from a terrible fate.” 
 
 “Yes, yes,” interposed Mrs. Shiers, with a depre¬ 
 catory gesture, as though the tribute was not de¬ 
 served: “we don’t want to harp on that topic. Mr. 
 Burbanks knows.” 
 
 “Then he knows,” continued the man, looking 
 gratefully, and I thought a little too tenderly, at his 
 benefactress, “how much I am beholden to you. 
 There (turning to me and speaking warmly) is a 
 woman in ten thousand! She took me from the 
 gutter, reeking with rum and in the last sickening 
 stage of a debauch, brought me to her home and 
 nursed me through the tremens. I was a pitiable, 
 disgusting object, but, thanks to her care and kind¬ 
 ness, I am well and sober again, and full of grati¬ 
 tude to my preserver. How will I ever be able to 
 repay her?” 
 
140 
 
 BARTON TELLS HIS STORY. 
 
 “Do better in the future,” said the woman, 
 kindly; “that's the only recompense I require. Now, 
 tell this gentleman your story, Mr. Barton.” 
 
 But Mr. Barton was in no hurry to tell his story, 
 whatever it might be. He was in the full flush of 
 penitence, and it seemed to afford him a morbid 
 kind of gratification to dwell on the deplorable 
 state from which he had recently emerged. He 
 uttered some fervent pledges about leading a better 
 life, and began to dilate on the miseries imposed by 
 devotion to the flowing boM. 
 
 As I had not come to the West Side to listen to 
 temperance homily, I said curtly: 
 
 “That’s the usual talk after a spree.” 
 
 Mrs. Shiers looked pained at this remark, but 
 Barton saw the point and his face colored. He 
 stopped moralizing about himself, and, after an 
 awkward pause, began to talk of a subject more in¬ 
 teresting to me. I give his story almost word for 
 word as he told it: 
 
 “I understand,” he began, “that you are familiar 
 with the history of Mr. and Mrs. Shiers, so I may 
 speak freely of matters which otherwise it might be 
 policy to conceal. While I have been an inmate of 
 this house I have naturally heard something of a 
 
BARTON TELLS HIS STORY. 
 
 I4I 
 
 matter which has given this lady’s husband and her¬ 
 self no little uneasiness. I allude to the disappear¬ 
 ance of.this man Toplass, with whom Captain Shiers 
 has been confounded, much to his annoyance. To 
 make my story plain, I must go back a few years, 
 when I was a sober, industrious compositor, holding 
 cases on the South Durham Mercury^ a journal pub¬ 
 lished at Hartpond. I knew Captain Shiers and 
 Mrs. Shiers well, and was a frequent visitor at their 
 house. For some unaccountable reason he miscon¬ 
 strued my friendship for his wife, whom I knew 
 some years before in Middlesex, and became ex¬ 
 ceedingly jealous of me, and one night after a heavy 
 bout of drinking, he went home swearing to have 
 my life, and in a sudden fury stabbed little Bob in 
 the left shoulder. Captain Shiers was arrested, and 
 next morning fell to the floor of the court-room in a 
 fit. When he came to he was a raving lunatic and 
 was sent to the asylum. 
 
 “It was a great shock to me when I learned that 
 Mr. Shiers imagined that he was plunging the knife 
 into my body when he came so near killing little 
 Bob. The townsfolk began to chaff me about it; 
 unfortunately I was more sensitive than I am now, 
 and the constant gibing drove me to seek solace 
 
142 BARTON TELLS HIS STORY. 
 
 and comfort in the flowing bowl. I rapidly de¬ 
 veloped a taste for liquor, and soon degenerated in¬ 
 to a tramp printer. I drifted to the United States, 
 and a little over five years ago came to Chicago and 
 began ‘subbing’ on one of the morning papers. I was 
 drinking in a groggery near the Union Depot after 
 quitting work on Sunday m.orning. Sept. 22, 187—. 
 In the saloon, seated at a table by himself, was a 
 man half seas over. I did not pay much attention 
 to him until he called and asked me to join him. 
 Nothing loth, for my funds were low, I answered, 
 ‘All right, pardner; I’m with you,’ and then looking 
 at the convivial gentleman I started back in amaze¬ 
 ment, crying: ‘Why, Shiers, where did you spring 
 from?’ He was the exact counterpart of this lady’s 
 husband whom I had not seen for several years. 
 The man regarded me with surprise, and said: ‘My 
 friend, the whiskey’s affecting your brain; taper off, 
 or you will see snakes.’ ‘Snakes be blowed,’ said I, 
 ‘you are Jack Shiers of Hartpond, aren’t you? ‘No,’ 
 said he, laughing, ‘I haven’t the pleasure of the 
 gentleman’s acquaintance, either. My name’s 
 Henry Toplass, of South Water street.’ Well, it’s 
 the most singular likeness I ever saw. You are 
 joking—aren’t you Shiers?’ The man got angry 
 
BARTON TELLS HIS STORY. 
 
 143 
 
 and cried, ‘I asked you to take a drink, but that’s 
 no reason why you should guy me and make a fool 
 of yourself.’ I apologized, and sat drinking with 
 him for quite a while. He was very sociable and 
 got talking about himself, and by and by he men¬ 
 tioned Hartpond as a place where he’d once lived 
 ‘I knew it,’ I cried; you’ve been up to some monkey 
 tricks and changed your name.’ ‘What do you 
 mean, you confounded fool?’ he said, clinching his 
 fist and looking terribly angry: ‘I tell you my 
 name’s Toplass, and has been Toplass since I was 
 born.’ ‘Well, it’s funny, but John Shiers’ grand¬ 
 father was Tommy Toplass ,of Hartpond.’ ‘Tommy 
 Toplass,’ he cried, ‘why that’s my father’s name.’ 
 ‘Then you’re Shiers’ uncle, said I rising and shaking 
 him by the hand, ‘and you might be his twin broth¬ 
 er.’ Well, we got talking about the old country, 
 pouring whiskey down every few minutes in token 
 of friendship and finally I got as full as a tick and 
 was fired out of the place bodily by a brute of a 
 bartender. I have a vague recollection of the 'man 
 saying he was going east and might probably take 
 a trip to England. That is all, sir, but I haven’t 
 the least doubt that the man I was fuddling with 
 was no other person than the missing merchant.” 
 
144 BARTON TELLS HIS STORY. 
 
 “Why didn’t you tell this story when the papers 
 were so full of the man’s disappearance?” I asked, 
 suspecting that it was a deliberare concoction to 
 help Shiers out of a serious dilemma. 
 
 “I saw nothing about the case,” was the man’s 
 reply. 
 
 “What!” cried I, in astonishment, “you a news¬ 
 paper compositor and knew nothing of a case of 
 mysterious disappearance about which columns 
 were printed daily for over a week?” 
 
 “It’s a fact, sir. I told you I got full and was 
 short of money. I was thrown into a cell for drunk¬ 
 enness, and on Monday morning was sent to the 
 Bridwell for thirty days. You know there is not 
 much chance for even a printer to keep track of the 
 news at Colonel Felton’s establishment.” 
 
 This explanation was a plausible one. The 
 record of convictions and the Bridewell roster could 
 be relied upon to corroborate or disprove this part 
 of Barton’s story. 
 
 “How do you fix the date so positively?” I 
 queried. 
 
 “Because it was the first time I had been 
 arrested,” answered Barton, “and I marked it as a 
 red-letter day in my mental calendar.” 
 
BARTON TELLS HIS STORY. 
 
 *45 
 
 “Have you told Captain Shiers this?” 
 
 “No, sir; I only recalled the circumstance this 
 morning, and, owing to his melancholy condition, 
 I thought it best to speak first to Mrs. Shiers.” 
 
 “Isn’t Captain Shiers well?” 
 
 “He has been down-spirited since—since that 
 day,” said Mrs. Shiers, sighing. “He still works 
 hard and tries to be cheerful; but he has fits of 
 melancholy, during which he keeps muttering that 
 trouble is clustering about us. Perhaps he will re¬ 
 gain his spirits when he hears this news about his 
 uncle. Don’t you think the poor lady should be 
 told?” 
 
 “She is under the doctor’s care,” I answered, “I 
 will consult him about the matter. By the way, 
 Mr. Barton, did you notice whether this Mr. Toplass 
 had a scar on his forehead?” 
 
 “No, sir; the man had his hat on while I was with 
 him.” 
 
 “Perhaps,” said I to Mrs. Shiers, “it would be as 
 well to say nothing to your husband about this new 
 evidence at present. If he is depressed or despon¬ 
 dent, it may only aggravate his condition. Besides, 
 
 important as Mr. Barton’s story is as a connecting 
 lOG 
 
146 
 
 BARTON TELLS HIS STORY. 
 
 link, it throws no light on the whereabouts or fate 
 of Toplass,” 
 
 “It shall be just as you say, sir;” she responded 
 mournfully, “but I do hope the mystery will be 
 cleared up soon, for my husband has not been him¬ 
 self since that painful interview.” 
 
 “What are your plans, sir?” queried I of Barton. 
 
 “I am going to work to-night, Mr. Burbanks,” 
 he replied, “and hope soon to convince you that 
 my protestations of reform are founded on some¬ 
 thing more substantial than the remorse which 
 usually follows a debauch.” 
 
 “Do you intend to remain here?” 
 
 “I am afraid it will not be convenient, although 
 (looking at Mrs. Shiers tenderly again) I should like 
 to be under the restraining and elevating influence 
 of my friends a little longer.” 
 
 “Do not leave us until you are strong in the new 
 life,” said the woman gently, “we will try and make 
 you comfortable.” 
 
 “Oh! no,” said Barton firmly, but regretfully, 
 “my presence, now that my physical health is re¬ 
 stored, may prove irksome to Captain Shiers. I 
 shall take a room in the neighborhood.” 
 
BARTON TELLS HIS STORY. 
 
