Posts Tagged ‘1900’

Oh, the Paine’s!

March 13, 2011

Daily Northwestern (WI) Jun 27, 1898

In 1898, Paine’s Celery Compound was in  a vegetative state.

Daily Northwestern (WI) Sep 16, 1899

It then moves to human exhaustion before morphing into a sort of psycho/porn style:

Daily Northwestern (WI) Sep 23, 1899

Which quickly evolved into the Adonis – manly man advertising style:

Daily Northwestern (WI) Oct 21, 1899

Daily Northwestern (WI) Dec 2, 1899

Daily Northwestern (WI) Jan 6, 1900

And continues this  into the new century, but then  mutates into a darker, creepier style:

Daily Northwestern (WI) Jan 20, 1900

Daily Northwestern (WI) Jan 13, 1900

And finally, shifting its focus to those of the more feminine persuasion:

Daily Northwestern (WI) Apr 14, 1900

Daily Northwestern (WI) Dec 8, 1900

Evidently, Paine’s Celery Compound is (do they still make this stuff?) great if your nerves are over-strained, racked, exhausted, inflamed or just plain prostrated.

From the HubPages website article, Medicines in Gold Rush Times: A Dose of Deception and a Swig of Swamp Root 84:

This product was produced by Wells and Richardson Co. of Burlington Vermont. One sample contains the notation “pkg. adopted Jan 2, 1907”, so we know that this particular formula dates from after that time. “No 2002 guaranteed under the Food and Drugs Act June 30, 1906”, also appears on the label therefore a disclosure of the ingredients is included on this product.

And what were those ingredients? As listed, they are: Celery seed, Calisia bark, Sagrada, Cascara, Senna leaves, Prickly Ash bark, Sarsaparilla root, Hops,Ginger root, Dandelion root, Mandrake root, Blackhaw,Chamomile flowers, Black Cohosh root, Yellow Dock root, Potassium nitrate (a strong oxidizing agent with diruretic effects), glycerin, sugar and water.

Read the rest HERE.

Actually, Paine’s Celery Compound was a herbal remedy of sorts, and probably was somewhat useful for a variety of conditions.

The White Man’s Burden

January 7, 2011

Click images for larger versions.

Here is a hodge-podge of the White Man’s Burden, including imperialism, alcohol, women, in-laws, war, clothing, taxes, education, politicians and even himself!

THE POET’S CALL

“We Ask American Manhood What Its First Duty in This Matter Is”

There was a ringing poem of Kipling’s printed in the News yesterday. Like much of his verse, it has the searching quality. It cannot be evaded. The same stern logic that speaks through his poem “An American” that speaks through his “Song of the English” and through his “Recessional,” speaks through this, “The White Man’s Burden:”

Take up the White Man’s Burden —
Ye dare not stoop to less —
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloak your weariness.
By all ye will or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent, sullen peoples
Shall weigh your God and you.

Through all this time of uncertainty, this time in which the American people apparently are halting in their course, there is one great characteristic element in the situation which cannot be explained away, and which, as the poet seems to reveal with prophetic insight, is not going to be dodged, unless to our everlasting degradation, and that is the responsibility which has been thrust upon us. It has the double quality. It is not something we sought. It is something that sought us. For years we had seen the suffering of a helpless people at our very doors until we could almost arraign ourselves for cruel indifference. Finally, with as pure a motive as ever a nation undertook anything, we attempted to relieve that suffering.

“In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,” we were just where we find ourselves today. We had crushed the remnant of Spain’s authority in the Philippines, driven her from Cuba and Puerto Rico. Never, we believe, has history recorded an instance in which a nation was confronted with such responsibility so clearly without premeditation, or intention of its own, as in this instance. With no desire to say a word for expansion or against expansion, we ask American manhood, we ask the higher self of this land, what its full duty in the matter is. The poet asks it with searching inquiry:

Take up the White Man’s burden!
Have done with childish days —
The lightly proffered laurel,
The easy ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years,
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers.

Indianapolis News.

The Arizona Republican (Phoenix, Arizona) Feb 18, 1899

THE WHITE MAN’S BURDEN.

(With apologies to Rudyard Kipling)

Take up the white man’s burden
Lift up the white man, too,
He has dallied with the booze can
And a small bottle or two.
He has fallen down by the wayside;
Far away from his own abode;
It seems that the white man’s burden
Is a very unwieldy load.

Take up the white man’s burden
And help the poor chap to stand,
Once  he possessed his senses
And had a pull in the land;
Once he was upright and sober,
Was able to talk and to think,
But the war with the Filipinos
Has driven the white man to drink.

Take up the white man’s burden
And bear it away to a cell,
‘Twill be better away from the rumsters
Who would aid it to trip and fall;
Who gloat o’er the bond i? that feller
The slaves of King Alcohol.

Take up the white man’s burden
When the maudlin night is o’er,
When the head of the suff’ring white man
With expansion’s swelled and sore;
Take the victim to his fireside
Where a broomstick’s lying in wait
And then if you know your business
You’ll escape ere it is too late.

— Bradford Era.

The Evening Democrat (Warren, Pennsylvania) Feb 14, 1899

***

***

Wow, Mr. Henderson, tell us how you really feel:

OUR “WHITE MAN’S BURDEN.”

[With no Apologies to R. Kipling.]

[By W.J. Henderson.]

“Take up the White Man’s Burden!”
What hollow words are these?
‘Tis the croak of the ink-pot raven
That flits on the seven seas.
“Take up the White Man’s Burden!”
Why, who are you to prate
To those who swept the desert
From Maine to the Golden Gate?

Who gnawed the crusts of famine
Beneath Virginia skies,
Till the white man’s blood ran water,
But never the white man’s eyes?
“Take up the White Man’s Burden!”
Who set their backs to the main,
And sent the sons of the forest
To skulk on the treeless plain?

Who harried the fiends of torture,
And gave their sons to fight
With the poisoned arrow by daytime,
The brank and the knife by night?
Who shackled the scalp-locked chieftains,
And bade them abide in peace,
And housed them and clothed them and taught them,
And gave them the land’s increase?

Who fondled their sons and daughters
and showed them the way of life,
While their fathers crept out of the mountains
To flood the valleys with strife?
Got look at the long, red roster
Of dead in our rank and file;
Yet we nurture and pray and are waiting
At Hampton and Carlisle.

Who struck the fetters of thralldom
From off the limbs of the limbs of the slave,
And thundered the anthem of freedom
Through cloister and choir and nave?
We gave the blood of our fathers —
We children who cast out Spain —
To pay white debt to the black man,
and we split our home in twain.

“Take up the White Man’s Burden!”
Gods! was a Lincoln’s death
The pause of a life of shadow,
The end of an empty breath?
An era of white men’s burdens
Ran out with that one life’s sand,
And the sweat of that day is yet heavy
On the brow of our southern land.

“Take up the White Man’s BUrden!”
Oh, well have we borne our share
Till our heart-strings cracked with the straining;
But we knew not how to despair.
And now if the load has grown greater,
Well, we have grown greater, too.
We’ll tread our measure in South and East,
And we’ll ask no help of you.

Fort Wayne News (Fort Wayne, Indiana) Feb 17, 1899

THE WHITE MAN’S BURDEN.

“What is the White Man’s Burden?”
A man asked me today
“I hear so much about it,
What is it, anyway?
Is it debt, or money, or a jag,
That a burden makes of life,
Or — his voice dropped to a whisper —
“Does it mean his wife?”

“What is the White Man’s Burden?”
About the first is clothes,
He starts in life quite minus,
As everybody knows.
But soon begins a struggle
To get the latest style,
And when they’re bought and paid for
To wear them with a smile.

Another of his burdens,
And one that’s hard to bear,
Is getting proper food to eat,
Which requires greatest care.
To all the cook’s enticements,
To all the pastry’s lures,
He falls a willing victim —
Then takes dyspepsia cures.

“What is the White Man’s Burden?”
Go ask the plumber bold,
The iceman and the coal man
Who revel in the cold.
The funny man and the poet,
The politician shrewd,
The deadbeat and his mother-in-law,
The masher and the dude.

“What is the White Man’s Burden?”
The war inquiry boards,
The yowlers ‘gainst expansion,
The yellow journal hordes.
The only thing surprising
That cause for wonder gives,
Is how, ‘neath all his burdens,
The average white man lives.

— Topeka Capital.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Feb 21, 1899

***

Here, let me relieve you of that turkey, I mean burden:

***

Someone isn’t very fond of his wife’s family:

ANOTHER VERSION.

Take up the white man’s burden,
And blow in your hard-earned tin
For codfish and canned tomatoes
To fatten your wife’s lean kin;
Her aunts and her wicked uncles
Are coming to drive you wild;
These half-starved, sullen people,
Half devil and half child.

Take up the white man’s burden,
And fill your house with bunks,
That kinfolks may sleep in comfort;
They’re coming with bags and trunks.
They’re coming to stay all summer,
To die in your yard next fall —
These half-shot, sullen people,
Half stomach and half gall.

Take up the white man’s burden,
And sit on the porch and swear,
For kinfolks will use the sofa,
And loaf in your easy chair.
They’ll cut all the pies and doughnuts,
And you must subsist on prunes —
These fine-haired, silken kinfolks,
Half pelicans and half loons.

Thrown down the white man’s burden,
And get a breech-loading dog,
And mangle the first relation
(Half crocodile and half hog)
Who comes with his ten valises
And seventeen tourist trunks
To eat up your canned provisions
And sleep in your ill-spared bunks.

— Atchison Globe.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Feb 28, 1899

Below, the women’s libbers jump on the parody bandwagon:

THE LADY SPEAKS.

Take up the white man’s burden,
And put yoru own away;
‘Tis only right that woman
Should run affairs today;
We want to sit in congress,
We’re bound to be supreme
In everything that’s going,
And that’s no idle dream.

Take up the white man’s burden,
And drive him from the scene;
He’s growing pale and puny,
And “parts his hair between.”
Come on, O sturdy sisters,
Let’s show slow-going man
How we would run the nation
On the bargain-county plan.

— Exchange.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 4, 1899

One of the TRUE White Man’s Burdens:

“THE WHITE MAN’S BURDEN.”

(Bjorge Djenison.)

What is the “White Man’s Burden?”
It surely can’t be coons;
Though Kipling oft avers it is
In very rhythmic tunes.

What is the white man’s burden?
The preacher thinks it’s sin,
The poor man thinks it’s poverty,
The banker thinks it’s tin.

What is the white man’s burden?
The coward thinks it’s fear,
The brave man thinks it’s bravery,
The brewer thinks it’s beer.

What is the white man’s burden?
To the question will return,
Perchance, by often asking,
The truth we may yet learn.

What is the white man’s burden?
The fat man thinks it’s girth,
The lean man thinks it’s leanness,
The joker thinks it’s mirth.

What is the white man’s burden?
The mourner thinks it’s grief,
The soldier thinks it’s discipline,
But Alger thinks it’s beef.

What is the white man’s burden?
The aged think it’s years,
The youngster suffers for his youth,
The weeping with their tears.

What is the white man’s burden?
Ere he’s laid upon the shelf
Ere Father Time has cut him down,
He’ll know it is himself.

Trenton Evening Times (Trenton, New Jersey) Mar 15, 1899

***

Still a burden after all these years:

This one is kind of amusing:

GETS COLTISH AT ONE HUNDRED TEN

Indian Stumbles When Attempting to Take up the White Mans’ Burden

Captain Jones fell from grace yesterday at the age of 110 years. He assimilated too much liquid refreshment and was gently escorted to the city bastile although the police declare he felt younger than ever.

According to the declaration of Chief Hillhouse, this is the first time Captain Jones, a redman, native of Nevada, has ever been “pinched” or even known to take a drink. He is known about the city because of his appearance with his wife on the streets dispensing pictures to those who will buy.

At the age of 110 which he gave at headquarters, his qualities of absorption seem unimpaired although he was found slightly wanting when it came to carrying the white man’s burden.

Nevada State Journal (Reno, Nevada) Nov 10, 1913

I think it could be said that  we stepped up and took on that burden and then some:

“The White Man’s Burden.”

Rudyard Kipling recently told an American visitor in London that when he wrote “The White Man’s Burden” he had America in mind, not Great Britain. America’s isolation has now ceased. She is responsible with the other nations who helped whip Germany for the orderly and safe conduct of the world. She must take upon her own shoulders a large share of the burden. If this means additional privileges it means also vastly augmented responsibilities. Upon England and America together rests the chief duty of a decent place in which to live and work.

