University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

Page 32 text:

14 THE REDWOOD. Of course they were not slow in perceiving that this cell had been the home of the maniac. Gabelle, some- what curious to know something of his victim, searched the cell most thoroughly. Nothing beyond the or- dinary scant articles of the prison cell at first, revealed itself. But Monsieur Gabelle was not content. He exam- ined the walls, — not a crack or crevice in all four sides. Then looking care- fully around for several seconds, he suddenly started, — then stooped and picked up a small scrap of thin brown paper upon which there was the faint scribbling of a trembling hand. He lifted it up and read aloud : It is my only chance. They have been fighting now for hours. If the mob wins, this twenty years of hell, then, Pompadour and all your fiendish slaves, shall be at an end. I am almost crazy now, and if the guards win I shall certainly lose . Gabelle stopped ab- ruptly as the writing ended thus and slowly supplied the words, my mind. At this very juncture, the prisoner faithful to his diary, had gone insane. Instead of satisfying him this little note only whetted his curiosity. He continued his search for writing and after hunting assiduously for several minutes, the idea of the chimney sud- denly presented itself. Stepping across the cell, he examined it closely. In a moment he discovered that he could insert his hand through the narrow bars that enclosed the opening to the roof. He thrust his hand between them. His face, the evil face of Mon- sieur Gabelle, lighted up as he with- drew it and held out tightly a packet of papers bound by a string. He brought them to the light of the little square window, and drawing the diary close to his face began to read. But the voice of the cruel Gabelle choked on the very first word. His ruddy cheeks turned ashen white and the courageous rioter fell forward in a swoon. The event had been so strange that the other members of his party stood dazed. No one uttered a sound nor changed his position for a brief few seconds. Finally one of them ner- vously lifted the papers from the floor and read the cause of Monsieur ' s dis- may. But two words, carefully writ- ten on the outside of the diary, re- vealed the maniac: Leon Gabelle.

Page 31 text:

THE REDWOOD. 13 and for an instant, the great crowd, that unrelenting sea of wickedness, that seething mass of humanity with their hoarse cries of revenge and un- restrained cruelty, grew silent and fell back. From their distance they viewed for a few short moments the stranger thus inopportunely interupt- ing their day of success. The first impression was that in the newcomer, they, or at least, Gabelle had to en- counter a terrible antagonist. The guards that were left would infallibly fall before the sword of the skillful duellist, but what of the stranger? They were soon to know the answer. As he reached the bottom he waved the ugly weapon madly over his head and shouted some indistinct guttural sounds with all the unnaturalness of insanity. His eyes bulged noticeably from their sockets, and his long gray hair hung in a confused mass over his flushed red face. The crowd, which had been enjoying the interest- ing spectacle of Gabelle slaying the guards, now trembled at closer sight of the horrible maniac. Gabelle hesi- tated for a moment, then took his stand, and with his sword ready, wait- ed for his opponent. He had just ad- justed the shield when his antagonist rushed upon him. If strength were to decide the contest then the prisoner would certainly be the victor, for he was superhuman in his frightful con- dition. A well-aimed and skillful blow might end the battle. The pris- oner missed, and as he flew past, Ga- belle thrust at him but a second too late. Amidst the cries of the mob to keep his nerve Gabelle cooly waited a second attack. His opponent made a treacherous cat-like spring, thrusting as he jumped. Gabelle stepped quick- ly back, and as the prisoner fell heav- ily to the ground he pierced him through the side. With a hoarse cry of triumph the mob surged to the spot and lifted their their leader upon exultant backs. The guards that remained had taken ad- vantage of the momentary excitement to escape and the prison was now in the hands of the revolutionists. Hav- ing freed all the prisoners they pro- ceeded, more quietly, to plunder the old fortress. The stairways were soon crowded with them ; little parties, owing to the greater familiarity which some bore others, were thus informally or- ganized, and the work of minor pillage began. In each cell (for they were all inspect ed), was found some article or inscription of interest, and, in not a few, diaries which the prisoners had kept secreted in some obscure crevice of the walls or cell. In the course of their inspection, however, Gabelle ' s party reached one cell which was in an awful condition. The door hung widely open, the cot was overturned, and a large hole was in the mattress. A chair had been smashed to splinters, and a table whereon must have laid the scissors, needle, thread and prison cloth now scattered about the floor, had suffered a similar fate.

Page 33 text:

THE REDWOOD. IS GREATER LOVE THAN THIS— RODNEY A. YOELL It was cold, so cold that the police- man on the beat huddled himself up to the box-stove in Heggarty ' s, and in company with several maudlin indi- viduals, told stories that at best were left unmentioned. He dared not go further than the door, which he approached on several occasions and opened, only to be driven back by the drizzle and biting cold wind which shook the murky window panes and howled wierdly through the telegraph wires. Now and then a cab could be heard rattling over the cobblestones, and once in a great while some deep- throated whistle warned boats on the bay that this was the night of all nights for a collision. But the bloated reprejsentative of law and order cared neither for the rain, or wind, or boats on the bay, for with plenty of whisky and such genial companions his time of duty would pass rapidly, and therefore laughter waxed louder and jests coarser. The building in which Heggarty had his establishment was a story-and a-half affair, and from the dingy warped window of the room enclosed therein, a sign swung creakingly in the wind. Had there been light sufficient for the purpose, you could have read inscribed in faded gold let- tess the words Dr. P. B. Haverhill, Physician Surgeon. And while in the room below Offi- cer Swane laughed and joked uproar- iously, Dr. Haverhill vainly tried to concentrate his mind on a worn copy of Turndoffsho ' s Surgical Pathology. But the thin, cheap boards of the flooring ill prevented the sounds of revelry from below entering his room, and therefore tlie Doctor studied in vain. Finally, unable to withstand the bedlam any longer, he closed the book, and laying his head on his arms flung himself on a miserable pallet and mused on the brevity of life. The Doctor was a young man and out of college some two years. In those two years he had lived a life of constant deterioration. Futily endeav- oring to uphold the ethics of his pro- fession he had rejected those precar- ious cases of malpractice which are so frequently offered to young physi- cians, and in spite of all his pressing financial needs, he remained firm, and so sank lower and low er until we find him flung hopelessly on his pallet, a man open to temptation and blasted in hope even at the dawn of his career. While the Doctor was musing the babble below ceased suddenly ; a voice could be heard talking in tones of in- tense excitement, to be followed pres- ently by a rush of feet up the stairs