 U7 
 
 As I bade them good afternoon, I could not 
 help recalling the tender glances Barton cast tim¬ 
 orously upon his benefactress, and thinking that he 
 was tempting fate by remaiming near the man who, 
 when told he was in the sitting-room sick, gloomily 
 remarked: 
 
 “Trouble is clutherin* roondl” 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 JEALOUSY AT WORK. 
 
 Now, if Barton’s story were true, it added 
 strength to the old theory that Toplass was Shiers’ 
 uncle. An inspection of the records of the Armory 
 Police Court established the fact that the dissipated 
 compositor was tried on a charge of drunk and 
 disorderly Sept. 23, 187-, and sent to the 
 
 Bridwell for thirty days. The files of the daily 
 papers showed that Toplass disappeared on Sept. 
 21. These coincidences did not disturb Dr. Gill- 
 man a whit. His comment was: 
 
 “Bosh! The only thing proved is that Barton 
 was on a spree, and that he has had one of those 
 hallucinations common to a person saturated with 
 alcohol. Toplass was not a drinking man, and the 
 idea of his boozing in a low resort, while his wife 
 and children were anxiously awaiting him at home 
 is absurd. Then you must remember the hand¬ 
 writing and the scar. Family resemblances do not 
 extend to wounds or peculiarities in penman 
 ship. Stop puzzling your brain about this case until 
 we hear from the other side.” 
 
JEALOUSY AT WORK. 
 
 149 
 
 Three days afterward I was surprised by a visit 
 from Captain Shiers. The man was pale and hag¬ 
 gard, and his eyes had that haunted, troubled look I 
 had noticed during the interview with Mrs. Top- 
 lass. 
 
 “Burbanks,” he said, in a strained voice, “I’ve 
 nobbut known thee a week or so, but thou seems 
 like an owd friend, and I want to talk seriously wi’ 
 thee. I’m welly crazy, lad.” 
 
 “Why, what’s the matter?” queried I, a little 
 alarmed by his manner, which betokened a mind ill 
 at ease. 
 
 “I’m afraid I’m a bit muddled i’ my yed,” was 
 his moody answer. “I’ve prayed, and prayed, and 
 prayed, but th’ owd laight divvent dawn, my hairt 
 aches sairly, and there seams to be an oneasy, rist- 
 less divvil in my brist. Thou knows my story; thou 
 knows hoo I wor cursed wi, drink until a murderin’ 
 spirit took howd of me and browt me ti’ th’ brink 
 o’th’ gallows. Lad, I feel I’m goin’ wrang again!” 
 
 “I trust not, Captain,” said I cheerily, “you’ve 
 been annoyed by that unfortunate error of Mrs. 
 Toplass, but that will soon pass away.” 
 
 “Naw, lad,” said he, sighing heavily; “it beant 
 that. I know the poor lady will coom to her senses 
 
JEALOUSY AT WORK. 
 
 150 
 
 sune. It*s summat else; summat that presses haard 
 here (placing his hand to his breast and sinking his 
 voice to a hoarse whisper); summat that stifles me 
 and mak’s life a weary burden I’d fain lay doon. 
 Eh! lad, I’m worritted beyond endurance. Did 
 thou ivver hev a presintiment—a heavy, awful feelin’ 
 o’ cornin’ ill?” 
 
 “Yes,” I replied, “but it’s no use paying attention 
 to such feelings.” 
 
 “Mebbe not, lad; mebbe it’s nowt but th* liver in 
 ordinary caases. But mine beant an ordinary caase. 
 and it’sth’ ownly time that prayer didn’t lift me oot o’ 
 th* gloom. It’s serious, mon, I assure thee, and I’m 
 afraid I’ll go mad. I’m coom to ease my maind to 
 thee, lad; happen thou may help to lift the load.” 
 
 “I’m at your service. Captain, if I can do any¬ 
 thing to help you.” 
 
 “That’s spokken like a mon,” he cried. His face 
 lighted up, but darkened in a moment as he con¬ 
 tinued: “thou knows that chap. Barton,—it’s him 
 that worrits me; its him that’s put this load of lead 
 on my hairt; him that’s draivin’ me well nigh to de¬ 
 spair.” 
 
 “Why, what has Barton been doing?” I asked in 
 amazement. 
 
JEALOUSY AT WORK. 
 
 “He’s crossed my path again,” exclaimed Shiers 
 excitedly; “he’s my evil genius, domn him. Lord, 
 forgie me, but I cannot help it.” 
 
 The man looked terrified as the imprecation es¬ 
 caped his lips. 
 
 “It’s awful that I should forgeet mysen in this 
 waay,” he went on; “but thowts o’ that mon draive 
 ivvery good impulse fram my hairt. Curse him, I 
 maun, for he’s carryin’ on wi’ Lizzie as he did be¬ 
 fore!” 
 
 “Carrying on with your wife,” exclaimed I. 
 
 “Yes, he’s abawt her all th’ taime. He whines 
 and smailes and talks abawt owd times; he lukes at 
 her wi’ eyes of love; he’s castin’ a spell ower the 
 poor lass. Curse him! he’s draivin’ me fram graace, 
 for th* fires of hell raag in my bosom when I think 
 on’t.” 
 
 The secret was out at last. The old jealousy had 
 returned, and Captain Shiers was distracted with 
 grief. Here was additional proof of the man’s hon¬ 
 esty, but it was not of that I thought when I begged 
 him to be calm. 
 
 “You must be mistaken,” I said. “Barton can¬ 
 not be base enough to abuse your hospitality.” 
 
152 
 
 JEALOUSY AT WORK. 
 
 ‘*J’m not mistakken,” he cried in a trembling 
 voice; “I knaw th* signs. Lizzie is faightin’ agin it 
 braavely, but th’ fellow’s subtle, lad, and his smooth, 
 oily waays are underminin’ th’ foontain o’ my 
 peace.” 
 
 “Pardon me, I cannot think your wife encour¬ 
 ages Barton in any way, Captain.” 
 
 “I’m glad thou thinks so, lad,” he said gloomily. 
 “I’d fain believe in her trooth and steadfastness, but 
 they whisper t’gither and they luke at yane anither 
 wi’ queer tell-tale eyes. Mon, it’s eatin’ into my 
 hairt like a canker; it’s robbin’ me of all earthly 
 peace, and it’s shaakin’ my faith in God. I’m not 
 
 th’ saam chap I wor. Three weeks ago I could luke 
 
 > 
 
 th* world i’ th’ faace loike an honest mon; but noo 
 I’m a shiverin’ quaakin’ wretch, wi’ blood in my 
 eyes and th’ divvil in my hairt.” 
 
 “Why not forbid Barton your house?” 
 
 “What good’d that do? They’d meet ootside. 
 It’s haard, but happen it’s best to see what’s goin’ 
 on. 
 
 I tried to reason with the man. I told him that 
 Mrs. Shiers was an honest. God-fearing woman, 
 whose heart was loyal to her husband and her boy. 
 
JEALOUSY AT WORK. 
 
 153 
 
 ‘‘Whatever evil may be in Barton’s mind, Cap¬ 
 tain,” said I warmly, “Mrs. Shiers is unconscious of 
 it. She has treated him kindly because of his des¬ 
 perate condition. You, of all men, must know that 
 she has acted the part of a gentle, trustful Christian 
 woman, and that she is incapable of wrong even in 
 thought. Such suspicions are unworthy of you. Re¬ 
 member how terribly you suffered for your mad 
 jealousy in the past. Trust your wife, and tell Bar¬ 
 ton his presence is distasteful to you.” 
 
 This appeal to the man’s better nature had a 
 good effect. He grasped my hand and said chok¬ 
 ingly: 
 
 “Thou’s reet, lad; I’m glad I spoke to thee. I 
 feel better than I’ve felt since that viper cam into 
 my hoose. Of coorse, Lizzie’s true blue, I owt to 
 hev known that, but jealousy is a bad coompanion, 
 lad; it gnaws at yane’s vitals and poisons holy love. 
 I wor a villian to doubt her. As for him, he maun 
 keep oot of my waay, or mebbe I’ll-” 
 
 He made a threatening movement with his 
 clinched fist, but suddenly dropped his arm with a 
 guilty, troubled expression, and said in a subdued 
 tone: 
 
^54 
 
 JEALOUSY AT WORK. 
 
 “Eh, but Tm sadly oot of sorts. This trouble 
 hes changed me, lad. I maun ask for forgiveness 
 and think of my waark. God help me! I wor in a 
 bad strait again! To think of me doubtin’ my oan 
 lass i’ that waay!” 
 
 The change was wonderful. He entered the 
 office with gloom and wretchedness plainly written 
 on his face. When he shook my hands on depart¬ 
 ing, hope and love and manly resolution shown 
 from his features; his step was firm and confident, 
 and there was a cheerful ring in his sturdy voice. 
 
 He had gone but a few moments when Dr. Gill- 
 man strode into the reporter’s room. 
 
 “Hello, Burbanks!” he cried, have news for 
 you.” 
 
 “Well,” responded I, “impart.” 
 
 “I’ve heard from England.” 
 
 “Well?” 
 
 “I was mistaken,” he said regretfully, “our hero 
 is not Henry Toplass; he is Captain Jphn Shiers 
 after all!” 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ANOTHER CURIOUS COMPLICATION. 
 
 “Then the man’s story is correct,” I cried, 
 pleased to think again that Shiers was neither an 
 impostor nor a lunatic; “why should we have 
 doubted it? Honesty and manliness speak from 
 every feature of his face; truthfulness and probity 
 ring in his voice. And his wife, with her calm, 
 saintlike ways, is not a party to false pretenses and 
 fraud. And Mrs. Toplass, unfortunate and unhappy 
 though she be, gains a worthy nephew instead of 
 finding a recreant spouse. And your complicated 
 case of ‘unconscious cerebration’ is nothing but the 
 product of a heated imagination!” 
 
 Dr. Gillman smiled grimly at this outburst. 
 
 “Well,” said he, slowly, and with a sarcastic in¬ 
 flection which was intended to be very cutting, “if 
 you are not afflicted with acute cerebral meningitis, 
 I will never diagnose another case of brain disease. 
 What have I said to develop such a disastrous mal¬ 
 ady? My boy, it pains me to witness these symp¬ 
 toms of active, galloping, rabid degeneration in one 
 SO young.” 
 