— Lothrop Stoddard in the World’s Work.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Jul 3, 1919

The most painful (and never ending) of the burdens:

THE WHITE MAN’S BURDEN

Taxes
More taxes
And some more taxes.

The Times Recorder (Zanesville, Ohio) Sep 22, 1933

And golf!

Tick-tock Goes the Clock

January 3, 2011

THE OLD CLOCK.

GUY CARLTON.

I.

The old clock croons on the sun-kissed wall —
Tick, tock! tick tock!
The merry seconds to minutes call:
Tick, tock! ‘Tis morn.

A maiden sits at the mirror there,
And smiles as she combs her golden hair;
O, in the light but her face is fair!
Tick, tock! tick, tock!

Far over the sea the good ship brings
The lover of whom the maiden sings;
From the orange tree the first leaf springs:
Tick, tock! tick, tock!

II.

The old clock laughs on the flower-decked wall —
Tick, tock! tick, tock!
The rose-winged hours elude their thrall:
Tick, tock! ‘Tis noon!

The lover’s pride and his love are blest;
The maiden is folded to his breast;
On her brow the holy blossoms rest;
Tick, tock! tick, tock!

O thrice, thrice long may the sweet bells chime,
As echoing this thro’ future time!
Still to my heart beats that measured rhyme —
Tick tock! tick, tock!

III.

The old clock moans on the crumbling wall
Tick, tock! tick, tock!
The drear years into eternity fall;
Tick, tock! ‘Tis night!

The thread that yon spider draws with care
Across the gleam of the mirror there,
Seems like the ghost of a golden hair;
Tick, tock! tick, tock!

The sweet bells chime for those that may wed;
The neroll-snow crowns many a head —
But tree and maiden and lover are dead,
Tick, tock! tick, tock!
— Life.

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) May 16, 1883


THE KITCHEN CLOCK.

(John Vance Cheney in The Century.)

Knitting is the maid ‘o the kitchen, Milly,
Doing nothing, sits the chore-boy, Billy:
“Seconds reckoned,
Seconds reckoned;
Every minute,
Sixty in it.
Milly, Billy,
Billy, Milly,
Tick-tock, tock-tick,
Nick-knock, knock-nick,
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock: —
Goes the kitchen clock.

Closer to the fire is rosy Milly,
Every whit as close and cozy, Billy:
“Time’s a-flying,
Worth your trying!
Pretty Milly —
Kiss her, Billy!
Milly, Billy,
Billy, Milly,
Tick-tock, tock-tick,
Now — now, quick — quick!
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock” —
Goes the kitchen clock.

Something’s happened; very red is Milly,
Billy boy is looking very silly:
“Pretty misses,
Plenty kisses;
Make it twenty,
Take a plenty.
Billy, Milly,
Milly, Billy,
Right-left, left-right,
That’s right, all right,
Skippety-nick, rippety-knock” —
Jumps the kitchen clock.

Night to night they’re sitting, Milly, Billy’
Oh, the winter winds are wondrous chilly!
“Winter weather,
Close together;
Wouldn’t tarry,
Better marry.
Milly, Billy,
Billy, Milly,
Two-one, one-two,
Don’t wait, ‘twont do,
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock” —
Goes the kitchen clock.

Winters two have gone, and where is Milly?
Spring has come again, and where is Billy?
“Give me credit,
For I did it;
Treat me kindly,
Mind you wind me.
Mr. Billy,
Mistress Milly,
My — Oh, Oh — my,
By-by, by-by,
Nickety-knock, cradle rock” —
Goes the kitchen clock.

The Bismarck Tribune (Bismarck, North Dakota) Sep 19, 1884

My Little Bo-Peep

By S.B. M’Manus

MY Little Bo-Peep is fast asleep,
And her head on my heart is lying;
I gently rock, and the old hall clock
Strikes a knell of the day that’s dying.
But what care I how the hours go by,
Whether swiftly they go or creeping?
Not an hour could be but dear to me,
When my babe on my arm is sleeping.

Her little bare feet, with dimples sweet,
From the folds of her gown are peeping,
And each wee toe like a daisy in blow,
I caress as she lies a-sleeping;
Her golden hair falls over the chair,
Its treasures of beauty unfolding;
I press my lips to her finger tips

That my hands are so tightly holding.
Tick, tock, tick, tock! You may wait, old clock,
It was foolish what I was saying;
Let your seconds stay and your minutes play,
And bid your days go all a-Maying.
O, Time — stand still — let me drink my fill
Of content while my babe is sleeping;
As I smooth her hair m life looks fair,
And to-morrow — I may be weeping.

The Wellsboro Agitator (Weillsboro, Pennsylvania) Jun 28, 1887

CHILDREN’S COLUMN.

TIC-TOCK.

Tick-tock, tick-tock,
Such a busy, busy clock,
All the year you go just so
Never fast and never slow.

Tick-tock, pretty clock,
And this is what you say:
“Never till tomorrow leave
What should be done today.”

You are always in your place
With your hands before your face;
Run and run, and never stop —
Tick-tock, tick-tock.

–[New York World.

Indana Progress (Indiana, Pennsylvania) Dec 2, 1891

The White Brigade.

The old hall clock goes hurrying on:
Tick, tock. ‘Tis getting late!
Tick, tock, tick, tock, hark! one, two, three,
Four, five, six, seven, eight.

The white brigade is marching now,
In every town and street
You hear the patter, patter soft
Of little naked feet.

The girls and boys have left their toys,
And now with sleepy head
Each joins the throng (ten thousand strong,)
Going up stairs to bed.

Sandusky Regiser (Sandusky, Ohio) Feb 23, 1895

The Washington Post – Feb 21, 1913

MY CLOCK.

In the silence of the night,
If I waken with affright
From a dream that’s full of terror and annoy,
There’s a sound that fills my heart
With a melody of art
Fully of beauty, full of pleasure, full of joy.

‘Tis the steady “tick, tick, tock,”
Of my sturdy little clock,
As it sits across the room upon a shelf,
And it says: “Don’t be afraid,
For I’ve closely by you staid
While you were off in the land of dreams yourself.

“With a steady ‘tick, tick, tick,’
I am never tired or sick,
And I count the minutes ever as they fly.
I’m the truest friend you’ve got,
And share your ev’ry lot,
And I’m ready to stand by you till you die.”

It’s a common sort of clock,
But I like its lusty “tock,”
And it fills my soul with courage by its song.
In the storm or cold or rain
I hear its bright refrain
As it faithfully pursue its path along.

For it tells me to be true
To each thing I have to do,
And no matter if the world applaud or scorn;
That full soon must pass the night
And the sweet and precious light
Be unfolded with the coming of the morn.
— Hamilton Jay in Florida Times-Union.

Sandusky Register (Sandusky, Ohio) Jun 1, 1895

THE TALKING CLOCK.

Up in my room, when comes the dark,
My door with care I lock,
And sit down, all my company
My little talking clock.

With round, bright open face it stands
Upon my mantel shelf,
And “tick, tick, tick” — how sweet and low!
Keeps talking to itself;

While loud and clear, that I may hear
When I am out of sight,
It calls to me twelve times each day,
And twelve times every night.

I always listen for its voice —
‘Tis like a silver bell —
And just the thing I need to know
It will be sure to tell:

“Wake up! wake up! ’tis morning light!”
“To bed! the hour is late!”
“The minutes fly! make haste! make haste!”
“Have patience; you must wait!”

My faithful little talking clock!
O If I only knew
Exactly when I ought to speak
And what to say to you,

And could, when I had said enough,
Just stop, without delay,
I might, almost as calm as you,
Be happy all the day!

— Marion Douglass in “Our Little Men and Women.”

The Daily Northwesterm (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Nov 20, 1897

THE FAMILY CLOCK.

Old clock
So tall,
In your niche in the wall,
What is it you say,
As you tick all day,
With your smiling face,
And your polished case?
Tell me, I pray,
Is this what you say?

“Tick, tock,
I’m the family clock,
A hundred years old,
Of good old stock!
Tick, tock,
Good old stock,
A hundred years old,
The family clock!”

Old clock
So tall,
In your niche in the wall,
Have you memories faint
Of dear ladies quaint,
With high powdered hair,
Who tripped up this stair?
Tell me, I pray,
Is this what you say?

“Tick, tock,
I’ve seen many a frock,
And the witchery fair
Of a gleaming lock!
Tick, tock,
Many a frock,
And the witchery fair
Of a gleaming lock!”

Old clock
So tall,
In your niche in the wall,
Do you never feel affright
In the dead of the night
When the winds howl drear,
And strange noises you hear?
Or ell me, I pray,
Is this what you say?

“Tick, tock,
I’m a doughty old clock;
I know no fear;
Let them rage and knock;
Tick, tock,
Rage and knock;
I know no fear —
A doughty old clock.”

Old clock
So tall,
In your niche in the wall,
Will you still tick away,
A hundred years from today,
With your smiling face
And your polished case?
And then, I pray,
Is this what you’ll say?

“Tick, tock,
I’m the family clock,
Two hundred years old,
Of good old stock!
Tick, tock,
Good old stock,
Two hundred years old,
The family clock!”

— Jane D?msfield, in the St. Nicholas

San Antonio Light (San Antonio, Texas) Apr 8, 1900

The Clock.

He stands in a corner from morning till night,
A patient old thing with no feet
His face is as solemn and round as a moon
And oh so exceedingly neat
From breakfast to supper,
Bright on through the day,
“Tick-tock, tick-tock, I am only the clock,
Tick-tock, tick-tock,” he’ll say.

His hands are quite tidy, they grow on his face
When I grow to be big I shall know
Why one is so long and the other so short
And one he moves fast, and one slow,
From breakfast to supper,
Right on through the day.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, I am only the clock,
Tick-tock, tick-tock,” he’ll say.

At night when I’m sleeping he keeps wide awake
To see what the little mice do,
He watches the brownie creep in through the blind
His little red shoes wet with dew
From night-time to daytime,
Right on through the day
“Tick-tock, tick-tock, I am only the clock,
Tick-tock, tick-tock,” he’ll say.

And when it comes morning I wish he would tell,
I ask him but never a trace
Of the wonderful things which he saw in the night
Does he show in his sober old face,
From breakfast to supper
Right on through the day
“Tick-tock, tick-tock, I am only the clock,
Tick-tock, tick-tock,” he’ll say.

Trenton Evening Times (Trenton, New Jersey) Mar 30, 1909

The Old Hall Clock.

What a store of information
You must have in stock,
Not a word of revelation
In your staid “tick-tock.”
You have watched the decades passing as the ships upon the sea,
Stores of knowledge e’er amassing as the generations flee.
Can’t you tell some of your secrets to a little boy like me
But the old hall clock
Answered just:
“Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock.”

Never changing the expression
Of your placid face.
Never making a confession
Any time or place.
Can’t you tell me of the courting you have seen upon the stairs?
Of he stately wedding marches, of the ministers and prayers?
Of he good old squires and damsels who have come and gone in pairs
But the old hall clock
Answered Just:
“Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock.”

It’s for history I’m seeking
And you’ve got to tell.
It’s of father I am speaking
And you might as well.
When a youngster, was he always doing just exactly right?
Did he have to have a licking almost every single night?
Now, you needn’t fear to trust me, for I’ll keep it secret, quite,
But the old hall clock
Answered just:
“Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock.”

Bland recorder of the ages,
If you’ll be so kind,
Turn ahead among Life’s pages,
Tell us what you find.
When you look into the future, tell me what it is you see.
What in just another decade, is this old world going to be?
Tell me, what is going to come of just a little boy like me?
But the old hall clock
Answered just:
“Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock.”

Eau Claire Leader (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) Dec 19, 1912

Image from flickr – vera 1955

Jens Galtheen/Galthen was born about 1839 in Denmark, and immigrated to America about 1865. On June 24, 1879 he married Helen Lager. His was listed as a jeweler on the 1880 and 1900 census records and his shop was at 415 Water St. in Eau Claire, Wisconsin.

THE SILENT CLOCKS.

(By Violet Leigh.)
(In memory of Jeweler Galthen of Water St.)

Silent they stand in a row on the shelf,
Not one moves a hand alone by itself.
Not long ago the ormelu clock
Was merrily saying, “tick-tock, tick-tock”;
And its dainty hands in a charming way
Pointed out the time of day.

