Blown From A Gun

"I was once sentenced to be blown from a gun," said Maj. John Ilitchcock, to a St. Louis Globe-Democrat man. "I had long been a rgsident of that land of revolutions, Central America. During one of the semi-annual political upheavals I was captured by a savage mob known as the army of Salvador and sentenced to death. In the camp of my captors a six-pound gun was fired at high noon by means of a sun glass, and to the muzzle of this antiquated smoothbore I was strapped and left in the broiling sun to await my fate. "Now, I have faced several kinds of death in my day, but that knocked all the nerve out of me. I could not eee the small, flery spot made by the sun glass, but I knew it was creeping slowly but surely to the powder at the vent. I imagined I could hear the powder hlssing with the heat. "TVe blazing sun beat down upon my bare head, blinding me and seeming to boil the blood in my veins. I became hysterical and prayed and cursed by turns. The great clock in the cathedral was on the stroke of noon and I knew that the concentrated rays of the sun were pouring directly upon the powder. ' 'The troops were dozing in the shade. A few, awakened by the bell, raised up on their elbows and watched me with lazy interest, expecting every moment to see me blown to shreds. "One - two - three - f our - five - with maddening deliberation carne the strokes of the bell, when suddenly a harsher note was heard - the roar of musketry. The camp was surprised and my captors driven back in disorder. The cords were cut and I sat down beneath the muzzle of the gun just as it belched forth its midday salute."