156 
 
 ANOTHER CURIOUS COMPLICATION. 
 
 “Why, your whole theory has collapsed,” I said, 
 warmly, not taking kindly to his badinage; “I knew 
 it would.” 
 
 “Of course,” responded the Doctor, in the same 
 cynical tone, “you knew it all the time. Now let 
 me tell you something you didn’t know. Although 
 John Shiers, late of Hartpond, is Captain John 
 Shiers, of the Salvation Army, Mrs. Toplass never 
 had a husband unless he be the man.” 
 
 “Now, you are mixing things again Doctor,” 
 cried I; “we’ve had enough of mystification. Let’s 
 get down to plain facts, if there are any facts in 
 this perplexing case.” 
 
 “Listen to this, my boy,” said the Doctor, quietly, 
 “and let your soul be instructed.” 
 
 He produced a roll of foreign letter paper and 
 read as follows. 
 
 Sedgefield Asylum, Durham, July 12, 188- 
 Dr. Alfred Gillman, State Street, Chicago, 
 III., U. S. A. Dear Sir: —Your cablegram of in¬ 
 quiry concerning John Shiers, a former inmate of 
 this institution, was duly received, and in reply I 
 hasten to submit the following statement: 
 
 Shiers was sent here on a commitment by the 
 Hartpond magistrates thirteen years ago this month. 
 
ANOTHER CURIOUS COMPLICATION, 157 
 
 He was suffering from acute mania superinduced by 
 alcoholic excesses. The attack came on him in the 
 court room, where he was being tried for the 
 attempted murder of his child. For several weeks 
 after he was admitted the patient was extremely 
 violent. He would be seized by furious paroxysms, 
 during which he frequently attempted to kill his 
 attendants. We had to apply the strait waistcoat 
 and place him in a padded room. These paroxysms 
 would be followed by great physical exhaustion, 
 
 f 
 
 when the patient had fits of weeping and cried 
 piteously for his wife and child. Under careful 
 treatment the violent outbreaks ceased, and in the 
 course of six months the patient became one of the 
 most docile and tractable inmates of the asylum. 
 
 But this change was attended by a curious, but 
 by no means uncommon form of mild insanity. 
 Shiers’ past seemed wholly obliterated from his 
 mind; indeed, he denied that his name was Shiers, 
 and persisted in calling himself Henry Toplass. 
 He assumed the personality of an uncle of that 
 name, who, we learned upon investigation, was lost 
 at sea several years previous to the admission of 
 Shiers into the asylum. The change manifested 
 itself in minute particulars. Shiers formerly spoke 
 
158 ANOTHER CURIOUS COMPLICATION. 
 
 a broad North-country dialect, but his language be¬ 
 came refined and he gave indications of an educa¬ 
 tion far superior to his class. He began to read 
 omnivorously, books of travel being his favorite 
 pabulum. So thoroughly imbued was he with his 
 new character that he would indignantly retire to 
 his room if the attendants or any of the patients 
 called him by any other name than Toplass. A 
 scar that he received while being rescued from a 
 shipwreck at Hartpond when a boy, he now claimed 
 was caused by a falling block when the Honduras, 
 the ship in which his uncle sailed on his last voyage, 
 foundered in the Atlantic. He also believed that 
 he escaped the general fate of the crew by jumping 
 into a small boat, in which he was washed about for 
 several days before being rescued by a Norwegian 
 vessel and landed at some port in the Gulf of 
 Mexico. Nothing could shake the man’s strange 
 delusion that he was Henry Toplass, instead of 
 John Shiers, and it ended by his being humored to 
 the top of his bent. 
 
 After his malady took this mild form, Shiers was 
 allowed the freedom of the grounds, a privilege 
 which he greatly enjoyed. He became cheerful and 
 complacent, and, but for the hallucination referred 
 
ANOTHER CURIOUS COMPLICATION. 159 
 
 to, was in every respect mentally and physically 
 sound. Indeed, in his new character, he developed 
 traits diametrically opposed to the characteristics 
 of his former life, and was an unusually attractive 
 and charming man of quiet, genial habits, and 
 pleasing deportment. 
 
 One day, after being with us over twelve months, 
 he disappeared. We searched everywhere for him, 
 in vain. The most diligent hue and cry failed to 
 bring information of the man’s whereabouts or fate. 
 He dropped as completely out of sight as if the 
 earth had opened and swallowed him up. No one 
 came to visit him after he had been in the asylum a 
 few months. His wife and child had removed to 
 Lancashire, and his grandparents, his only relatives 
 hereabouts, were dead. Mrs. Shiers wrote fre¬ 
 quently, inquiring about her husband’s condition, 
 after his disappearance, but remembering the homi¬ 
 cidal tendency of the man in his former state, and 
 not wishing to alarm the woman unnecessarily, we 
 replied briefly that he was still under our care and' 
 progressing as well as could be expected. 
 
 But the most curious part of this interesting case 
 is to follow. On August 25, 187-, nearly eight years 
 after he disappeared, one of the attendants found 
 
l6o ANOTHER CURIOUS COMPLICATION. 
 
 Shiers walking unconcernedly about the grounds. 
 The man did not appear to think anything strange 
 had happened, but he at once repudiated the name 
 of Toplass, by which, remembering the peculiar 
 form of his insanity, the attendant addressed him. 
 “What’s th’ good o’ tha makkin* fun ov me?” he 
 said; “tha knows as well as aw do that aw’m Jack 
 Shiers, of Hartpond.” He spoke in his native dia¬ 
 lect and his manner indicated that he had almost 
 entirely recovered his reason. He was brought into 
 the asylum and I questioned him closely as to his 
 movements since he left. “What does tha mean?” 
 he cried. “Aw’ve nobbut been takkin’ a bit ov a 
 stroll. Doan’t fule wi’ me.” The most searching 
 cross-examination failed to show that the patient 
 had any recollection of leaving the institution and 
 being absent nearly eight years. His mind was a 
 perfect blank in that respect; he imagined that he 
 had merely gone out for a walk after dinner and re¬ 
 turned with the attendant the same evening. 
 
 There was circumstantial evidence that he had 
 been in the United States. His clothes were of an 
 American pattern, the coat bearing the tag of a 
 Chicago tailor named O’Connell. He had no money 
 in his pockets, but we subsequently found a $50 
 
ANOTHER CURIOUS COMPLICATION. l6l 
 
 greenback sewed up in the lining of his waistcoat. 
 He was surprised when we showed him this. The 
 case attracted the attention of all the medical men 
 in the neighborhood. Every conceivable method 
 of testing the man’s memory was tried, but he per¬ 
 sisted so strenuously as to the short duration of his 
 “walk,” that the experiments were relinquished. 
 
 The man’s mental condition improved rapidly, 
 and in a few weeks after his return he was dis¬ 
 charged, perfectly restored in body and mind. 
 
 His case was regarded as a remarkable one, and 
 we kept posted on the man’s movements after leav¬ 
 ing the asylum, in order to ascertain whether he 
 would unconsciously afford a clue to the missing 
 chapters of the period of his insanity. He went at 
 once to Wigan, in Lancashire, and lived there for 
 awhile with his wife and child. He developed a re¬ 
 ligious sentiment and became an active member of 
 the Salvation Army. During the meetings of this 
 curious sect he frequently referred to his past, 
 speaking openly of his insanity, and attributing it 
 to sin brought on by drunkenness; but never a hint 
 did he give to clear up the mysterious void in his 
 
 existence. 
 
 IIG 
 
i 62 
 
 ANOTHER CURIOUS COMPLICATION. 
 
 There was another curious feature in this pa¬ 
 tient’s case. He had been a cornet player in the 
 Hartpond Rifle Band, and when he became quiet 
 ?nd tractable we endeavored to get him to play in 
 the asylum brass band^ The man evinced great 
 pleasure in music, and said he was anxious to be¬ 
 come a musician, but when handed a cornet he made 
 as grotesque a figure and produced as discordant 
 sounds as one who essayed the instrument for the 
 first time. Notwithstanding the efforts of the in¬ 
 structor, who argued that once learned the manipu¬ 
 lation of a horn could never be forgotten, Shiers 
 could not be taught to play an instrument on which 
 he was a skilled performer prior to becoming in¬ 
 sane. His musical skill returned after his discharge 
 from the asylum, since we were informed that he 
 led the Salvation services with the cornet. The 
 man had a wonderful imitative faculty while he was 
 under treatment before his disappearance; one of 
 his amusements was the imitation of the notes of a 
 cornet with his mouth, which he did with a surpris¬ 
 ing degree of accuracy and musical taste. 
 
 This is, in brief, all I recall about this remark¬ 
 able patient. Shiers is in the United States, I un¬ 
 derstand, on an evangelizing mission, and 1 have no 
 
another curious complication. 163 
 
 reason to doubt the man mentioned in your dispatch 
 is he. The scar on his forehead is peculiar in the 
 respect that the wound was imperfectly stitched 
 and left a depression in the centre. 1 have the 
 honor to be you obedient servant, 
 
 Reginald Kneebone 
 
 Medical Superintendent. 
 
 “What conclusion do you draw from this inter¬ 
 esting document?” I asked the Doctor. 
 
 “Only one conclusion can be drawn,” said Dr. 
 Gillman moodily, “and that a very lamentable one. 
 In some way or other Shiers drifted to the United 
 States, and went into business here while laboring 
 under the insane delusion that he was Henry Top- 
 lass. He married and accumulated wealth, and 
 then in some unaccouhtable way disappeared, leav¬ 
 ing his wife and children to mourn him as dead. 
 It’s as plain as a pikestaff after reading that letter. 
 O’Connell was Toplass* tailor, and it was a fad of his 
 to keep a ^50 note concealed about his clothes. 
 I’ve heard him mention it a hundred times; it was 
 the only idioscrasy I ever noticed about him. To 
 think that Henry Toplass, the sharp, energetic 
 Chicago merchant, the loving husband and devoted 
 father, the kind and considerate friend, should be 
 
164 ANOTHER CURIOUS COMPLICATION. 
 
 no other than a Yorkshire watchmaker, whose mind 
 was turned by drink! it’s enough to make one’s 
 blood curdle to think of it.” 
 
