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Updated: April 30, 2025
Cypress Bend, Tuesday, 5th. The temperature had materially fallen during the night, and the morning opened gray and hazy. Evansville, Ind. It is a fine, well-built town, of some fifty thousand inhabitants, with a beautiful little postoffice in the Gothic style a refutation, this, of the well-worn assertion that there are no creditable government buildings in our small American cities.
I remarked some time ago that when I was sitting in the court room being tried on charges sworn to by certain postoffice officials, the dull and sordid scenes would sometimes vanish before me, and I would say to myself, "It is an illusion what is really taking place is very different from this appearance." This thought often recurred while I was in prison.
And the happenings leading to that result were these: It was a day in the first week in June and Captain Obed, having business in Wellmouth Centre, had hired George Washington, Mrs. Barnes' horse, and the buggy and driven there. The business done he left the placid George moored to a hitching-post by the postoffice and strolled over to the railway station to watch the noon train come in.
Johnnie Dunn had given him a lift more than half way in her cutter. And she had so much Red Cross truck piled into it, he complained, that his feet stuck out into the drifts all the way home. He had stopped at the postoffice for the mail, and there was a letter from Neil. His regular Tuesday letter had come as usual and a second one was rather surprising.
He wondered if Ross had read the papers that morning, and if he, like the tall man at the postoffice, was mentally fitting him into the description of the auto bandit that was being trailed. Instinctively he rose to the new emergency. "On the level, I want work and I want it right away," he said. "Being alone won't bother me I always get along pretty well with myself.
"Is there a town in your State called Bad Ax?" he asked of the first man he met with "Wis." on his cap. "Cert'," was the answer. "And another one called Milwaukee, one called Madison, and another called Green Bay. Are you studying primary geography, or just getting up a postoffice directory?" "Don't be funny, Skeezics," said Shorty severely. "Know anything about it? Mighty nice place, ain't it?"
In his large dark-blue eyes shone that "fire that never slumbers" the fire of loyal valor, with its strange power to transform common clay into men of heroic mould. The flag, the garden, the postoffice these were Ould Michael's household gods. The equipment of the postoffice was primitive enough. "Where are the boxes?" I inquired; "the letter-boxes, you know; to put the letters into."
Sydney mailed these letters, and the sample copies of the magazine, and Guffey's office tipped off the postoffice authorities, who held up the letters.
I think I will. If you had been in the mountains! but that is not so. Natalie arrived in Paris the 31st December; her mother not there; but numerous friends, who fatigue her with civilities. Her heart is in the United States. This will remain in the postoffice till the 23d. If, in the mean time, I receive a letter from you, a supplement will accompany this. Adieu. Wilmington, March 20, 1802.
Having served uncomplainingly up to the very edge of her evening bivouac, she passed to her final sleep in silent dignity. The Home in the Coulee Our postoffice was in the village of Onalaska, situated at the mouth of the Black River, which came down out of the wide forest lands of the north.
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