The beautiful clock of porcelain
Was also ticking with might and main;
And all the other clocks in the row
Showed one another how to go.
But they’re silent now as death itself
Standing there in a row on the shelf.

Where is the one who made them go?
Jeweler Galthen is lying low.
The pale clock-faces are not more white
Than the face of that aged man tonight.
And the hands of the clocks are not more still
Than his nerveless hands in the grave on the hill.

— Eau Claire, Wis., Nov. 22, 1913.

Eau Claire Leader (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) Nov 26, 1913

UPDATE: I found an obituary for Mr. Galthen:

OBITUARY

Aged Jeweler Summoned

Jens Galthen, an aged jeweler, who has been carrying on a small business at 415 Water St., died very suddenly yesterday morning, some time between 8:30 and 11 o’clock.

Death is said to have been due to a stroke of appoplexy, the aged man surffering a like stroke some time ago. Mr. Galthen was seen at 8:30 o’clock in the morning at which time he appeared to be in his usual health and spirits. At 11 o’clock, the store was entered by Sidney Robillard, who found the body of the victim of the stroke of appoplexy lying on the floor face down.

The deceased was about 70 years of age. He was a widower and lived alone in the store, a screen separating his living apartment from the store. No known relatives reside in this country. It is learned that relatives live in Copenhagen, Denmark, and County Coroner R.H. Stokes will endeavor to get in communication with them to ascertain what disposition they wish to make of the body.

Eau Claire Leader (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) Nov 2, 1913

THE CORRUPTED CLOCK.

By EDMUND VANCE COOKE

Some one has made the clock go wrong,
Not in its time, but in its song.
At twelve at night!
Its face is bright
And the sound of its stroke is a soft delight; —

“Tick! tock!
Oh, what a flock!
Flock of long hours that are left in the clock!
Time is unending,
Life is for spending;
What though I strike,
Do as you like!
Tick! tock!
Oh, what a flock!
Do what you will, but don’t look at the clock.”
Oh, kindly clock! had you a robe, I’d surely kiss its him;
Let us be friends forever, clock; aye, even at six A.M.!

But oh! at morning when I yawn
And much desire to slumber on,
Its white face stares,
Its eye-hole glares
And its lean hands point me down the stairs; —

“Tick! tock!
Knickety Knock!
Oh, but such laziness gives me a shock!
Time is for working;
Why are you shirking?
Now, as I strike,
Get up and hike!
Tick! tock!
Oh, what a shock!
Look at me! Look at me! Look at the clock!”
Oh, cursed clock! such two-faced talk I must, and do condemn;
You are so suave at twelve at night, so harsh at six A.M.!

(Copyright, 1919, N.E.A.)

Decatur Review (Decatur, Illinois) Aug 17, 1919

Gettysburg Times (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Jan 27, 1921

***

I sing of clocks that I have known,
In other years, now long since flown,
When I but just a little child,
For many hours was beguiled,
In listening to the tick, tick, tock,
Of one, to me, most wondrous clock.

My father bought that fine old clock
To quite complete our household stock,
When I was but one short year old,
It should be mine, I then was told;
When it wore out, its lovely case,
My little toys, in it to place.
The brilliant peacock on the door,
No bird like it since or before.
It’s good strong tick and ringing strike,
No other clock can sound the like.

Sometimes quaint old clock tinkers came,
To see if it was sick or lame;
They’d shine it up and set it back,
To tick and strike, as strong as ever,
Itinerant tinker were clever,
I would look on and sigh, alack,
“I’ll get my playhouse never, never.”

The years rolled on and strangely on,
Parents, brothers and sisters gone,
Still that old clock with calm, clear face,
Ticks for the remnant of our race;
Has struck the hours of death and birth,
For those dearest to me on earth.
Has through my four score years and one,
And still with undiminished strength,
Bids fair to wear me out at length.

Dear old home clock tick on and on
All my playhouses no ware gone;
I love to see your dear old face,
But no more now covet your case,
You’re worth to us, your weight in gold,
Tick on until your centurys old;
My playhouse I relinquish still,
So beat me to it, if you will.

One old clock with a friendly face,
Greeted me in my new home place;
Through many changing years it told,
Vicissitudes most lives unfold;
Reunions and each glad event,
That marked the way on which we went,
High hopes, and dreams that disappear,
And still that old bronze clock is here.

Another clock so plain and small,
It would not be valued at all;
Yet once it ticked the hours away,
For one who is no longer here,
It has been silent since that day,
A clock may hurt as well as cheer.

A welcome gift, a clock late come,
To wake it’s echoes in our home;
Welcome it is our home within,
It’s muffled strike to slumbers win.
Old clocks are like dear human friends,
They cheer life’s way until it ends.

The clock on old Northwesterns tower,
When chasing trains it marked the hour,
Warned us we would be all too late
Just as we reached the closing gate.
Old station clock of you I sing,
You were a kind and friendly thing.

Our bank clock, how we love its chimes,
Recalling other happy times;
And that one to so many dear,
Who made it possible to hear,
All over this old Arlington,
The echoes of its carrillion,
A treasure is that grand old clock,
May it abide firm as a rock.

There hangs a cheery little clock,
Here on the stairs, with quick tick tock;
It was a gift at Christmas time,
From one now gone to kinder clime
A bright, a cherry little thing
That through the passing hours will bring,
Sweet memories into the mind,
Of the dear giver, every kind.

There’s something odd and whimsical,
About old clocks that thrills us all
Yet no clock in our lives can come,
Like the clock in our childhood home.

— Elinore Crisler Haynes

The Daily Herald (Chicago, Illinois) Aug 10, 1928

A Football (player) Clock

The Times Recorder (Zanesville, Ohio) Nov 13, 1925

Good-Night Stories

By MAX  TRELL

Tick-tock,
Wind the clock.
Tick-tock,
Snap the lock.
Tick-tock,
Shut your eyes.
Tick-tock,
How time flies!

— Shadow Sayings.

The Athen Messenger (Athen, Ohio) Sep 19, 1930

Good-Night Stories

By MAX  TRELL

Tick-tock
Wind the clock
Knock-knock
Snap the lock,
Clack-clack
I won’t be back,
I’m taking the train
On the railroad track.

— Shadow Song.

Van Wert Daily Bulletin (Van Wert, Ohio) Aug 10, 1932

Colonel Jones Stewart Hamilton: The Train and the Tragedies

October 12, 2010

 

 

RICH SECTION OPENED.

First Train Over the Gulf and Ship Island Road Started.

ITS HISTORY FULL OF TRAGEDY.

Building of New Mississippi Line to New Gulf Outlet Attended by Series of Fatalities — Killing of Gambrell by Colonel Jones S. Hamilton, The Adams – Martin Duel.

The first train over the new road to the gulf of Mexico — the Gulf and Ship Island — left Jackson, Miss., at 6:30 the other morning, reaching the terminus, Gulfport at 2 o’clock, says the Chicago Times-Herald. A number of state officials, together with officers of the road, made the trip. At Gulfport a banquet was given in the evening, and many speeches were made that predict a future for the new seacoast city. Gulfport is nothing more than a village now. At Jackson, the northern terminus, connection is made with the Illinois Central and the Alabama and Vicksburg branch of the Cincinnati Southern road. It is believed that the Gulf and Ship Island will eventually be extended to Memphis, and when that is done the expectation is that some of the grain trade of the northwest will be sent abroad via Gulfport.

 

 

Gulf and Ship Island Railroad - 1903

 

The road passes through a section of the state that is new to civilization. Many of the inhabitants along its line had never seen a locomotive engine until the work trains appeared and awakened echoes from the hills which had heretofore caught only the cries of the wildcat, the dying groans of feudists and the piercing crack of the huntsman’s rifle. The road passes through a portion of Jones county, which seceded from the Confederacy during the civil war and set up an independent government. It traverses Wayne county, which has fewer Bibles per capita than any other county in the nation. It splits Green county almost in twain, and some of the roadbed is made of dirt on which the notorious Murrell and Copeland gang of murderers and outlaws made their rendezvous for a decade.

 

 

The road opens to the lumber trade a virgin pine forest. It is estimated that within the next five years more than 1,000,000,000 feet of timber will go to the north on cars hauled by this new line. The land adjacent is favorable for raising fruits and grapes, but it has never been cultivated. Not a painted house is to be seen between Jackson and Gulfport. The inhabitants for the most part have existed among themselves without having come in contact with the outside world. The road will make the work of the revenue agent less perilous. Illicit distilleries have flourished for years unmolested in much of the territory because officers have been afraid to penetrate its ravines, hollows and hillsides.

 

Jones S. Hamilton

 

The history of this road has been attended by more tragic deaths than that of any other enterprise started in the south since the civil war. Twenty-five years ago Colonel Jones S. Hamilton married one of the belles of Mississippi, Miss Fanny Buck. Their first child was a son, and he was named for his father, John S. Jr. On the day of the child’s baptism Colonel Hamilton said to his wife that he would build a railroad, that his heir might become its president when he had attained his majority. Colonel Hamilton selected the terminal point, and Mrs. Hamilton gave Gulfport its name. Twenty-four hours after the last spike had been driven which made the road complete between these two points Jones S. Hamilton, Jr., was killed by the cars in the yards at Jackson. That was a few weeks ago. Colonel Hamilton still holds an interest in the railway company, and it was his son’s aim to escort a number of his young friends to Gulfport on the train the other day.

Instead his grave received new flowers from those he expected to entertain.

In 1884, after a survey of the road had been made, Colonel Hamilton interested Chicago capital in pushing the road to completion. At the time he was lessee of the state penitentiary, a state senator, chairman of the executive committee of the Democratic party and the wealthiest man in the state. His home, Belhaven, was the most magnificent in the country. It sat on an eminence two miles from the statehouse and contained 600 acres in flower yards, tennis courts and fishing pools.

His reputation for lavish hospitality was known throughout the south.

 

 

 

In his political affairs Colonel Hamilton encountered the bitter opposition of John H. Martin, a descendant of Chief Justice John Marshall; T. Dabney Marshall, a literary and art critic, and Roderick Dhu Gambrell, who were the leaders of the prohibition movement. Bitter personalities were exchanged, and Hamilton was challenged by Gambrell to fight a duel. Attacks on Colonel Hamilton continued, and in May, 1886, he and Gambrell met on the bridge which divides East from West Jackson. There were no eyewitnesses to what followed, but when the crowd got to the place, having been attracted by shots, Gambrell was dead, and Hamilton was seriously wounded.

The affair caused great excitement. There was talk of lynching Hamilton, and the residents, about evenly divided between the factions, came so near to a clash that a call for the militia was necessary. Meantime Gambrell’s picture was being sold throughout the civilized world. Boxes of them were shipped to Australia and to Africa. Miss Frances E. Willard started a subscription for the purpose of assisting the prosecuting fund.

After spending a year in prison Colonel Hamilton was acquitted, his release being celebrated by a remarkable demonstration of rejoicing, in which Hamilton was brought into the city in a carriage drawn by 100 prominent residents. The week before the end of the trial, however, General Wirt Adams and John H. Martin killed each other under most sensational circumstances as the result of the proceedings. General Adams had testified to Colonel Hamilton’s good character and was attacked by Martin in his paper. Adams and a friend went to Marin’s office. The offensive article was pointed out, and Martin said he was responsible for its appearance — in fact, had written it.

“Then are you armed?” asked General Adams. Martin said he was not. Pulling out his watch, General Adams replied: “It is now 10:35. I will give you until 11 o’clock.” Martin ran for his home, four blocks away, while Adams took a position across the street from Martin’s office. Ten — 25 minutes passed. Then Martin showed himself around the corner. Adams advanced to meet him. When the two were within 40 feet of each other, they began firing. The first bullet struck Martin in the thigh and knocked him down. General Adams continued advancing. Martin had recovered from the stun and was firing with deliberate aim. At the third shot from Adams’ pistol Martin fell backward, mortally wounded.

Adams had one ball remaining, and he walked to where his enemy lay and looked down at him. Martin, too, had one bullet in his pistol. Meantime General Adams had been untouched. Two shots rang out simultaneously, and General Adams fell, his face striking the pit of Martin’s stomach. When the officers reached the spot, both were dead. Colonel Hamilton came out of jail with his vast estate heavily incumbered. A government land grant made to the road had been forfeited, but this was recovered through the efforts of Secretary James G. Blaine, to whom Hamilton had gone to school in Kentucky.