 “But may there not be some mistake, Doctor? 
 Is it possible that a man could assume a separate 
 personality and maintain it intact for several years, 
 and then suddenly return to his old ways and 
 habits?” 
 
 “Nothing is impossible to the insane,” responded 
 the Doctor, in the same moody tone. “That letter 
 leaves not the slightest loophole to escape the 
 terrible conclusion that Mrs. Toplass was the wife 
 of an absconding lunatic. Every item of Toplass’ 
 imaginary career fits Shiers’ case, even to the imitat¬ 
 ing of the notes of a cornet, which, you will remem¬ 
 ber, caused the inspirational recognition of the man, 
 despite his native coarseness and uncouth tongue.” 
 
 “How could Shiers or Toplass get out of Chicago 
 and travel to Europe without leaving some clue for 
 expert detectives to follow?” 
 
 “Detectives be hanged!” cried Dr. Gillman, im¬ 
 patiently. “When did a Chicago detective ever do 
 anything but guzzle whiskey and pocket fees for 
 criminal incompetency? Detectives are a pack of 
 professional nincompoops who cover their ignorance 
 
ANOTHER CURIOUS COMPLICATION. l6$ 
 
 and venality by a pyramid of egregious egotism 
 and stupid pretension. Don’t talk about detectives 
 in a case requiring common sense and ordinary 
 capacity for investigation. If you literary fellows 
 would stop exploiting those inflated ignoramuses 
 they would soon lack an office peg on which to 
 hang their No. lO hats.” 
 
 Having vented his spleen on the poor detectives, 
 Dr. Gillman continued: 
 
 “There was a clue, and a good clue, to the move¬ 
 ments of Toplass after leaving his warehouse, and 
 that dissipated compositor, who was railroaded to 
 the Bridewell, stumbled across it.” 
 
 “Then you believe now that Toplass was drink¬ 
 ing in the saloon near the Union Depot?” 
 
 “Yes, that conclusion is forced upon me now. 
 Shiers as Toplass was not a drinking man, as I told 
 you before, but it is reasonable to believe, in the 
 light of Dr. Kneebone’s revelations, that an uncon¬ 
 trollable craving for liquor preceded the dawnings 
 of sanity. Instances are on record where an impul¬ 
 sion to old habits was the first indication of a return 
 to mental health. The conversation with Barton 
 must have aroused a train of ideas, vague and in¬ 
 distinct perhaps, but accumulating strength as the 
 
i66 
 
 ANOTHER CURIOUS COMi'i.iCATION. 
 
 blurred page of memory slowly unrolled, which 
 perplexed and bewildered the man and finally im¬ 
 pelled him to flight. While he talked with the 
 printer Shiers hinted that he might take a trip to 
 England to visit his father, Tommy Toplass. He 
 undoubtedly took a morning train East, and in a 
 dazed condition sailed for Europe. Some mysteri¬ 
 ous influence drew him to the asylum, and his reason 
 returned like a flash while he wandered through the 
 grounds. That is the only explanation I can give. 
 One cannot account for the operations of a diseased 
 brain, and unless some shock unsettles the man’s 
 mind again and it reverts to its former channel, we 
 may never know what transpired from the time he 
 left Chicago until he was found at Sedgefield.” 
 
 “Well, Doctor, this leaves our case in a very em- 
 barrasing condition.” 
 
 “It does, indeed, Burbanks,” responded the 
 Doctor; “it makes Shiers legally guilty of bigamy 
 in marrying Mrs. Toplass.” 
 
 “And it takes away the stigma which you re¬ 
 marked would rest upon modern evangelism if it 
 were proved that Shiers was insane.” 
 
 “That’s true. My old friends, the theologians 
 and evangelists, haven’t that to explain away. 
 
ANOTHER CURIOUS COMPLICATION. 167 
 
 Shiers may be a crank, but the present evidence is 
 that he has as much and as healthy a mind as he 
 ever possessed.” 
 
 “Well, what is to be the next move?” 
 
 “We must possess our souls in patience. We 
 must carefully consider whether the best interests 
 of society would be promoted by revealing what we 
 know or by suppressing it.” 
 
 “As a newspaper man,” I remarked, “I am op¬ 
 posed to suppressed sensations.” 
 
 “Naturally you are, Burbanks, but we have here 
 a very delicate and complex problem. Publication 
 of the facts would check Captain Shiers in his 
 barbaric but semi-useful career, and would engulf 
 Mrs. Toplass in endless grief and misery by prov¬ 
 ing that she never was a wife, and that her children 
 are illegitimate. You and I alone possess this grave 
 secret. I leave it to your judgment as a humane 
 man, not as an ambitious reporter, to decide this 
 problem.” 
 
 “I think, Doctor,” said I, after a few moments 
 reflection, “you had better try and convince Mrs. 
 Toplassthat her husband is dead.” 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 CAPTAIN SKIERS SLIPS THE TRACES. 
 
 When I told him of the latest development of 
 this kaleidoscopic case, the city editor said: 
 
 “Mrs. Toplass has suffered enough, poor woman, 
 and it would be cruel to add to her sorrow by re¬ 
 lating those curious facts in cold type. As for 
 Captain Shiers, he is a harmless crank, doing neither 
 much harm nor much good by his salvation mission. 
 We’ll let the matter drop. There’s no likelihood of 
 anybody else getting hold of the story, and some 
 day you will have a chance of writing it up as an 
 interesting Chicago mystery.” 
 
 “Man proposes and God disposes,” says the 
 French proverb. It was decreed that the matter 
 should not drop, and that the same cause which led 
 to Captain Shiers’ downfall in the Durham seaport 
 should entail upon him misery and madness in 
 Chicago. 
 
 Being in the neighborhood of the Shiers dom¬ 
 icile one day, I thought I’d drop in and learn how 
 the Salvationist and his interesting wife were get¬ 
 ting along. I found Mrs. Shiers alone. Her face 
 
CAPTAIN SHIERS SLIPS THE TRACES. l6g 
 
 was pale and careworn, and there were dark rims 
 around her eyes. To my inquiry she said her hus¬ 
 band was well, but there was a sad tone in her voice 
 which denoted trouble in the household. I at once 
 associated it with Barton, as I could not imagine 
 that any other cause but unreasonable jealousy on 
 Shiers* part would so blanch the cheeks of this 
 faithful woman and bring tears to her eyes. 
 
 She flushed under my questioning glance, and 
 then with a sudden frankness cried: 
 
 “Fm not well myself, Mr. Burbanks; John has 
 been acting strange of late, and 1 mistrust that all 
 is not right with him.” 
 
 “Nothing serious, I hope, Mrs. Shiers?” said I, 
 uneasily, 
 
 “IFs the old trouble, Fm afraid, sir,** she replied 
 with quivering lips. 
 
 “Not drink, surely.** 
 
 “Ah! yes, sir,** she responded, her eyes filling 
 with tears, “it*s drink and—and jealousy again. It*s 
 perhaps wrong for me to say this, sir, but you know 
 our sad history and the wretchedness and woe of 
 our past. Oh! sir, it wrings my heart to see him 
 drifting away from grace. He has fought and 
 
170 
 
 CAPTAIN SHIERS SLIPS THE TRACES. 
 
 struggled against the old passion, but he is weak, 
 sir, and does not pray as if his soul were right/’ 
 
 “But he still continues his work?” 
 
 “Yes, but it is not with the same heartiness. 
 There’s liquor on his breath, sir, and he cannot 
 tamper long with the cup and remain safe. I feel 
 as though my heart would break at times.” 
 
 The little woman broke completely down and 
 sobbed piteously for awhile. 
 
 “Where is Mr. Barton?” I asked, when she had 
 regained her composure. 
 
 “He has a room in the neighborhood, and comes 
 in occasionally. I’m afraid its through him that 
 John has gone wrong.” 
 
 “Why, he does not tempt Mr. Shiers, surely?” 
 
 “No, not in the way of drink, sir. Mr. Barton is 
 honestly trying to live soberly and righteously. 
 But John has begun to suspect-” 
 
 She covered her face with her hands and wept 
 bitterly again. 
 
 “I know what you mean, Mrs. Shiers,” said I 
 gently; “your husband told me a few days ago of 
 his madness, but he left me fully convinced of your 
 love and truth, and promised to be a man. I’m ex¬ 
 ceedingly sorry that he has not kept his pledge.” 
 
CAPTAIN SKIERS SLIPS THE TRACES. 
 
 “Oh, he*d be all right and loving and happy 
 again, sir,” she said hurriedly, as though she ought 
 to defend the man’s character, “if he’d keep away 
 from that cursed stuff; but it’s a hard struggle 
 when the craving comes on. It’s all imagination 
 about Mr. Barton, sir, and John admits it himself 
 after the frenzy leaves him.’’ 
 
 Before she could say more Captain Shiers en¬ 
 tered the room with flushed face and hesitating 
 step. He looked suspiciously first at his wife and 
 then at me, and said in a thick voice: 
 
 “Eh, noo, what hev you two been talkin abawt?” 
 
 “His wife was confused and apparently afraid to 
 reply. 
 
 “We’ve been having a quiet talk about yourself, 
 Captain,’’ answered I. 
 
 “You hev, hev you?’* he said, a frown over¬ 
 spreading his face; “then you’ve had a mighty good 
 subject I can assure you, and I cannot see what 
 thou has hed to greet abawt.’’ 
 
 He looked at his wife fiercely and sat down. 
 
 “And let me tell thee, lad,” he continued in the 
 same thick, gutteral tones, “it beant safe policy to 
 meddle in family affairs. Thou’s shown uncommon 
 
172 
 
 CAPTAIN SKIERS SLIPS THE TRACES. 
 
 sense in some things, but thou’s a fule to step in 
 atween mon and wife/* 
 
 “Why, John,'* protested his wife timidly. 
 
 “Howd thy tongue, lass,*’ he said, angrily. “I 
 can manage my oan affairs. St. Paul saays a 
 wooman should be seen and not heerd, and I think 
 th’ owd lad were reet, becos a man hoo’s ruled by 
 his wife is a white-livered milk-sop, onyhoo.** 
 
 The man was well under the influence of liquor, 
 and I thought it wise to take my departure. As I 
 reached for my hat Shiers rose unsteadily and said: 
 
 “Doan’t be in a hurry, my lad. There’s soom 
 things that owt to be spokken oot as a prize-faighter 
 strikes—straight from th’ showlder. And I’m fain 
 to speeak my maind noo. I divvent laike sneaks of 
 ony kaind. Ivery thing is oppen and above booard 
 wi’ me, and what I want to know reet noo, wi’ no 
 shirkin’ or circumlocution, what is thou oop to?” 
 
 “John, John,** cried his wife, sobbing, “how can 
 you talk to the gentleman in that way?” 
 
 “Stop thy greetin’ thou fond fule,” he said, sav¬ 
 agely, facing the little woman with a gleam in his 
 bloodshot eyes. 
 
 “For heaven’s sake, go sir,” cried Mrs. Shiers to 
 
CAPTAIN SKIERS SLIPS THE TRACES. 173 
 
 “He winnat go till I’ve hed my saay,” shouted 
 her husband, placing his bulky form in the doorway. 
 I towd thee I div^vent like sneaks, and thou wasn’t 
 mon enuff to tak me oop. Doesn’t thou think I’ve 
 enuff to put oop wi’ wi’ that chuckle-yedded, de¬ 
 ceitful skoondrel. Barton, skulkin’ aroond my prem¬ 
 ises? Doesn’t thou know that my patience has bin 
 tried to th’ utmoost? Or is thou yane of thoase 
 bowd villains hoo thinks he can , swagger through 
 ony mischief belaike it suits his time and conveni¬ 
 ence? Gie me answer at yance, or-” 
 
 His wife shrieked as Shiers made a threatening 
 gesture. I looked him steadily in the face and said: 
 
 “Captain Shiers you are unduly excited this 
 afternoon, and are making cowardly insinuations 
 against your wife that you will regret when you are 
 sober.” 
 
 “Sober!” he bawled, raising his hand again; 
 “does thou mean to saay I’m drunk? Why, thou 
 conscienceless skoondrel, I’ll mash thee and purr 
 thee on th’ yed.” 
 
 He advanced another step, when in an instant 
 the savage look fled from his face and his arm 
 dropped nerveless to his side. Tears sprang into 
 his eyes and he cried hysterically: 
 
174 CAPTAIN SKIERS SLIPS THE TRACES, 
 
 “Forgie me, lad! I’m sair beat. Troubles coom 
 clusterin’ roond and I’m welly daft. Eh! Lizzie, 
 my lass! I’m a wreck again. Th’ laight hes 
 left me, and I’m wallowin’ i’ th’ black and dismal 
 swamp of evil passions. Eh! but I’m main sorry 
 for my ugly tongue and temper.” 
 
 He grasped and shook my hand wildly, and then 
 staggered to the lounge, upon which he fell ex¬ 
 hausted. 
 
 “Does this occur often?” I whispered to the 
 weeping woman. 
 
 “No, sir; this is the first violent outburst. You 
 had better go while he is quiet.” 
 
 “But is it safe to leave you?” 
 
 “Perfectly safe, sir,” she said with a sad smile; 
 “he’ll wake penitent and remorseful, but he must 
 drop his commission in the army. Oh! it is such a 
 disgrace.” 
 
 As I left the house I came face to face with Ned 
 Barton. The man was better dressed, and there 
 was a healthy color in his cheeks. 
 
 “Ah! Mr. Burbanks,” he cried merrily; “I am 
 glad to see you. How do you find our friends?” 
 
CAPTAIN SHIERb SLIPS THE TRACES. 175 
 
 Coming fresh from that painful scene the man’s 
 jauntiness jarred on my nerves, and I responded 
 significantly: 
 
 “I do not find them as peaceful and contented as 
 they were before your advent.” 
 
 *‘Oh! I guess the old man has slipped the traces 
 again,” said Barton with a perceptible sneer. 
 
 “That’s rather a slighting way of referring to the 
 husband of the woman who rescued you from the 
 gutter.” 
 
 This thrust went home. The blood mounted 
 into Barton’s face, and his eyes flashed angrily. 
 
 “I’m not aware that it’s any of your business,” 
 he hotly retorted. 
 
 “Pardon me, my dear sir,” I said blandly, “you 
 have yourself to blame if I touched you on the raw. 
 But let me give you a word 'of advice. Captain 
 Shiers is enraged about you hanging around his 
 home. As you elegantly express it, he has slipped 
 the traces, and you will be the first to feel the effect 
 of his mad freedom. If you value your head keep 
 out of his sight.” 
 
176 CAPTAIN SKIERS SLIPS THE TRACES. 
 
 Bartbn turned pale as a ghost, and his lips trem¬ 
 bled as he muttered: 
 
 “The old fool.” 
 
 He turned on his heels without another word and 
 walked hurriedly away from Shiers* door. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 NED BARTON MURDERED. 
 
 I had taken an instinctive dislike to Mr. Barton. 
 He impressed me as a flippant, selfish fellow, who. 
 knowing the irratation his presence caused Captain 
 Shiers, persisted in inflicting the man with his 
 society. That he had more than a friendly regard 
 for Mrs. Shiers I strongly suspected. Those tender 
 glances he cast upon her were not inspired by pure 
 gratitude for charitable services; they bore the sign 
 of a cowardly, unlawful passion. His sneering allu¬ 
 sion to the unfortunate Salvationist proved the 
 contemptible narrowness of his nature, and I could 
 not refrain from showing him that his base designs 
 were known. 
 
 Owing to the sickness of a member of the re- 
 portorial staff, I was transferred to night police 
 work for the remainder of that week. This duty is 
 one of the most arduous and important that falls to 
 the lot of a city reporter. The night man makes 
 his headquarters at the Central Station, where tele¬ 
 graphic reports are received concerning all criminal 
 12G ' 
 
178 NED BARTON MURDERED. 
 
 or sensational happenings within the police juris¬ 
 diction of Chicago. He has to be continually on 
 the alert, and work with lightning celerity to supply 
 his paper with graphic accounts of fires, suicides, 
 burglaries and murders. 
 
 The second night after my assignment to this 
 duty was an unusually busy one. Early in the even¬ 
 ing there were two serious fires in the business sec¬ 
 tion; later on came reports of three shooting 
 scrapes in saloons, and at ii o’clock, after my man¬ 
 uscript accounts of these affairs had been sent to 
 the office, news was received of a desperate murder 
 on West Twelfth street, near the Cathedral. It 
 seemed as if the devil had broken loose and an 
 epidemic of crime was raging. 
 
 I jumped into a carriage and drove rapidly to 
 the Twelfth Street Police Station, where the victim 
 had been taken. Captain O’Donnell, one of the 
 most active and vigilant officers of the force, gave 
 me all the details of the affair he had been able to 
 gather. 
 
 “At 10:45,” he said, “one of my men, who was at 
 the corner of Twelfth and Blue Island avenue, 
 heard two shots in the direction of the Jesuits’ Col¬ 
 lege. On going forward to ascertain the cause, he 
 
NED BARTON MURDERED. 179 
 
 found a man groaning on the sidewalk, with blood 
 flowing from a wound in his left side. The poor 
 fellow was in mortal agony, and could only gasp 
 that an unknown man had attempted to rob him, 
 and on meeting with resistance had drawn a re¬ 
 volver and fired twice at him and fled. He pointed 
 westward, as if to indicate that the assassin ran in 
 that direction, and then became insensible. The 
 officer called the patrol wagon and the victim was 
 brought here. He is in my private office now in 
 care of the county physician. He is still alive, but 
 there is no hope for him. He may die at any mo¬ 
 ment. I have turned in a general alarm and officers 
 are scouring the city for the murderer.” 
 
 “What’s the name of the wounded man?” I 
 asked. 
 
 “We’ve not been able to get it from him,” re¬ 
 plied Captain O’Donnell. 
 
 I followed the Captain into his private office to 
 look at the victim. I started back in surprise when 
 I saw the prostrate man. There, stretched out on a 
 cot, with ashen face and the life-blood slowly trick¬ 
 ling from a wound near the heart, was Edward Bar¬ 
 ton, the whilom friend and patient of Mrs. Shiers. 
 
l80 NED BARTON MURDERED. 
 
 Captain O’Donnell noticed my astonishment and 
 asked if I knew the man. 
 
 “Yes,” I replied, “he is a compositor named 
 Edward Barton.” 
 
 “Where did he work?” 
 
 “That I don’t know; he but recently recovered 
 from a fit of sickness.” 
 
 “Do you know anything else about him? Has 
 he any friends who ought to be notified? 
 
 I was about to mention the names of Captain 
 Shiers and his wife when the suspicion flashed 
 across my mind that perhaps the Salvationist was 
 Barton’s assailant. Without any intention of block¬ 
 ing the wheels of justice I thought it discreet to 
 withold my suspicion, and answered evasively: 
 
 “I don’t know where he lived.” 
 
 Barton opened his eyes while we were conversing 
 and gave me a feeble glance of recognition. 
 
 “The man knows you,” said Captain O’Donnell; 
 *‘try what you can find out from him.” 
 
 As I went to the side of Barton’s couch the Doc¬ 
 tor whispered: 
 
 “Be careful and not excite him; he is at a low 
 ebb.” 
 
NED BARTON MURDERED. 
 
 i8i 
 
 The man motioned feebly, as though he had a 
 communication to make. I bent over him and he 
 gasped painfully: 
 
 “I did not heed your warning, Mr. Burbanks; he 
 has killed me!” 
 
 “Who do you mean?” I asked. 
 