A little while after Hamilton killed Gambrell, a railroad tie contractor of the name of Purvis killed a man of the name of McDonald, was convicted and sentenced to be hanged. On the scaffold Purvis denied his guilt. When the know was adjusted and the trap sprung, the rope slackened, and instead of Purvis being suspended in the air he fell to the ground. In the excitement  the execution was delayed, and on Purvis’ claim that he could not be resentenced because he already had been legally hanged the case became one of the most noted in the history of the state. Purvis eventually was pardoned, and he is now in the woods along the line of the Gulf and Ship Island railroad getting out bridge timber.

Active work on the Gulf and Ship Island was resumed five years ago. About the time it seemed certain that it would be pushed to completion Colonel Hamilton fell down his steps, receiving wounds which practically have made him helpless ever since. He is little better than an invalid.

Gulfport is on something of a boom. The harbor is a natural one and will require little money from the national government. It is almost midway between Mobile and New Orleans and is touched also by the Louisville and Nashville railroad. The fact that it is the terminal of the Gulf and Ship Island will make it an important lumber shipping point for years to come. Many sawmills, canning factories, storehouses and residences are already in the course of construction.

Sandusky Daily Star (Sandusky, Ohio) Sep 5, 1900

The image and a biography of Jones S. Hamilton can be found on Google at the following link:

Title: Mississippi: Contemporary Biography
Volume 3 of Mississippi: Comprising Sketches of Counties, Towns, Events, Institutions, and Persons, Arranged in Cyclopedic Form, Dunbar Rowland
Editor: Dunbar Rowland
Publisher: Reprint Co., 1907
pg 311

Read more about the Gambrell incident in my previous post, Roderick D. Gambrell: Death of a Hip Pocket Reformer.

You Say Korea, They Say Corea

October 7, 2010

Corea – Korea: How do we spell thee?

In the 1870s,  it was spelled COREA.

EXPEDITION TO COREA.

A New York special of the 31st inst., says: The frigate Colorado, and the corvettes Alaska and Benicia, ordered to the Asiatic squadron, have been equipped with an extra supply of howitzers and regulation rifles and pistols for the special purpose of punishing the natives of Corea and Formossa for their depredations on American shipping. The English, French, American, Dutch and Russian squadrons will unite in an expedition which will land five or six thousand men to attack the principal cities in Corea and bring the authorities to terms.

Galveston Daily News (Galvestion, Texas) Apr 8, 1870

 

NEWS BY MAIL.
DOMESTIC.

WASHINGTON, June 16. — A Cabinet meeting was held to-day, at which Secretary Robeson read a dispatch from Admiral Rodgers, commander of the Asiatic squadron, giving an account of the fight between the Chinese on the Corea peninsula and the combined forces of Americans and Europeans connected with the squadrons in these waters. Although the dispatch has not yet been made public, it is understood that Admiral Rodgers was conveying to Corea a number of Coreans whom he had rescued from shipwreck, intending to illustrate the friendship of civilized nations as contrasted  with the acts  of the Coreans, who not long ago murdered a French crew wrecked on that coast. The boats’ crews from the French, English, Russian and American vessels on this mission were fired upon by the Chinese, who probably were not aware of the object of the expedition. A fight ensued, in which the Chinese were punished, and Admiral Rodgers intimates that the conflict would be renewed next day.

The dispatch from Admiral Rodgers, of which the following is the substance, was received at the Navy Department and dated at Borsee Island, Corea, June 3, and sent from Shang hai:

Our minister and the Corean Envoys exchanged professions of amicable intentions. The Coreans made no objection to a survey of their waters. The Monocacy, Palos and four steam launches, under Commander Blaker, were sent on June 1st to examine the river Sable at a point called Difficult Passage on French chart No.2750. At a point where the navigation was most perilous, masked batteries, manned by several thousand Coreans, were unmasked and opened a heavy fire, without warning, on our people. The French ship in advance fought gallantly, our vessels bearing up drove the enemy from their works. The tide swept all the boats past the batteries. They anchored and threw shells among the retreating enemy. Eight-inch shells were evidently not expected.

The Monocacy was slightly injured by knocking upon a sunken rock, but is now temporarily repaired. The vessels on returning received no fire, the enemy having been driven from the forts. Our people displayed great gallantry, and one or two were slightly hurt.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Jun 23, 1871

 

 

 

SPECK OF WAR.

The rencontre between the French and English squadrons on the one side, and the Coreans on the other, will probably teach the “Heathen Chinee” that both nations have a good deal of fight left in them.

The Coreans are a treacherous, false-hearted race. By profession pirates on the sea and assassins on the land.

Corea is a narrow strip of land on the northeast coast of Asia, jutting out into the water for a distance of four hundred miles. It separates the Yellow Sea from the Sea of Japan. Its coast is rugged and dangerous. Many vessels are annually wrecked thereon, and their crews are frequently murdered. With a view to lessening the dangers of the navigation, Christian nations have engaged in the survey of these coasts, with the consent of the Corean Government. As the squadrons entered the river Sable in the pursuit of this object, they were fired on from masked batteries. Of course they replied in a manner that sent the Celestials howling inland.

Corea is tributary to China. In fact, its relation to China is similar to that of Canada to England. The standing army amounts to half a million.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Jun 28, 1871

 

 

THE COREAN EXPEDITION — THE SECOND FIGHT.

NEW YORK, August 22. – The mails bring details of the second fight in Corea.

It appears that on the morning of June 10 the expedition started from the fleet. It consisted of about nine hundred men, of which seven hundred, including one hundred and five marines, were to operate on land, four hundred and twenty-five from the Colorado, and one hundred and twenty-five each from the Alaska and Benicia, all the crew of the Monterey and Palos being required to work the guns on board. The Monocacy took the lead, followed by the Palos, with all the smaller boats in tow, except the steam launches.

The main object of the attack is built on top of a small conical hill on a tongue of land that projects from the right and west bank of the river, and extending out into the water about half a mile. Its average width from north to south is about 400 years. The river makes a sharp bend around the points of this peninsula, and during the rise and fall of the tide the water rushes past it with fearful rapidity. About 300 years from the extreme point of this small conical hill arises about three hundred feet high.

The Coreans have fortified this in such a manner, that looking from the water the walls of the fort appear but a continuation of the extrusion upward of the steep sides, only approaching more nearly to a perpendicular, the sides of the hill forming an angle of about forty-five degrees with the horizon, and the fort so built on top as to occupy a whole level space of almost eighty feet in diameter, leaving no level ground.

Outside of the parapet wall the ground between this and the water’s edge is very rough, steep and rocky, and difficult for military operations. The Coreans had a water battery of twenty-four and thirty-two pounders, and a small old brass piece, commanding the channel past this point, and protecting the approaches to the fort from the water on the front. As this was the grand object of the attack it was determined to land several miles below and take it in the rear.

Accordingly, when the boats reached the first fort, about two miles below the point above mentioned, the Monocacy and Palos opened fire on it with vigor, but the Palos, unfortunately running on a rock, was held fast there, and her effectiveness impaired for a while. The Monocacy’s fire continued, silencing the fort and driving in its defenders, and under cover of this fire, the smaller boats which had been towed up by the Palos, cast off and rowed rapidly to the beach and landed a portion of the force designated to operate by land. The landing was effected in good order, and without difficulty, but the men had then to toil through some 200 years of mud, from one to two feet deep, and over sluices, in some parts much deeper, before reaching good firm dry land.

This done, the first fort was easily occupied, its defenders having been silenced by the fire from the Monocacy and Palos, and retreated on the approach of the skirmish line of marines, who were thrown out in advance of the attacking party, firing a few harmless shots as they fled. Night now coming on, the whole land force bivouacked till next morning, posting strong guards in advance.

On Sunday, the 11th inst., the whole expedition moved forward on the next fort, and took it without resistance. They then extended their line across the peninsula and advanced on the main fort, called by the French Fort de Condeoff (Fort of the Elbouaf,) from its being located in the bend or elbow of the river. This being a place of great strength, and the way of approach rough and difficult, some time was necessary to get the whole force up into position, when the order was given to charge.

About half-past 10 o’clock our whole line went with a rush and yell, which was responded to by the death-wail or war-whoop of the Coreans in the fort. The Coreans here made a firm stand and desperate resistance, firing their clumsy gongals with great coolness and deliberation at our men as they charged up the hill, then fighting hand to hand with long spears and swords.

When the fort had been stormed, and our men were inside the ramparts, Lieut. McKee, of Kentucky, who led the charge into the fort, was the first to enter, and fell, fighting bravely, being overwhelmed by superior numbers. Two hundred and forty-three dead Coreans were found in the fort, and several prisoners taken, among whom was the Deputy Commander-in-Chief, who was wounded.

Our own loss was Lieut. Hugh McKee, Seth Allen, ordinary seaman, of the Colorado, and private Houlahan, of the marine corps, killed. Seven were wounded, including Passed Assistant Surgeon, C.J.S. Wells, of the Colorado.

After the capture the destruction of the forts was immediately begun; the houses were fired, the works and guns destroyed and the magazines exploded.

The land force encamped in the neighborhood of the fort on the night of the 11th, and early next morning took up their line of march to the fleet, the object of the expedition having been fulfilled, namely, avenging the insult to the American flag on the 1st of June.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Aug 26, 1871

**********

JAPAN.

SAN FRANCISCO, Nov. 7. — The steamship China brings Yokohoma (Japan) dates to October 14th. The murderer of Mr. Haberth, the North German Consul, was beheaded on the 26th of September, and the government of Corea has promised to send to Japan the heads of all persons implicated in the insult to the Japanese the government.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Nov 8, 1874

**********

Fast forward to the 1880s, and things become muddled:

 

Daily Northwestern - Feb 20, 1885

 

Newspapers use both Corea and Korea… in the same articles!

 

Galveston Daily News - Apr 2, 1886

 

In 1891 we have new rules for spelling geographical names:

By a recent decision of the United States board f geographic names the letter “c.” whenever it has the sound of “k,” must be replaced by “k.” For instance, Congo must be spelled “Kongo,” and Corea becomes “Korea.” When we come square down to fact there is really no use for the letter “c” in the English language anyhow. It has no independent sound of its own. Give it the soft sound, as in “society,” and it steals the work of the letter “s.” Pronounce it hard, as in “Columbia,” and here it steals the sound of “k.” Why not abolish it altogether, and let young America have one less letter to learn?

The Daily News (Frederick, Maryland) Aug 5, 1891

**********

Let’s see how well the papers adhere to the new spelling rules:

THE real ruler of Korea is said to be the premier, whose name is Min Yung Jun. According to all accounts he must be the “boss” premier. A few years ago he was worth practically nothing, and now at the age of forty he is a millionaire, rides about town in a chair, seated on a leopard skin, accompanied by hundreds of cheering followers and nimble-footed dancing girls, and has a home containing scores of rooms. The “boss” does not seem to be confined to American politics.

Adams County Free Press (Corning, Iowa) Sep 27, 1894

**********

So far so good……….oops!

 

Nebraska State Journal - Jan 15, 1898

 

London appears to be a real spelling rebel, or maybe they just didn’t get the memo:

 

Lima News - Sep 15, 1898

 

Hmmm…copycat crime in Michigan?

Conspirators Are Hanged.

A dispatch from Seoul, Corea, says that Kim Hong Nuik and two other men who were the leaders of a conspiracy to poison the Emperor of Corea, were hanged. The populace secured the bodies of the conspirators, dragged them through the streets and mutilated them.

Bessemer Herald (Bessemer, Michigan) Oct 22, 1898

**********

Almost everywhere else, they seem to be playing it safe:

 

Daily Northwestern - Mar 31, 1900

 

Wisconsin

 

Nebraska State Journal - Jul 19, 1900

 

Nebraska

 

Atlanta Constitution - Mar 14, 1902

 

Georgia

 

Daily Review - May 31, 1902

 

Illinois

 

Atalanta Constitution - Sep 25, 1902

 

Massachusetts continues to defy Uncle Sam:

OPEN MARKET ASKED OF COREA.

Seoul, Corea, Dec. 5. — United States Minister Allen had a long interview with the emperor of Corea today on the subject of the request of the United States for the opening to the commerce of the world by Corea of Wiju on Yalu river. No definite decision was reached. The government is placed in a dilemma by the request of the United States.

The Fitchburg Sentinel (Fitchburg, Massachusetts) Dec 5, 1903

 

Reno Evening Gazette 0 Dec 26, 1903

 

Above are two articles printed side by side. The one coming out of Washington uses a “K,” while the one from Paris uses a “C.”