 “You know—Shiers.” 
 
 He closed his eyes after this effort and there 
 was an ominous rattle in his throat. 
 
 “What did he say?” demanded O’Donnell, who 
 had not caught the full import of the man’s com¬ 
 munication. 
 
 “Wait a moment,” responded I, as Barton 
 showed signs of rallying. The poor fellow opened 
 his eyes again and fixed them on my face with 
 dying intensity. 
 
 “Don’t—tell,” he whispered; “save—her—the— 
 man—is—mad 1’ ’ 
 
 “But you told the officer some one tried to rob 
 and then shoot you,” I whispered; “wasn’t that 
 true?” 
 
 “No,” he gasped, with a faint smile flickering on 
 his pallid face; “I—didn’t—want—them—to—know. 
 He—saw—me— leave—the—house—and—followed 
 
I82 
 
 NED BURTON MURDERED. 
 
 — and — shot — me. But — spare — her —feelings. 
 Don’t—tell;—there’s—been—misery—enough.” 
 
 “Whom does he accuse?” inquired O’Donnell. 
 
 Barton looked at me entreatingly, and tried to 
 shake his head. I hesitated to reply. O’Donnell 
 observed my reluctance, and, turning to the wounded 
 man, demanded: 
 
 “Who did you say shot you? Answer, my good 
 man; you are in a dangerous state, and we want to 
 apprehend your assailant.” 
 
 Barton tried to raise himself on his elbows. The 
 glare of death was in his eyes; there was a gurgling 
 sound in his throat. He opened his lips and gasped: 
 
 “Nobody!” 
 
 A quick, convulsive shudder passed over his 
 frame and he fell back dead. 
 
 “Now, Burbanks,” said Captain O’Donnell, 
 throwing a newspaper over the man’s face, “who 
 killed that poor fellow? He gave you some one’s 
 name.” 
 
 I felt inclined to respect Barton’s dying request, 
 but realizing the claims of justice as opposed tp 
 compassion, I answered: 
 
 “He said John Shiers shot him,’* 
 
NED BARTON MURDERED. 183 
 
 “John Shiers!” exclaimed Captain O’Donnell, 
 “and who’s John Shiers?” 
 
 “The captain of the Salvation Army.” 
 
 “Great Csesar!” cried the excited Captain. “Why, 
 we’ll soon pinch him. He is known to every office! 
 on the West Side.” 
 
 O’Donnell hurried into the outer office and sent 
 a dispatch to the Central Station that Shiers was 
 the man who committed the murder, and every 
 available officer in the district was set to work 
 searching for the captain of the Salvation Army. 
 
“w .• 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 BREAKING THE NEWS TO MRS. SKIERS. ; 
 
 Having set the machinery of the law at work to ^ 
 
 s 
 
 capture Captain Shiers, I did not consider myself j 
 under any obligations to conduct or direct the 
 police officers to his residence. It was a simple 
 matter to find out the abode of so well-known and 
 eccentric a character, and nay newspaper ambition, v 
 to say nothing of a deep compassion for the assas¬ 
 sin’s wife, urged me to be first on the field to break 
 the news, and, if possible, to obtain additional par- / 
 ticulars of the crime in advance of my professibnal 
 rivals. /v 
 
 The hour was late and there was not a moment 
 to lose if I wished to get a full account of the 
 tragedy in the first edition. Telling the driver to 
 head towards the office, so as to avert the suspicion 
 of my associates, who were in full force at the police 
 station by this time, I stopped him at Desplaines 
 street and urged him to speed his horses to the 
 grocery store on South Halsted street over which 
 Shiers and his family lived. 
 
 
BREAKING THE NEWS TO MRS. SHIERS. 18$ 
 
 We reached there shortly after midnight. There 
 was a light in the window of the sitting-room. The 
 front door was open, and I ran upstairs; The noise 
 of my footsteps brought Mrs. Shiers to the landing, 
 with a lamp in her hand. 
 
 “I thought it was John,” she cried in a fright¬ 
 ened voice, as she recognized me. 
 
 “Is he not here?” I asked. 
 
 “No; but whatever’s the matter?” queried the 
 little woman, her face aglow with excitement. 
 “Come in.” 
 
 I entered the sparsely furnished sitting-room, 
 which was now so familiar to me. Mrs. Shiers set 
 the lamp down on a table, and stood regarding me 
 in silence for a short space. 
 
 “You bring bad news,” she cried, placing her 
 hand nervously on her breast; “I see it in your 
 face. What has happened John? Quick; tell me.” 
 
 “You are alone?” I stammered, scarce knowing 
 what to say. 
 
 “Yes, yes,” she replied excitedly. But the news 
 —tell me the news. I can bear it whatever it may 
 be.” 
 
 She seated herself with forced calmness near the 
 table as though she desired to show that she could 
 
1 86 BREAKING THE NEWS TO MRS. SHIERS. 
 
 control herself. I cast about for some soothing 
 expression with which to tell the story, but my 
 mind ached with its burden and the words I sought 
 refused to fashion themselves on my lips. The 
 strain became unbearable, and with a bluntness I 
 knew to be cruel but which for the life of me I 
 could not repress, I said; 
 
 “Ned Barton has been murdered!” 
 
 “Murdered!” 
 
 The woman did not shriek this awful word. It 
 came from her lips like a heart-broken wail. It 
 was like the cry of a despairing soul—wrestling with 
 an immensity of woe. 
 
 Her head fell on the table and her frame shook 
 violently. She was not weeping however. When 
 she lifted her face every vestige of color had fled, 
 her lips quivered but her eyes were dry and shone 
 with feverish brilliancy. 
 
 “It has come at last!” she cried. “Oh! cruel, 
 cruel fate. We were so happy; John was peaceful 
 and contented, and we could not praise God enough 
 for His mercy. Now everything is black and his 
 hands reeking with blood.” 
 
 Heavens! thought I, has she knowledge of the 
 tragedy, or does she, by some subtly instinct, divine 
 
BREAKING THE NEWS TO MRS. SKIERS, 187 
 
 the worst? She did not wait for me to question 
 her. 
 
 “Mr. Burbanks,” she said, wringing her hands, 
 “do not be afraid to speak of this. Have they 
 caught John?” 
 
 “Caught him!” I exclaimed, “then you know it 
 was he who shot Barton?” 
 
 She clutched at her bosom again while she 
 answered hoarsely: 
 
 “No, no; but your presence here and his threats 
 tell me as plain as words that the hands of my hus¬ 
 band are stained with blood. Is it not so?” 
 
 ^‘Unfortunately, it is, Mrs. Shiers. The man told 
 me before he died that your husband shot him. He 
 seemed to forgive the deed, for he begged of me not 
 to tell the officers.” 
 
 “And they do not know?” she cried, as a hope¬ 
 ful light sprang into her face. 
 
 “They do know, madam. The police captain 
 stood by while the man breathed his last, and I was 
 compelled to inform him of what Barton said.” 
 
 “Ah!” she moaned, piteously, “but it had to be 
 —it had to be! Vengeance belongs to the law, and 
 John will—oh, God! God! let me die!” 
 
1 88 BRBAKINQ THE NEWS TO MRS. SHIERS. 
 
 She paced the floor in direful agony. I watched 
 her closely, dreading that her grief might assume 
 some terrible form. In a few moments she quieted 
 down again, and asked me for the details of the 
 crime. I told her what little I knew, and asked if 
 Captain Shiers and Barton had quarreled in her 
 presence. 
 
 “No, not exactly,” she answered. “Mr. Barton 
 was here this morning, and John told him roughly 
 that his visits were not agreeable. Barton said they 
 would cease entirely, as he intended to leave shortly 
 for Kansas City. The sooner they stop, said my 
 husband, the better for us all. The cause of this 
 disagreement pained me acutely, sir, for the young 
 man was merely respectful and grateful for my at¬ 
 tention during his sickness. Still I knew how bitter 
 and unreasonable John was, and that it would be 
 easier for us all if I made no protest. John seemed 
 pleased that Barton was going away; he kissed me 
 on going out at noon, and promised to ask pardon 
 for his sins and go on with the good work again, for 
 you must know, sir, that since the day you were 
 here he cast off his uniform and drank steadily. I 
 began to worry when John did not return for sup¬ 
 per. About 10 o’clock Mr. Barton came to bid me 
 
BREAKING THE NEWS TO MRS. SHIERS. I 89 
 
 *good-by/ stating that he had decided to leave the 
 city next day. While we were talking John ap¬ 
 peared. His face was flushed, and I knew that he 
 had been indulging again. I was fearful there 
 would be a scene, but my husband turned abruptly 
 and went out with an evil look on his face when he 
 caught sight of the visitor. It may have been 10:30 
 when Mr. Barton left. There was a heavy load on 
 my . heart, and I had a presentiment of mischief. I 
 was waiting for John, sir, when you came. Some¬ 
 thing told me that the worst had happened—that 
 my husband had met Mr. Barton and carried out 
 his threat to kill him.’* 
 
 “Did he make that threat to-day?’* 
 
 “Oh! no, sir,” wailed the woman; “but he said it 
 several times of late, and I was afraid of his temper 
 when he was in his cups.” 
 
 Heavy steps on the stairs made us both start. 
 She ran to the door with a frightened look. Two 
 policemen pushed past her into the room, as if they 
 expected to pounce upon 'her husband. They were 
 visibly dissapointed when they found that Mrs. 
 Shiers and I were the only occupants. 
 
 “Hang those reporters,** muttered one, “they’re 
 always spoiling our game.** 
 
igO BREAKING THE NEWS TO MRS. SHIERS. 
 
 “Where’s Captain Shiers?” demanded the other 
 gruffly of the woman. 
 
 “I do not know, gentlemen,” she said in a low, 
 sad voice; “I have not seen him since lo o’clock, 
 when he merely looked in and went out again.” 
 
 “That’s suspicious,” said the one who anath¬ 
 ematized the reporters; “we’ll take a look round 
 the premises.” 
 
 They searched the kitchen and the bedroom, 
 where little Bob was asleep in a cot. Disappointed 
 again, they came back to the sitting-room, and 
 asked what Mrs. Shiers knew about the affair. 
 
 “Only what this gentleman has told me,” she 
 replied, referring to me. 
 
 “Then we’re losing time here,” remarked one, 
 “he knows no more than we do.” And with this 
 sapient observation the policemen left to pursue 
 their search elsewhere. The noise they made in 
 going down-stairs awoke Bob Shiers, who came in¬ 
 to the room in his nightshirt and in a trembling 
 voice asked what was the matter. 
 
 Mrs. Shiers broke down at the sight of her boy. 
 She clasped him tightly to her bosom and her tears 
 rained on his head. 
 
BREAKING THE NEWS TO MRS. SHIERS. IQl 
 
 ‘‘Mother! mother?” he cried, “what did those 
 horrid men want?” 
 
 “Oh! my child! my child!” sobbed the heart¬ 
 broken woman. 
 
 This was all she could say. The boy fell on 
 his knees and, not knowing the cause of her deep 
 sorrow, prayed God to bless and comfort his mother. 
 Mrs. Shiers listened to the childish plea with 
 streaming eyes, and when I turned to go they were 
 both on their knees asking divine guidance and 
 consolation in this grievous hour of trial. 
 
 Outside an officer watched the house in the hope 
 that Captain Shiers would seek shelter at home. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE SALVATION CAPTAIN DEAD. 
 
 Owing to the unpleasant notoriety the Salvation 
 Army had achieved in Chicago, the murder was the 
 sensation of the day. One of the newspapers called 
 Shiers a professional criminal, who used his con¬ 
 nection with the eccentric band of religionists to 
 cloak nefarious projects. Another said his methods 
 of worship savored of lunacy, and that the noisy 
 sect ought to be suppressed in the interests of peace 
 and morality. Isolated remarks of the captain 
 were quoted to show that his past record was pro¬ 
 fessedly vile, and that the murder was the natural 
 outcome of inherent vicious propensities. There 
 were murmurs of lynching in case the assassin was 
 caught, and so bitter was the feeling in the quarter 
 where the man resided that his followers suspended 
 their street parades for fear of inciting the venge¬ 
 ful passions of the mob. 
 
 Meanwhile the police authorities searched in vain 
 for Captain Shiers. Every outgoing train was 
 watched and a close vigilance kept on departing 
 
THE SALVATION CAPTAIN DEAD. 
 
 193 
 
 vessels, as the report got out that he had been a 
 sailor and might try to escape by the lake. The 
 Salvation brethren, who went to condole with his 
 wife, were closely shadowed in the belief that they 
 might have knowledge of his hiding place. But 
 the activity of the officers proved fruitless. Days 
 merged into weeks and not a trace of taptain 
 Shiers could be found. 
 
 I consulted Dr. Gillman several times while the 
 hunt was at its height. He was greatly perturbed 
 by what he called the tragical termination of a per¬ 
 plexing case, but volunteered no suggestions as to 
 how a man with pronounced marks of individuality 
 like Shiers, could manage to elude the combined 
 vigilance of the Chicago police force. 
 
 “Burbanks,” said he on one occasion, ‘T have 
 spoken before of the intense difficulty of gauging 
 or predicting the actions of a crazy man. There’s no 
 method of determining the antics a diseased brain 
 may impel in any given case. Madness is a subtle 
 and perplexing disease, as you may have observed 
 by your casual study of Shiers’ career in and out of 
 the a'oylum. The mystery will be cleared up some 
 day, but it may be after the man is dead and for¬ 
 gotten, so far as the public is concerned. We can 
 13G 
 
194 
 
 THE SALVATION CAPTAIN DEAD. 
 
 do nothing but wait patiently the developments of 
 time.” • 
 
 “You believe, then, that Shiers’ malady had re¬ 
 turned when he killed Barton?” I asked. 
 
 “Undoubtedly; the man*s mental poise was f 
 jeopardized the moment he resumed his drinking ‘ 
 habits, and that his malady took a homicidal form 
 we have abundant proof in his past record.” 
 
 “Have you any idea. Doctor, that the other 
 idiosyncrasy—the assumption of the character of 
 Henry Toplass—would return?” 
 
 “Who knows? It is not at all improbable.” 
 
 “Then it would not be unlikely for the man, un- , 
 conscious now of his crime as he was of his former 
 vagary, to attempt to resume relations with Mrs. 
 Toplass.” 
 
 The Doctor started perceptibly at the sugges¬ 
 tion. 
 
 “For heaven’s sake, Burbanks,” he cried, “keep 
 that terrible thought to yourself. Mrs. Toplass is a 
 very sick woman again, and serious consequences 
 might ensue if you inadvertently sent those cold¬ 
 blooded fiends, the detectives, to aggravate her 
 nervous condition by pestering her with heartless 
 questions.” 
 
 ■f* 
 
THE SALVATION CAPTAIN DEAD. I95 
 
 “But she must be prepared for something of the 
 kind.” 
 
 “In what respect?” queried the Doctor, warmly. 
 
 “She must know that Shiers, the man whom she 
 challenged as her husband, is wanted on a charge 
 of murder.” 
 
 “She knows nothing of the sort,” cried Dr. Gill- 
 man; “every newspaper containing mention of the 
 affair has been kept out of her sight.” 
 
 “By your advice?” 
 
 “Yes, by my advice.” 
 
 It was no use arguing with Dr. Gillman; he set 
 his face sternly against any intimation of the man’s 
 identity with Henry Toplass, the missing merchant, 
 being given the authorities, and at last, although I 
 had a vague suspicion that his motive was stronger 
 than a mere desire to allow the case to work out its 
 own solution, I agreed to respect his wishes. 
 
 But what of that grief-stricken woman on the 
 West Side? 
 
 I saw Mrs. Shiers frequently during the excite¬ 
 ment of the search for her unfortunate spouse. She 
 grew paler and paler as the weeks passed on. Her 
 features sharpened with anxiety and deep lines of 
 care furrowed her brow. The sorrowful expression 
 
196 THE SALVATION CAPTAIN DEAD. 
 
 • 4 
 
 to which Captain Shiers called attention after his ^ 
 interview with Mrs. Toplass, deepened, and was so 
 
 . 4 
 
 marked at times that one could almost imagine he, . - 
 
 was looking into the face of that unfortunate lady. 
 
 “When I mentioned this peculiar circumstance 
 to Dr. Gillman, he said: 
 
 “It is not so strange as you think. Both women ; ' ' 
 
 y , 
 
 have experienced the same harrowing sorrow, im¬ 
 posed through association with the same unfortu¬ 
 nate man. Similarity of suffering has graven the 
 same lines on their features; it bears out the oft- 
 recognized fact that man and wife, through intimate 
 communion and mutual aspirations, develop a re¬ 
 semblance in facial expression.” 
 
 Mrs. Shiers bore patiently this stroke of dire ad¬ 
 versity. She was not so active in Salvation work as 
 formerly; she took no part in the public services, 
 but she occupied herself with tender ministrations r 
 
 ' s' ■ V ‘ 
 
 to the spiritual weal of the newly converted Chris- ; .! 
 tians. The captain who succeeded to the command 
 of the army bore warm testimony to her piety and 
 helpfulness to the cause. 
 
 “She is a brave, good, pure woman,” he said, 
 
 “one who has passed through the fire of bitter 
 affliction and left all earthly dross in the process. 
 
 I 
 
THE SALVATION CAPTAIN DEAD. 
 
 197 
 
 Ah! sir, if ever there was a saint, Mrs. Shiersls one. 
 Her trouble has been great, her anguish keen, but 
 her good deeds are written in letters of gold in the 
 eternal record, and she will reap rich reward in the 
 celestial kingdom.” 
 
 I received a note from her three months after 
 the tragedy, requesting me to call, as she was pre¬ 
 paring to return to Europe, and “wished to thank 
 you once more for the many acts of kindness and 
 consideration to myself and dead husband.” 
 
 The significance of those last words started a 
 train of curious thoughts. Her dead husband! 
 
 Previous experience had warned me of the futility 
 of speculation, and I went over to Halsted street to 
 bid the woman farewell and listen to her explana¬ 
 tion of this absorbing problem. ^ 
 
 “I am ever so much obliged to you for calling,” 
 Mrs. Shiers remarked, after welcoming me in the 
 sitting-room. “I wanted to see you before starting 
 for England.” 
 
 “I presume you are glad to get out of this city, 
 Mrs. Shiers,” said I. 
 
 “Yes,” she responded with a deep sigh, “this 
 place has many painful associations. I came with 
 glad, hopeful thoughts for the future, sir, and for a 
 
igS THE SALVATION CAPTAIN DEAD. 
 
 time it seemed that life in the New World would be 
 a source of perpetual peace and content. But we 
 are in the hands of One who sometimes ordains 
 things contrary to human desires. His infinite wis¬ 
 dom arranges our course, and though the way looks 
 dark and dreary and there are briars and thorns in 
 the path, yet we must bow cheerfully to His will 
 and bear the tribulations He sees fit to impose.” 
 
 “There was a passage in your note that excited 
 my curiosity, madam,” I remarked. “You referred 
 to your husband as though you knew he was dead.” 
 
 Tears came into Jier eyes, and her voice trembled 
 as she responded: 
 
 “That was one of the matters I wished to speak 
 to you about. John is dead sir; he died very soon after 
 that awful affair. I was asked not to say anything 
 about his death, even to you, sir. I gave my word 
 that I would not, but I feel partially absolved from 
 the promise now.” 
 
 “To whom did you make that pledge?” I asked. 
 
 “Pardon me, Mr. Burbanks, but I must not tell 
 that yet. He died peaceably, but with his mind 
 sorely distraught and confused. I closed his eyes 
 myself. Ah! it was a sad trial, sir, but I was thank¬ 
 ful it was no worse. I dread to think what might 
 
THE SALVATION CAPTAIN DEAD. 
 
 199 
 
 have happened had the officers discovered him. 
 Thank God we were spared that bitter blow.” 
 