 

 

The Daily Northwestern Dec 28, 1903

 

My theory was going to be that the foreign papers continued to use  Corea, but that doesn’t appear to be the case. They seem just as confused as the American papers.

 

Reno Evening Gazette - Jan 14, 1904

 

The map below uses the  COREA spelling:

 

Richwood Gazette - Jan 21, 1904

 

Uncle Sam seems to notice not everyone is playing along. He makes another attempt to spell it out for us:

 

 

Washington Post - Jul 17, 1904

 

 

 

Washington Post - Jul 17, 1904

 

The prime object is to secure uniformity in the spelling of geographical names in all government publications. A board sitting in Washington takes up all place-names of more than one form that may be submitted to it, applies to them a code of rules formulated for the purpose, and then votes on the forms suggested by the members. The form receiving a majority vote becomes the official one, and, under the act of Congress creating the board, will thereafter be used in all government publications, including maps. to effect the desired reform, the board proceeds under the following rules:

1. The avoidance, so far as it seems practicable, of the possessive form of names.

2. The dropping of he final “h” in the termination “burgh.”

3. The abbreviation of “borough” to “boro.”

4. The spelling of the word “center” as here given.

5. The discontinuance of the use of hyphens in connecting parts of names.

6. The omission, wherever practicable, of the letters “C R” (Court House) after the names of county seats.

7. The simplification of names consisting of more than one word by their combination into one word.

8. The avoidance of the use of diacritic characters.

9. The dropping of the words “city” and “town” as parts of names.
…..

Washington Post, The (Washington, D.C.) Jul 17, 1904

 

Bessemer Herald - Sep 16, 1905

 

TITLES COMMAND PRICE IN MARRIAGE MARKET

ONE EXCEPTION.
There is one conspicuous exception, in the case of the wife of the heir apparent to the throne of Corea, who is an American girl, Emily Brown, daughter of a Presbyterian missionary from Wisconsin, long resident in that country. She brought practically no dowry to her royal husband.

Oakland Tribune (Oakland, California) Dec 28, 1905

 

Sheboygan Press - Jan 29, 1927

 

Old habits die hard:

 

Sheboygan Press - Jul 23, 1928

 

At The Marmot’s Hole, Robert Neff has a post wondering who is responsible for the spelling change: Corea or Korea – who is responsible? He includes links to other articles discussing the same topic.

Using the two spellings wasn’t unique to articles about Corea – Korea. Newspapers had the same problem with Pittsburgh and Galveston.

Ruskin Colony: Socialism Fails Everytime it’s Tried

June 24, 2010

ONE GREAT TRUST

Which Will Be Controlled by the People Is the End

To Which Our Business Interests Must Come, Says Herbert N. Casson — An Interesting Lecture.

The few people who gathered at the Odd Fellow’s hall last evening to listen to the social problems discussed from socialistic point of view by Herbert N. Casson were well paid for their time and trouble. Mr. Casson comes from the “Ruskin Colony” in Tennessee, a colony which is run upon the co-operative plan and in which every man earns his own living. His theories are there put into practice and he believes it to be the model way of living.

As a lecturer he is a success. Logical, terse and epigramatic, his words carry force with them. He kept his audience almost spellbound for nearly two hours, while he expounded his teachings. He prefaced his remarks by saying that thought along was mighty. The man who thinks is a power; he who does not is a machine. He said in part:

“America is at one the wonder and disappointment of the world; the wonder, in that in the short space of 120 years it has achieved a richness of civilization whose enjoyments are limitless; a disappointment, in that these same enjoyments are already captured by a few.

“The influences of Europe are already being felt and the abuses which our forefathers left behind when they started in the Mayflower have followed in a Cunarder. America was once the laborer’s paradise; it is now a Paradise Lost, but let us hope, under a different system, it shall be Paradise Regained.

Greenland, with its frozen, almost untillable land, is without a pauper and almost without a criminal. The lazy, indolent inhabitant of the South Sea islands never works and is never hungry. But we, who occupy the grand middle position, with labor-saving machinery and all the civilization, cannot feed our poor and have hundreds who are suffering for want of protection against the cold blasts of winter tonight. In the preparations for civilization labor and capital were on a proper basis; now capital is in the ascendancy and labor suffers.

“It was labor who said ‘let there be cities; let there be railroads; let there be telegraphs;’ and these comforts sprang into existence. But in their enjoyment labor has no share. The relation between production and distribution is inequitable. What ails us is that we have no proper conception as to what should be owned in private and what should be owned by the public. Everything that belongs to the individual comfort should be owned by the individual. What is of public use and for the enjoyment of all, such as railroads, telegraphs and lighting plants, should be owned by the public.

“It is not a fight between the rich and the poor, for the capitalists are as dissatisfied as the laborer. It is a contest to do away with classes altogether and to get into the natural conditions of life. What appears to be our greatest sign of danger is in reality our greatest sign of hope. The trust is the only professional way of doing business; all else is amateur. And the trusts will continue until there is a trust of trusts, when the public will step in and take possession, legally and without force.”

He claimed as a maxim that whatever people got together they owned together. His remarks were illustrated by events of every-day life, which made his remarks exceedingly interesting.

After the lecture, Mr. Casson gave the following information concerning the Ruskin colony, which is located in Tennessee, 57 miles west of Nashville, six miles from any railroad. There are 300 members of the colony and they have 1,800 acres of land. They have no officers, no public officials, have no use for law, issue their own money, have no church, have farms, some factories, and raise all they have to eat and only pay money for clothing and utensils needed. In conclusion Mr. Casson said they published a paper called the Coming Nation, for which he solicited subscriptions.

Sandusky Star, The (Sandusky, Ohio) Feb 14, 1899

Wedded By Compact.

What is spoken of as one of the most remarkable weddings that has ever taken place within the United States was “compacted by mutual agreement” in the little town of Ruskin, Tenn., on a recent Sunday afternoon. Its announcement is of local interest, inasmuch as the groom has spoken here several times. He is Rev. Herbert N. Casson, formerly of Boston, and the founder and pastor of the Lynn labor church. He is now a member of the Ruskin colony, and is editor of its paper, the Coming Nation.

There was no church or religious formula used for the marriage, but in the presence of witnesses bride and groom entered into a mutual compact, each agreeing to the marriage. The mode of “wedding by compact” is in accord with the principles of the socialist co-operative town of Ruskin, and in this case is referred to as probably unprecedented in singularity.

North Adams Transcript (North Adams, Massachusetts) Mar 15, 1899

RUSKIN COLONY OF SOCIALISTS COLLAPSES.

Sale Takes Place in Tennessee Cave — Many of the Women Shed Tears Over the Failure.

Tennessee City, Tenn., July 28.

The Ruskin Co-operative Colony property was sold yesterday in a big cave near here.

Several hundred people were seated in the cave, including the colonists and their wives and children and farmers from the surrounding country. W. Blake Leech represented the Receiver.

Four tracts of land, containing a total of 784 acres, were first sold to Leech for $11,000. Another tract of a thousand acres, mostly worthless land, went to George Wright for $1,450. He also bought the storehouse and lot for $15, making the whole amount received for land and about thirty houses thereon $12,465.

The land originally cost several thousands more. Growing crops go with the land.

The minority stockholders, who had the property thrown into the hands of a Receiver, were the purchasers. Horses, mules, fine hogs, etc., went for a song, mostly to neighboring farmers.

It is said that the purchasers, will reorganize the colony on a somewhat different basis. Fifty-five majority stockholders already have an agent out looking for a new location. They may go to Virginia.

Today the colony paper, the Coming Nation, will be sold. Its circulation of 60,000 has dwindled to 11,000.

Many of the women shed tears at the sale, and there is much feeling over the breaking up of the new Utopia.

History of the Experiment.

The Ruskin Co-operative Association in Yellow Creek Valley, about fifty miles northwest of Nashville, Tenn., was founded for the purpose of working to a practical conclusion the theories of absolute Socialism — the theories of Fournier and Bellamy.

The concern owned at first 1,509 acres of excellent land, and conducted a number of manufacturing and  commercial enterprises.

It was said at the beginning of the colony’s work that if, with everything in its favor, this enterprise failed, then it might be set down as demonstrated that Socialism by sections — independent of national Socialism — is a failure.

With the exception of the metals the Ruskin Colonists had in abundance the raw material for the manufacture of almost everything necessary to the physical comfort of man, together with the skill, the industry, and intelligence to put it to use.

In the community were men skilled in agriculture and horticulture, machinists, engineers, brick-workers, shoemakers, tanners, printers, bookbinders and authors.

The Bee (Earlington, Ky.) Aug 3, 1899

PROPERTY SOLD,
and the Ruskin Co-Operative Company is Now a Memory.

NASHVILLE, Tenn., July 29.

The property of the Ruskin Co Operative colony, situated at Ruskin, Tenn., 50 miles northwest of here, has been sold by a receiver. The land, 1,700 acres, and buildings brought $12,000.

This means the failure and end of the Ruskin colony, founded by J.A. Wayland in 1895, and which has been looked on both in this country and Europe as the most successful experiment in socialism ever inaugurated. The colony was prosperous, revenues far exceeding expenses, but became disorganized by a faction favoring free love, contending it was sound socialism.

Fort Wayne News (Fort Wayne, Indiana) Jul 29, 1899

J.K. Calkins, editor of The Coming Nation, a socialist paper published by the Ruskin Commonwealth, at Ruskin, Ga., is in the city. The Coming Nation is doubtless the only family socialist paper published in the world. Although Ruskin is a very small community, having only 217 members, the paper has the remarkable circulation of 17,000 copies and its subscribers are in all parts of the world.

“Our success has been something remarkable: said Editor Calkins yesterday. “We have one of the best equipped publishing concerns in the country. Our press is a perfecting machine of late pattern that cost $5,500, and we get out a sheet that is, we think, very creditable from a typographical and literary standpoint.

“The Ruskin colony is now about six years old. Since moving to Georgia, our career has been most successful. We experienced some trouble in Tennessee on account of some members who wanted to ‘rule or ruin’ and who came near accomplishing the latter. This troublesome element has been weeded out and we are now in a very prosperous condition.”

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 11, 1900

THOMAS HICKLING

Vice President of the Ruskin Community

VISITS HIS OLD HOME

In Sandusky and Talks Entertainingly of the Socialist Colony in Southern Georgia

Thomas Hickling, who moved his family to the Ruskin Commonwealth in Southern Georgia a few months ago is visiting in the city and expects to remain until the latter part of next week. He hopes to dispose of his property on Prospect street and will make his home permanently in the South which he says has a great future.

In Sandusky, Mr. Hickling was grown as a Socialist leader and the community in which his family now make their home is conducted on the co operative plan. A charge of $500 is made for each family that enters and the profits of the various enterprises engaged in by the members are shared in common, although each family is assigned its own house and the members may take their meals in private or in a great common dining room as they may choose.

The Ruskin colonists own 800 acres of valuable land, much of it being covered with timber. They engage in the manufacture of shingles, brooms, suspenders, cereal substitutes for coffee and other articles, although many of the men are necessarily employed in agricultural pursuits. Mr. Hickling says that when he went to Ruskin there were 200 or more members of the colony. Now there are not quite 100. The colonists have been able to make good livings but their number has been decimated because history has repeated itself and the members of this co operative colony have been unable to agree as to the details of the management. Upon some things however they are thoroughly agreed and one of the rules is that nine hour shall constitute a days work for a man.

Mr. Hickling has become one of the leaders in the colony and has been made vice president of the organization. He admits that the management of the Ruskin colony has not been exactly ideal but says that a re-organization will doubtless be effected in the near future. Mr. Hickling stoutly maintains that the communal idea is a good thing but thinks that the people are not far enough advanced in thought and education to live in that way at present. There is some talk of dividing up the colony so that the members will individually own certain portions of the real estate but maintaining a sort of an organization whereby they will still work together for mutual benefit instead of in competition with one another.

The Ruskin colony has three schools in one of which Miss Grace Hickling a Sandusky High school graduate of 98 has been one of the teachers. A.D. Hickling a young man who went to Ruskin with his parents is no longer in the colony but is learning the machinists trade in the Air Line railroad shops at Waycross, Ga.

The Ruskin colonists have no churches of their own but there lain surrounds a Baptist and Methodist church so that they have ample opportunity to attend divine worship regularly.

Sandusky Daily Star (Sandusky, Ohio) Apr 17, 1901

SOCIALISTS MAKE FAILURE

Property of Ruskin Commonwealth To Be Sold by Sheriff.

FAMILIES LEAVING DAILY

They Settled Near Waycross About Two Years Ago — Their Dreams of Happiness Unfulfilled

Waycross, Ga., August 18. — (Special)

The Ruskin commonwealth of socialists, 7 miles west of Waycross, has about gone by the board. Only three or four families now remain, the others having departed for different points north and west. The printing outfit is advertised to be sold by the sheriff on August 31, while the land will go the same way on September 3. This will wipe out the last vestige of the colony which came here from Tennessee two years ago next month. Several families have located near Valdosta, where they have hopes of making a permanent settlement. The printing outfit will be sold to satisfy labor and other claims, while the land goes to satisfy a mortgage.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Aug 19, 1901

Ruskin Cooperative - Strawberry Pickers (Image from Wiki)

PRINTING OUTFIT WAS SOLD.

Property of Socialists Disposed of by the Sheriff.

Valdosta, Ga., September 1 — (Special)

The printing outfit of The Coming Nation, the defunct socialistic paper, recently printed at Ruskin colony, in Ware county, was sold at sheriff sale yesterday and was bought in by the creditors of the concern. There were mortgages aggregating $1,600 or $1,800 against the plant, among the heaviest creditors being the A.S. Pendleton Company, of this city, and M. Ferst & Co., of Savannah. The Coming Nation was a leading organ of the socialists and at one time had nearly 40,000 subscribers, scattered in every quarter of the globe. The outfit which the paper owned is a large and modern one, embracing a Campbell perfecting press, stereotyping outfit, etc.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Sep 2, 1901

John Ruskin

You can read a biography of John Ruskin at VisWiki.com. LINK

*****

Most of the images in this post are from this  insightful book (linked below) written by a member of the failed Ruskin Cooperative.  The publisher, an avowed socialist, wrote the preface, which includes the typical “Yes, socialism failed here, but only because it wasn’t implemented correctly,” blather. The failure is never caused by “socialism,” itself,  but by the “incompetent” people trying to prove its awesomeness. Unfortunately , it is still being pushed on us today, and worse, it is being forced on the whole country, not just a little commune in a cave.

Title: The Last Days of the Ruskin Co-operative Association
Standard socialist series
Author: Isaac Broome
Publisher:   C. H. Kerr & company, 1902

The Triumph of Freedom, The Fall of the Hun

March 14, 2010

Victory Parade 1919 (Image from http://www.shorpy.com)

How the Great News Came to Miami.

(As Told By Miss Irene Bewley.)

The thrilling poem which follows, entitled, “How the Great News Came to Miami,” was written just after the greatest celebration the world has ever encountered, on the occasion of the signing of the armistice early on the morning of November 11. The enthusiastic lines were written by Will Allan Dromgoole, a Tennessean for the Nashville Banner and was published in that paper last week. The poem in that paper however was entitled, “How the Great News Came to Nashville” and was paraphrased by Miss Irene Bewley and read in Miss Bewley’s effective was at the Thanksgiving service under the auspices of the Neighborhood Bible Study classes. Miss Bewley’s version of the poem follows:

It crackled in flame down the aisles of the dark,
It flowed in a current of light.
It boomed in a trumpet-voice over the world,
It sang like a bird in the night.
The great, good news of the victory won,
The triumph of Freedom, the fall of the Hun,
And the heart of the tense world stood to hear,
And its great throat opened, to cheer and cheer.

Over the sea in a crackle of fire,
It leaped through the land like a flame;
It waved like a torch in the noon of the night,
It challenged in thunder to fame.
And the great North shouted the good news on,
The West caught the word in the fire-flash blown,
And down through the South, over river and brake,
It thrilled in a bugle, “Awake! Awake!”

The grey dawn broke on old Miami town,
Enrobed on her sturdy rock throne,
And the town that has mourned her own brave dead,
Made the great news all her own.
“Rejoice! Rejoice! We have settled the score,
The dead are avenged; the struggle is o’er.”

And the old church bell at the corner of Tenth,
Lifted its iron tongue,
And it rang, and rang, as only one bell,
Since God made the world, has rung;
“Won! WON!” pealed the old church bell,
“Great freedom has triumphed! All’s All’s Well! All’s well!”
Peace on the land. Peace on the sea.
A tyrant has fallen, the people are Free!

Over the seas where the ships keep watch,
The jubilant proud news sped;
In thundering joy from the living throat,
In the soundless voice of the dead.
And the old bell echoed the vibrant joy,
“We have settled the score for each absent boy.
Won! Won! From your far seas come;
America calls, Come home! Come home!”

On the grime-greyed walls of the dusty streets,
How the flags came rippling out —
Red, white and blue in a gladdened flow
To answer the glad-mad shout.
And the joy of a million souls was voiced,
For even the dead in their grave rejoiced.
“Rejoice! Rejoice!” O, the old bell knew
That the darling dead loved their country too.

The hurrying car and the scare-crow horse
Side by side in the mad ranks drew,
Bearing the flag of the country,
Helping the great news through.
And the great throngs jostled, and roared and sang,
And o’er the noise the church bell rang,
“WON! WON!” O, the mellow, sweet boom,
“Peace shall abound, the wilderness bloom.”

The startled children forsook their books,
The workmen his sturdy tools,
And nobody spoke of the task forgot,
Nor no thought of the broken rules;
While all through the town, tears, laughter and gun
All published the downfall of the Hun.
And ever the solemn old iron bell
Kept tolling and tolling — “God Lives! All’s well! All’s Well!”
And the shades of the great who had mustered there,
A phantom line, thronged the thoroughfare.
For each reveler swore as he marching along
The soul of Old Hickory fed the throng.

O, it flashed round the world in a circle of fire,
It swept in a river of song;
The voice of a God to a listening world —
How the Right had triumphed o’er Wrong.
Up from the half-tilled Southern fields,
The plowman came on the great news’ heels;
And the church bell boomed, a jubilant strain,
“Rejoice! The world shall blossom again.”

And I think that forever and ever will glow
In the heart of this Southern town
The glory of joy that was born that night
When Freedom proclaimed her own.
And that men will go with a softer tread,
Proud of their living, proud of their dead;
Nor forget the message — “God lives, all’s well,”
That the old bell sounded — “God’s bell, God’s bell.”

The Miami News – Dec 22, 1918

Atlanta Constitution - 1912

LITERARY NOTES.

An interesting literary note comes from L.C. Page & Co., of Boston.

Will Allen Dromgoole, the brilliant Southern writer and poet, whose recent novel — “The Island of Beautiful Things” — is much in the public eye, has quite a time of it trying to keep her identity clear, for “people will insist upon thinking of me a ‘he’ you know,” Miss Dromgoole confides, “and it’s all on account of my name, of course.”

“You see William, a real man name, was the name bestowed on me. There had been several girls in our family and it was devoutly hoped that I should turn out a boy, but I came out a girl, and to relieve somewhat father’s disappointment a dear friend of the family’s suggested that I receive a boy’s name. and so I was called William Anne Dromgoole — William after the dear friend’s husband, and Anne after the dear friend herself. I did not much mind the name William so much in childhood days — in fact I rather liked it, for with a boy’s name to back me up, pranks which were, perhaps, ‘ungirlish’ seemed to be in the order of things. But that name Anne I did dislike!

“One day, coming from school — I was only a kiddie of seven or so — a beautiful gilt sign, bearing the name Allen above a shop door held me spellbound. What a beautiful name Allen is, I thought. Then, I concluded, I’ll have that for a name, too. I won’t have to change my initials and just think how pretty William Allen Dromgoole will sound! So boldly I wrote my new name in a brand new primer. Mother was not so pleased with the name as I had been, when she happened upon it in the book, and scolded me for my foolishness, but secretly I vowed that the name Allen should stay with me. Not long after, baptism took place at our church and without a word to anyone, I became baptized William Allen Dromgoole, and since that time the name has stuck. It was when I started my writing that I decided to cut William to Will, though popularly I am known as ‘Miss Willie.'”

Oakland Tribune (Oakland, California)  Jan 12, 1913

SKETCH OF WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE

One of Tennessee’s Fair Authors Who Is Winning Both Fame and Fortune.

BY MELL R. COLQUITT.

Miss Dromgoole, writer, lecturer, and reader, is a very interesting personality. Small, frail, full of fire and spirit, she impresses one as being a woman of unusual mental vitality and force; one who in the space of nine or ten years has earned a high and unique position in the ranks of popular writers. She draws her power and inspiration from many streams. Irish, French, Danish and English blood flow in her veins, and the fine traits of all these strong people can be traced in her writings. Mr. Flower, editor of The Coming Age, says of her:

“It is not strange that we find in her nature as well as her writings strong contrasts and great versatility.” Her first writing was for Tennessee papers, general correspondence, graphic reports of strikes, descriptive and character sketches. She taught for a year in a college at Sweetwater, Tenn., and was regarded as a teacher of marked ability. Her newspaper work soon won for her a wide circle of admiring readers. She counts as her first decided success in literature the winning of a prize for a story, offered by The Youth’s Companion. This achievement surprised and encouraged her. For a time she filled the position of engrossing clerk for the Tennessee senate. when she desired reappointment there were other women in the field. In her canvass for the place she received the following note from one of the rural members in answer to her application by letter:

“Dear Bill — No, sir, I don’t vote for any d–d man against a lot of women.”

More chivalric than polished, her masculine-sounding name has been the cause of many amusing mistakes. A society of literary men in New York recently elected her to membership and the secretary sent her a badge of the association with the request that it be worn on the left lapel of his coat. she once received a very cordial invitation from Mr. Hesekiah Butterworth, of Boston, to visit him in his bohemian bachelor quarters. Miss Dromgoole’s successes are on many lines — novels, short stories, descriptive work, juvenile stories and verse, in addition to her spririted and delightful readings from her own works. Her principal books are: “The Valley Path,” “Cinch,” “Rare Old Chums,” “Hero Chums,” “The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow,” “Adventures of the Fellow,” “Harum Scarum Joe,” “A Boy’s Battle,” “The Moonshiner’s Son,” “The Heart of Old Hickory,” “The Three Little Crackers from Down in Dixie;” and she has now in press “A Notch on the Stick” and “The Battle of Stone’s River.” She excels in negro dialect and in rendering the speech of the southern mountaineer; she has also done some very clever things in Irish dialect and that of the street gamin. In her conception of the mountaineer she is discerning and sympathetic. She says:

“The mountaineer, in the rough as I care chiefly to discuss him, is a jewel. He has some strong and splendid characteristics. He is honest, he is the soul of hospitality, he hates a lie, he will pay back an injury if it takes to the day of his death to do it. He takes every man at his word, grants every man honest, until he proves himself unworthy of trust; then he takes him at his true value and treats him accordingly.” She loves the mountains and makes one of her characters say: “A body can’t content his’ef to love the levels when he has once knowed the heights.” She has known the heights and their spell is over all she writes. Her pictures are framed in the blue and emerald of the Cumberland mountains, with their embroideries of shining streams and limitless reaches of the rhododendron or mountain laurel, that matchless flower that blooms in prodigal profusion in every tint from shell pink to gory wine color. Small wonder is it that her aims are high, her sympathies tender, her types noble. She has breathed “the repose that lies on every height;” her brain has been vitalized by the strength of the everlasting hills, and her imagination nourished by their supernal beauty. During the summer months she lives in her little cottage, the “Yellow Hammer’s Nest,” near the Elk river in Tennessee. In winter Boston, New York or Washington city is her abiding place. In these centers she is the recipient of many social honors and is the valued companion of the foremost men and women of letters. She frequently gives public readings from her books. Of these it has been written:

“She is one of the few modern writers who can interpret her creations in such a manner as to delight the most fastidious, possessing the rare power of throwing life into her renditions without at any time over reaching or straining after effect.” *** “Her voice, sweet, flexible and strong, sways her audience at will to laughter or tears.”

Miss Dromgoole has won a place beside “Charles Egbert Craddock,” (Miss Murfee) and Ruth McEnery Stuart. Like Miss Murfree, she is a native of Murfreesboro, Tenn. Had I more space I should like to touch upon the strength of “The Heart of Old Hickory,” the tragic pathos of “In the Heart of the Woods,” then tenderness of “Rare Old Chums,” and the wholesome humor of her negro sketches. To those unfamiliar with the work of this gifted young woman, I will say: Read her books and then you will understand why the south is so proud of her and the north delights to do her honor.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Mar 25, 1900

Will Allen Dromgoole

SHE BEARS A MASCULINE NAME.