 “Did he die in Chicago?” 
 
 “Yes, sir; while his mind was far afield, and the 
 memory of that frightful night entirely obliterated, 
 he found kind and indulgent friends who nursed 
 him through his illness and sacredly guarded his 
 terrible secret. A great many things were ex- 
 plained which puzzled and bewildered me during 
 that trying time when you first made our acquain¬ 
 tance. I know now the full misfortune of that 
 poor lady. Ah! sir, how ill-fated John seems to 
 have been from our mortal standpoint. But I 
 cannot say more, sir. When and how my poor hus¬ 
 band died must remain a mystery for the present. 
 All I can tell you is that he is dead and that God, 
 in His infinite goodness, has given me grace and 
 strength to bear the yoke.” 
 
 The subject was a painful one, and I forebore 
 questioning the little woman further. We con¬ 
 versed awhile on her plans and prospects for the 
 future. She told me that she was going into home 
 mission work in London, and that officers of the army 
 would interest themselves in her son and educate 
 him for an evangelical career. 
 
200 
 
 THE SALVATION CAPTAIN DEAD. 
 
 “You will know all in good time, sir,’* she said 
 as I bade her adieu and wished her a safe journey 
 to her new field of labor. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 BY THE GRAVE AT WOODLAWN. 
 
 Early in the following September Dr. Gillman, 
 who seemed to avoid me after our last recorded 
 interview, came to the reporters’ room and invited 
 me to take a drive with him. 
 
 “It’s a beautiful day, Burbanks,” said he cheer¬ 
 ily; “the leaves are just beginning to' turn, and 
 there’s a health-giving breeze from the lake. 
 Sheathe your pencil and come to Woodlawn with 
 me. There is a certain matter I want to talk over 
 with you and a certain constraint between us that 
 ought to be removed. Do you remember what 
 day this is?” 
 
 “It’s the 9th of September, Doctor,” I answered, 
 somewhat surprised at his manner. “I know no 
 particular reason why I should remember it.” 
 
 “But there is a very good reason why you 
 should bear it in mind,” he responded; “it is the 
 anniversary of Barton’s violent death.” 
 
 “Ah!” exclaimed I, surprised still more, “are you 
 going to visit his grave?” 
 
202 
 
 BY THE GRAVE AT WOODLAWN. 
 
 “Ask no questions,” said the doctor, “but come 
 along." 
 
 We drove out to the cemetery, and Dr. Gillman, 
 who had been very talkative on almost every topic 
 except the one uppermost in my mind, led the way 
 in silence to a grave, well kept and beautifully 
 bordered with plants and flowers, in the northwest 
 corner of the burying place. 
 
 “There," he said solemnly, pointing to a plain 
 marble slab at the head of the mound, “there is the 
 key to the mystery." 
 
 The tombstone bore the following inscription: 
 
 SACRED TO 
 THE MEMORY OF 
 
 HENRY TOPLASS, 
 
 WHO DIED AT 
 CHICAGO NOV. 10, l 88 — 
 
 AGED 42 YEARS. 
 
 Here lurks no treason, here no envy dwells, 
 
 Here grow no damned grudges; Here are no 
 storms, 
 
 No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. 
 
 “Then this is Shiers’ grave," said I quietly, after 
 reading the inscription. 
 
BY THE GRAVE AT WOODLAWN. 
 
 203 
 
 “It is; but you do not seem surprised/’ responded 
 Dr, Gillman, who had been observing me closely. 
 
 “I knew the man was dead; what matters it 
 where he is buried, or what sentiment you inscribe 
 on his tombstone?” 
 
 “It’s just as I feared,” cried the Doctor, with 
 some excitement; “you cannot trust a woman after 
 all. Did Mrs. Shiers tell you everything?” 
 
 “No, but your question does. Doctor. You were 
 the kind and considerate friend who guarded the 
 man’s secret and saw him quietly interred here. Tell 
 me the last chapter in the man’s history and I’ll for¬ 
 give you for hoodwinking me.” 
 
 “It was for that purpose I brought you here, 
 Burbanks,” said Dr. Gillman. “At i o’clock on the 
 morning of Sept. 10, last year, I was aroused from 
 my beauty sleep by the violent ringing of my night ' 
 bell. I dressed hurriedly and went to the front 
 door, where I was astonished to find Mrs. Toplass, 
 in a dreadful state of agitation. ‘Doctor,’ she cried^ 
 ‘for heaven’s sake come to the house right away; 
 Henry has returned and needs your attention.’ I 
 was doubly astonished by this intelligence. The 
 Toplass residence, as you know, is but four blocks 
 from my house, and we were there in a few moments. 
 
204 
 
 BY THE GRAVE AT WOODLAWN. 
 
 On a sofa in the parlor lay Captain Shiers mutter¬ 
 ing wildly to himself and shaking violently. He 
 gave a glad shout of recognition on seeing me, and 
 said in a husky voice: ‘it’s the first time in years, 
 Gillman, but, hang me, it’s given me a shake. Went 
 to see a friend off to Europe and we had to drown 
 the sorrow of parting. Came near drowning myself, 
 old fellow; here I am though, still in the ring, but 
 groggy, not only on my pins but all over my car¬ 
 cass. And Nellie, here, has been weeping and 
 watching forme. I promised to take her and the 
 children out this afternoon, and she was disappoint¬ 
 ed, poor girl. Sorry, Nellie; it won’t occur again.’ 
 I knew at once what the trouble was. The man had 
 had a violent shock of some kind, and his brain had 
 turned into the old groove; he imagined that he 
 was Henry Toplass again, and the thread of his dual 
 personality was resumed exactly at the point where 
 it was thrown off six years before. His breath 
 smelled strongly of liquor; under ordinary circum¬ 
 stances it would have been right to conclude that 
 he was suffering from over-stimulation. I gave him 
 an opiate, and when he quieted down I interrogated 
 Mrs. Toplass, who was crying bitterly, as to how he 
 acted when he came to the house. “Just about the 
 
BY THE GRAVE AT WOODLAWN. 205 
 
 same, doctor,” she answered between sobs. ‘The 
 bell rang loudly about midnight, and I opened the 
 front window and asked the cause of the distur¬ 
 bance. “It’s Henry, Nellie,” cried a well-known 
 voice, which sent a pang through my heart, for, oh. 
 Doctor, as you know, only a few weeks ago I found 
 him masquerading under an assumed name and 
 living with another woman. I was tempted to call 
 the police and have him taken away, but I could 
 not find it in my heart to do so. The sound of his 
 old, familiar voice called back my slumbering affec¬ 
 tion, and I ran down stairs and admitted him. He 
 staggered into the parlor, saying: “I’m sorry, 
 Nellie; forgive me.” When I lighted the gas I saw 
 his pitiable condition, and I came at once for you, 
 Doctor. Is he seriously ill. Doctor, and why do you 
 think he deserted and denied me?’ 
 
 “I told her frankly that Mr. Toplass was in a 
 dangerous state, and wanted perfect rest and quiet. 
 That something serious had occurred I was con¬ 
 fident, and to avoid scandalous complications, I 
 deemed it expedient to remove the man to my own 
 house. ‘He will be better under my immediate 
 care,’said I to Mrs. Toplass. 
 
206 
 
 BY THE GRAVE AT WOQ'DLAWN. 
 
 “The effects ot the opiate wore off in an hour or 
 so, and Shiers, who was timid and docile, readily- 
 agreed to go home with me. He had an idea that 
 he required particular medical treatment, and said: 
 ‘Don’t worry, Nellie; Gillman will bring me round 
 all right by morning.’ I took the man to my own 
 bed-room and sent my coachman for a man whom 1 
 could trust implicitly to nurse him. 
 
 “It is not necessary to go into all the details of 
 the man’s sickness. He was in a very dilapidated 
 condition and symptoms of cerebral softening soon 
 manifested themselves. At the time you intimated 
 that justice required full particulars in regard to his 
 career, to aid in the man’s detection, he was rapidly 
 sinking. I knew that it would impose unnecessary 
 suffering on those two innocent women to publish 
 the facts to the world, and that the man would soon 
 expiate his crime by succumbing to his inherited 
 malady. 
 
 “He rambled a great deal toward the end; some¬ 
 times his assumed character had the ascendancy in 
 his delirium, and he would cry out about Nellie and 
 the children; at others he would be plain Jack 
 Shiers, with his thick Yorkshire brogue, babbling 
 about little Bob and his lass, Lizzie. Mrs. Toplass, 
 
BY THE GRAVE AT WOODLAWN. 
 
 207 
 
 who was made seriously ill by the shock of his re¬ 
 turn and pitiable state, was kept ignorant of the 
 facts of the tragedy. To-day, so far as I know, she 
 is still in blissful ignorance of the most lamentable 
 incidents in his history. I had to tell her some 
 things, for when she came quietly to see the sick 
 man he often let fall expressions which aroused her 
 curiosity. Toward the last, under a pledge of strict 
 secrecy, I informed Mrs. Shiers of her husband’s 
 whereabouts and condition, and I brought her in my 
 carriage to visit him. She is all that you have de¬ 
 scribed her—a sweet, lovable little woman, with a 
 heart too noble and refined for this rough world. 
 The man died peaceably in her arms. That, in 
 brief, is the last page in Shiers’ strange, eventful 
 history.” 
 
 “Of course you had reasons for burying him 
 under the name of Toplass,” I said. 
 
 “Yes,” was the reply; “one was that he was 
 Henry Toplass prior to sinking into the sleep of 
 death; another that the burial certificate would not 
 at that late day cause perplexing inquiries, and still 
 another, that it freed Mrs. Toplass from embarrass¬ 
 ments which might at some time interfere with her 
 
208 
 
 BY THE GRAVE AT WOODLAWN. 
 
 peace and comfort. She broke up her establish¬ 
 ment in Chicago two months ago and has gone 
 abroad with her children. I do not think she will 
 return to the United States, since her last words to 
 me indicated that she contemplated marriage with 
 an old suitor, who is permanently settled in the 
 south of France. 
 
V