A Girl of the Tennessee Mountains Who Writes Entertaining Fiction.

The pretty town of Murfreesboro, the ancient capital of Tennessee, pops up in history occasionally as if it would not be denied a claim to the remembrance of future generations, but it is doubtful if even the fact that it was near the scene of one of the great battles of the civil war will do so much to preserve its memory as the other fact that within a decade two of its daughters have made fame for themselves as writers under masculine names. Will Allen Dromgoole is the latest of these; but, unlike that of Charles Egbert Craddock, whose near neighbor and friend she is, the masculinity of her name is not a mere ruse of the pen, but was the deliberate choice of her parents at her birth.

Miss Dromgoole was the sixth daughter in her family. When she was born, her parents gave up the hope of ever having a son and listened to the half humorous suggestion of a neighbor that the baby should have a boy’s name. As she grew older she developed traits in keeping with her masculine appellation. Her father was  a persistent hunter and fisher, and she became his constant companion. She is an expert with the rod and gun and does not know what “fear” means. Her hunting costume is of gray corduroy, such as the mountaineers wear, and the short skirt reaches just to the top of the boy’s boots with which she covers her little feet.

Up in the Cumberland foothills Miss Dromgoole has a pleasant cottage where she and her father, as chummy as ever, spend their time from April to November every year. The father is now 88 years of age, but is still an expert angler, and many a day the pair of them walk 10 miles in pursuit of their outdoor pastime. Miss Dromgoole christened her cottage “The Den,” but her neighbors call it “The Yellow Hammer’s Nest.” Her study there is decorated with the skins of animals which she and her father have shot, and the floor is carpeted with similar spoils of the chase. The walls are decorated with pipes and walking sticks, gifts from admiring mountaineers. Each of the sticks commemorates a story, and some of them are handsomely carved, for carving is a natural gift of those strange shy people whom Miss Dromgoole has actually as well as artistically “made her own.”

Miss Dromgoole is a prolific writer and finds a ready market for the product of her pen. She studies her characters from the life and knows whereof she writes. Method she says she has none, but depends upon the inspiration of the moment. She recently made an extended visit to the north and was much petted by the literary people of New York and Boston.

Daily Advocate (Newark, Ohio) Mar 12,  1894

Will Allen Dromgoole

The watercolor of Will Allen Dromgoole was found on the blog, Amy’s Art. She has some other wonderful watercolors posted.

Her Hobby Is Tramping.

The Tennessee authoress, Will Allen Dromgoole, has a hobby. It is walking — “tramping,” she calls it. Nine or ten miles of mountain walking is her daily constitutional when at her country home. A short, ordinary skirt, a blouse waist and a soft, gray felt hat with a history form her walking costume. The history part comes in with the only ornament of the hat — a bullet hole of goodly size. Miss Drumgoole has made a study of the coal mines of the Tennessee mountains. When the war with the miners began on Coal creek, she hurried up there to see all she could of it. “Every one of the state authorities was very nice to me,” she adds in telling the story, “but if I wanted to see things for myself I could not be sheltered any more than they were. I messed with them, and one evening at supper a bullet went through the hat on my head.”

Daily Nevada State Journal (Reno, Nevada) May 1, 1894

Tampering With a Bill.

NASHVILLE, Tenn., March 30. — Both houses of the general assembly of the legislature adjourned sine die yesterday at noon. Considerable of a stir was created in the senate in the morning when Miss Will Allen Dromgoole, engrossing clerk, stated that the bill known as the natural gas bill “giving cities the right to convey exclusive privileges,” had been tampered with by someone who had erased the word “natural.” It was evidently in the interest of the companines manufacturing gas. She discovered the erasure in time to replace it. Numerous attempts had been made from time to time to secure ths bill by gentlemen of standing, as is charged, for fraudulent purposes.

Newark Daily Advocate (Newark, Ohio) Mar 31, 1887

OLE MAMMY’S SLUMBER SONG.

(Will Allen Dromgoole in the Nashville Banner.)

Hush-abye baby, de winter winds croon.
Hush-a-bye, summer will come along soon,
De wind’s in de meader, the rain’s in de brake,
But mammy gwine sing a li’l song for yo’ sake,
Hush-a-bye, baby, to slumber and sleep,
Under de snow-sheet de violets creep.

Hush-a-bye, baby, de change in de moon
Tell ’bout de roses dat comin’ wid June;
De wind will lay low, de rain gwine ter stop,
De sun wahm de furrer for daddy’s cawn crop;
Den hush-a-bye, baby, to sleep till de mawn,
Dar’s hawg an’ dar’s hominy bofe in dat cawn.

Hush-a-bye, baby, de fire on de h’a’th
Paints on de floor ob de cabin a path,
Down through de orchard, out to de sheep fol’,
Draws it, and paints it in shimmery gol’;
Den hush-a-bye, baby, no use fer ter fret,
Mammy gwine make you a fine lady yet.

Mammy gwine dress you in wahm rabbit skin,
Down fum yo’ foots ter de tip ob yo’ chin,
Daddy gwine git out de plow, by and by,
So hush-a-bye, baby, ’tain’t no use ter cry,
De wind at de winder will crackle an’ croon,
But I hear de Night laffin’ an’ talkin’ of June!

Fitchburg Daily Sentinel (Fitchburg, Massachusetts) Apr 26,  1913

The Heart of Old Hickory and Other Stories of Tennessee – by Will Allen Dromgoole (google book LINK)

Greatest Game of the Season: MASSACHUSETTS

January 19, 2010

From: The Evening News (San Jose, California) Nov 3, 1900

CONGRATULATIONS TO MASSACHUSETTS, SCOTT BROWN AND TEA PARTIERS ALL OVER AMERICA!

The Carroll Herald (Carroll, Iowa) Nov 7, 1900

Old Feud Supplies Hogs with a Fresh Meal

January 18, 2010

CLUBBED FOE

Hogs Partially Devoured Dead Body.

LONG STANDING FEUD IS TERMINATED WITH TERRIBLE TRAGEDY.

Greenwood, Ind., Nov. 8. — William Pherson, living five miles southeast of here, who killed Milton Knapp, has made a full confession.

A grudge had been existing between the men for some time. The farms of the two are side by side, and Knapp went out on his farm, where his son lives, to look after some work.
Pherson saw Knapp crawling through a fence, and, picking up a cudgel of wood, attacked him.

Knapp drew his knife and defended himself as best he could, but he was beaten to death with the club and left lying in the fence corner. When discovered the hogs had devoured much of his body.

Pherson, it is claimed, came to Greenwood and made a confession to his daughter, Mrs. Charles League.

He was arrested by marshal Dunlavy and taken to the office of the prosecuting attorney, where he is said to have made a full confession.
He was taken to jail at Franklin. Pherson is about 70 years old.

The Evening News (San Jose, California) – Nov. 8, 1900

BOTH MEN ARE AGED.

In the Tragedy Resulting in the Death of Milton Knapp.

Franklin, Ind., Nov. 5. — the tragic death of Milton Knapp near here last week was the sequel of a feud. the men were brothers-in-law and both aged. Knapp long since retired from active life and occasionally visited his farms from his quiet home in the village of Whiteland. Saturday he went out to his Harbert farm, and it was here that Pherson came upon him just at dark. The quarrel commenced years ago was briefly renewed. Pherson, though 70 years, was the younger and stouter of the two. Seizing a heavy stick, he felled his defenseless antagonist and literally mauled him to death.

No one was near to witness the struggle, and when Pherson had done his work he mounted his horse, rode home and remained there during the night. When the body of Knapp was discovered by a farm hand early Saturday morning it was being torn to pieces by hogs. The ravenous swine had gnawed the old man’s head away and almost stripped the flesh from his bones and had to be beaten away from their victim.

The Carroll Herald (Carroll, Iowa) – Nov. 7, 1900

1900 Census - Johnson Co. Indiana

On this census record, you can see that the Pherson family lives next door to Milton Knapp’s son, who, according to the article, lived on his father’s farm.

1900 Census - Pleasant, Johnson Co. Indiana

This 1900 census record shows Milton Knapp living in town, and listed (not shown here)  as a landlord.

Elizabeth Pherson and Catherine Knapp were apparently sisters, their father being Oliver Harbert.

Indiana Marriage Records:

Name: William H. Pherson
Spouse Name: Elizabeth Harbert
Marriage Date: 13 Feb 1865
Marriage County: Johnson
Source Title 1:     Johnson County, Indiana

***

Name: Milton Knapp
Spouse Name: Catharine Harbut
Marriage Date: 16 Oct 1860
Marriage County: Johnson
Source Title 1:     Johnson County, Indiana

Fred M. Hans: Indian Fighter and Frontier Scout

November 7, 2009

Frederick Hans pic

HEAD OF NORTHWESTERN RAILROAD’S FORCE A DEAD SHOT.

Train Robbers Fear Fred Hans — Although “Fred” is Mild-Mannered His Colt .45 Has Laid Low Many Western Desperadoes.

Western bandits who prey upon the express treasure and passengers carried by the railroads have been so active of late that the managers of properties in that section are making extra efforts to outwit the robbers. The success of Messenger Baxter in killing a road agent on the Burlington, near Omaha, a few weeks ago has put new life into the railroad people. The Union Pacific, the Burlington, the Rock Island, and the Northwestern out of Omaha are arming their messengers anew with Winchester “pump” guns, having new shells with sixteen buckshot each loaded for them, and in other ways are preparing to exterminate the first road agent band that attempts to hold up one of their trains.

Every large railroad operating out of Omaha employees from one to a dozen men whose exclusive duty it is to protect their trains from bandit raids, trail the robbers after they hold up the train, and chase them into the fastnesses of the mountains and kill or capture them. Of all the famous characters who have made bandit hunting a business, none is better known than Frederick Hans of Omaha, who is chief of the Northwestern bandit hunters. For years it has been the business of Frederick Hans to protect the treasure trains of that company operating through the Black Hills.

fighting a gang pic

From Deadwood to Omaha the Northwestern carries the treasure of the great Homestake mines. During some months this company ships over $100,000 in treasure over this road. The lines of the company are operated for many miles through a wild and desolate section after leaving Deadwood. It is a most inviting spot for the work of road agents. The fact that these treasure trains escape the raids of bandits is undoubtedly due to their fear of the man who is the head of the force of bandit hunters the company employs.

Mild -Mannered but Dangerous.

Fred Hans is a mild-mannered fellow with blue eyes and of most affable address. As he saunters along the streets of Omaha he is about the last man in the world one would pick out for desperate work with rifle and revolver. Yet this same pleasant-appearing fellow, with his careless smile has been in more desperate affrays with road agents, killed more outlaws, and sent more to penitentiaries than any man in the West today. “Fred,” as he is known to nine-tenths of the people of Omaha that he gets a chance to see once a month or so, but most of his time is spent “up in the hills,” circulating among that element that is most likely to engage in hold-ups.

It is his business to locate all these characters the moment train is held up in his territory. This he can very nearly place the responsibility for a train robbery in the Northwest the day after it occurs. Incidentally, it may be said that Fred Hans carries a considerable number of bullet wounds on his person, slight testimonials of his many desperate fights.

Shacknasty Jim pic

Above image from the American Antiquarian Society website.

Another image and The Modoc Indians: A Native American Saga
by Cheewa James, Modoc Tribe of Oklahoma
(Shacknasty Jim’s great-grandson) can be found HERE.

It was Fred Hans who went into the “Hole in the Wall” after “Shacknasty Jim” and his outlaw band and killed the leader and two of his companions before he returned. Again Fred Hans met five members of the famous “Robbers’ Roost” gang one bright morning on the Running Water in South Dakota. He had but shortly before that been instrumental in piloting a posse of Custer citizens to the lair of the band where nine of them had been killed, and they thought to get even. The fire road agents waited until Hans rode close to the sand hill behind which they were hiding, then rode down on him, firing their rifles as they galloped. A fortunate shot passed through the heart of the horse that Hans  was riding. Using the animal for a shield, the railroad bandit hunter got out his heavy pistols and began business right there. He only shot four times. The first bullet he fired passed through the heart of the nearest bandit, the next one struck one of the horses of the oncoming gang and killed it, the third bullet passed through the head of another bandit, killing him instantly, and the fourth passed through the body of one of the gang and he died later. The two remaining members of the band surrendered and were taken into Custer by Hans. The men he killed on the spot were known as “Texas Fleet Foot” and “Mountain Pete.” The other tow, “Long Tom” and “Skinny,” were sent to the penitentiary for life.

Colt’s 45’s His Choice.

This is the kind of a man who guards the Northwestern treasure trains through the territory west of the Mississippi River. He is probably the quickest and deadliest shot with a revolver in the West. He carries two enormous “forty-fives” of the Colt pattern of thirty years ago. The fact that the guns are of the vintage of another generation does not worry Fred Hans. He has been presented by different people with a number of handsome modern pistols, but he says he can’t shoot them like his[he] can his own “irons.”

Discussing bandit hunting and the methods of road agents in holding up trains, a few days ago Fred Hans said recently:

“It requires a man of very desperate courage to undertake to handle a railroad train crowded with passengers. Of course, you find men every day who are willing to take the chances involved in spite of the fact that few of them escape the consequences long enough to enjoy whatever they have secured in the hold-up. In truth, it is not the act of robbing the train that requires the greatest exhibition of skill and daring, but rather the escape after the crime has been committed. You see, in robbing a train the band stands little chance of opposition. Passengers are as a rule unarmed. and the express messengers are not in a position to make much of a fight. The use of dynamite by road agents is a terrifying element for express messengers. The minute the bandits start to make their escape, however, they come in contact with fighting men who are as well armed and well mounted as they are knows how to use their guns. This is the element of danger that deters many bandits from attacking a railroad train.

“When a gang of men contemplate a hold-up now, the first thing they do is to arrange for their escape. A route of retreat is selected, and the bandits go over the trail, so that they can follow it, night or day. They frequently secrete food for themselves and horses along the route and lay in plenty of ammunition. The Black Hills and the country in Southern Wyoming are favorite resorts for train robbers these days. Here most of the desperate road agents live. These men are, however, not of the class that will undertake single handed to rob a train. They operate like the James gang did, but of course are not so dangerous, because they have not the sympathy of the community in which they operate. They are not so expert with firearms as the James gang, neither are they bound together by associations such as made the James gang so successful. Those bandits merely trust each other as long as they are together, and they know it is a matter of self-preservation

Bandits’ Outfits Expensive.

“The same energy, hardship and daring these men expend in robbing trains, if turned into honest channels would reap for them a great deal more substantial profits than the dangerous business they engage in, but they are attracted by stories of enormous hauls, made by train robbers and dazzled by reports in the newspapers that this or that gang secured a hundred thousand dollars in a raid. Of course these raids sometimes net the robbers a big sum, but in most cases they do not get enough to pay the expense of the undertaking. It costs a pile of money for a gang of six or seven Western desperadoes to prepare for a train hold up. They must have the best horses money will buy, they must get a city crook, as a rule to handle the dynamite; they must have white powder for their guns in the event of a collision with a posse, which is quite certain, and a thousand little details. The minute the news of a hold-up is flashed over the wire we start posses from a dozen different points. These close in on the robbers. The road agents are afraid to split up in the face of a possible fight. They know they will be killed one at a time if they do not stick together. That is their only chance and of course it makes the trail easier for us to follow.

Tracking Bandits pic

“The ‘Hole in the Wall’ country is the place these Western bandits now make for. That is a wild section and most difficult of access. If the gang gets in there it is hard to get at them. Usually we merely wait for them to come out, and then we get ’em.

“Most of the bandits we come in contact with are of the most desperate character. Of course they know that sooner or later they will die with their boots on. Most of them are wanted for some crime that would keep them in the penitentiary for life if it would not carry them to the scaffold, and so of course they will not surrender. I usually hunt these characters singly and with only my pistols. It is my experience that in the wild country, a desperate character, seeing a lone man who does not carry a rifle, will permit him to approach where otherwise he would hide if the same man was armed with a rifle or accompanied by others. With my pistols I can get close to a bandit on the plains and then I jump from my horse, use the animal as a breast-work, and begin to shoot before the robber expects the attack. He surrenders or is killed, just as he prefers. My experience is that a quick shot with a pistol is worth a dozen long-range shots with rifles.

Deadly Range of 300 Yards.

“I have had some measure of success hunting road agents and have been forced to kill some of these desperate characters, but all of my work has been done with a heavy revolver. I do not recall a fight I have been in, except possibly when I was scouting in the Indian service, where I used anything but my revolvers. I can kill a man at 300 yards every shot with my pistol. I carry on my watch chain today a rifle bullet I cut from the heart of my horse. It is a souvenir of the fight I had with the ‘Robbers’ Roost’ gang on the Running Water. The man who fired the shot used a Winchester and was firing at me from a distance of 500 yards. Before he reached the range of my pistols he had probably shot at me six times, one of his bullets plowing a furrow through the top of my scalp, but the moment he came within range of my heavy revolver I placed a bullet squarely between his eyes. This was Fleet Foot, probably one of the worst murderers and road agents the West has ever produced.

“I usually carry three heavy revolvers when hunting road agents, and carry about 500 extra shells. I would rather have plenty of cartridges than plenty of food when I am looking for real bad people. My experience, however, is that train robbing has been made so dangerous that it is losing its popularity and will totally disappear in a few years.

Davenport Daily Leader (Davenport, Iowa) Nov 7, 1900

Frederick Hans pic2 full

ESCAPED ROBBER CAPTURED

Frank Daniels of Omaha Placed Under Arrest.

OMAHA, Neb., Aug. 5. — (Special) —

Frank Daniels of this city, was taken to Logan, Harrison county, Iowa, this evening on a requisition charging him with robbing a freight car. His arrest grew out of the arrest of Dick Latta, by Special Detective Hans on the night of July 6, near California Junction on the Northwestern road. The detective secreted himself beside the boxes of goods that had been thrown from the train and Latta and his companion were caught when they came to get the good. Latta was held, but the companion escaped after Detective Hans fired four shots. Latta is a young man twenty-two years old living with his mother at 1622 Burt street. Daniels is one of the Daniels brothers who live near the railroad tracks in a shanty. Daniels proves to be the brother of Officer Hans’ first wife, and it is said by the friends of Latta that the two Daniels brothers got Latta into the trouble for the purpose of making some cheap glory for the detective, the plan being to allow them to escape and to hold Latta. Latta had refused to tell who was with him, and the detective showed a lack of enterprise in finding out. Latta today signed an affidavit implicating Daniels. Daniels once lived at Blair.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Aug 6, 1901

squiggle

“Detective Fred Hans, of the Elkhorn road is getting a whole glob of notoriety out of an arrest he made over in Harrison county a few days ago. It seems that Hans got Francis Daniels to go in cahoots with a fella by the name of Dick Latta for the purpose of plundering a freight car so that the great detective could get a chance to arrest someone just to convince the officials of the railroad that he was still true and always working for their interests.

Yesterday’s Bee contained a long article by Daniels’ accomplice laying blame on him and making it look rather ‘fishy’ for Hans when we remember that Daniels is a brother-in-law, and another article gives an interview with Daniels who claims Latta was at the bottom of it. Both Daniels and Latta are in jail in Mo. Valley and the outcome of the robbery will be watched with a great of interest by residents of this place. Daniels was arrested here three years ago for having stolen Emmett Bolt’s carpenter tools and served several months for the job. Everybody here knows Detective Hans and this escapade only brings to mind the time when a couple of men were sent to the pen for stealing corn, when it looked mighty much like Hans had his hand in the planning of the theft. Great is Hans the Detective!”

Blair Courier (Blair, Nebraska) Aug 8, 1901

squiggle

“Fred Hans is surely getting his share of the ills of life since he did that wonderful piece of detective work when he landed young Latta behind the bars for breaking into a freight car near California Junction a couple of weeks ago. Hans was arrested last week over there on the charge of conspiracy and his hearing set for the 20th inst, but on Monday, Francis Daniels confessed in his part in the crime and ‘peached’ on Hans as the bloke who put up the job, his trial has now been set for September 10th.

The people of Blair and Washington county are watching this case with a great deal of interest and when they think of the ‘smooth’ work of this chief of detectives of the F. E. they are inclined to let their memory wander back to the time when they were kids and read “Old Sleuth” novels behind the corn crib and wonder if that wasn’t where Freddie got his inspiration to become a detective. To hear Hans tell it he has had many close calls and narrow escapes but never got in too late. From reading the World Herald of a couple of years ago we are constrained to believe that paper has a reporter who has a vivid imagination or was allowing Hans to make a big sucker out of him, when it told of Hans being a government scout for a number of years and describing some of his adventures on the border. In the light of this case folks are now bringing to mind many pieces of work that could be traced to his instigation.

Blair Courier (Blair, Nebraska)  Aug 22, 1901

squiggle

Governor Savage issued an extradition warrant yesterday and immediately evened up the population of the state by issuing a requisition. The man extradited is Special Detective Fred M. Hans of Omaha who is charged with hatching a conspiracy to have a Northwestern train robbed of freight so he could reap the glory of a capture. Hans was sent to Logan, Ia., just across the Missouri river, where he is wanted on the charge of perjury. Frank Daniels, brother-in-law of Hans, was one of the two men implicated in the robbery. Dick Latta who was captured says he was led into a trap. Hans swore at one of he hearings that Daniels was not present when the capture was made, and Daniels testified that he was present. The requisition was for James Toman, under arrest at Cedar Rapids, Ia., who is wanted at South Omaha on the charge of assaulting James Koskeh, August 20, with intent to murder.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Aug 27, 1901

squiggle

HANS CHARGED WITH PERJURY.

LOGAN, Ia., Aug. 27, — The latest case of Fred M. Hans of Omaha, the railway detective charged with perjury in the Latta-Daniels arrests, has been set for September 2. He has retained Rodifer & Arthur of this place to defend him.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Aug 29, 1901

Gavel

IN THE GOVERNOR’S COURT

GARNETT C. PORTER OBJECT OF A REQUISITION.

DID HE SWEAR FALSELY?

Case Continued Till Tuesday to Give Porter’s Attorney’s Time

Governor Savage sat as a court yesterday and listened to argument from an attorney who told him why he should honor a requisition from the governor of Iowa for the return of Garnett C. Porter to Logan, Ia., on the charge of perjury. He also heard two able attorneys set forth reasons why he should not do any such thing. The day was warm and the governor took off his coat to permit the oratory to have its full effect. At the conclusion of the hearing he gave the defendant until Tuesday at 10:30 a.m. to show further cause why the requisition should not be honored. Mr. Porter was represented by Frank Ransom and Will F. Gurley of Omaha and the great state of Iowa was represented with due dignity by George William Egan of Logan.

Mr. Porter appears to have got into all this trouble through a desire to act as a press agent for a detective who was going out to make a raid on robbers of freight trains. Mr. Porter is a newspaper correspondent living at Omaha. When Special Detective Fred Hans invited him out to see the fun he could not resist the temptation to become a war correspondent for a short time. After two robbers were caught, Dick Latta and another man, the latter escaping in some mysterious manner, it was charged in the newspapers that the detective concocted the robbery and that his brother-in-law was the man who got away. Latta was held and pleaded guilty. The robbery of the cars took place on the Northwestern railroad on the Iowa side of the Missouri river and therefore the trial of Latta took place at Logan. Latta finally signed an affidavit charging that Hans and his brother-in-law hatched the burglary and induced him to enter into the scheme. Hans and Porter both made statements in court in regard to the case which led to the charge of perjury. Hans was taken to Iowa and gave bond for this appearance. Now an effort is being made to get Mr. Porter on Iowa soil to answer to similar charge.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Oct 23, 1901

scales of justice

GUILTY OF MURDER.

Sioux City, Ia., Oct. 24. — Fred M. Hans, formerly a railroad detective, well known in the west, has been found guilty of the murder of David Luse on April, 1901, at Ainsworth, Neb., and was today sentenced to life imprisonment.

The Daily Review (Decatur, Illinois) Oct 24, 1903

I couldn’t find anymore about his murder/conviction, but he must have gotten released for one reason or another.

hans gravestone

Gravestone picture from Find-A-Grave, posted by Dennis & Gal Conn Bell.

SLAYER OF 23 DIES IN ACCIDENT

Famous Indian Warrior Crushed in Elevator Shaft

SAVED LIVES OF MANY

Defended Whites in Battle Against Red Men

OMAHA, Neb. — (Associated Press)–

Fighting, smiling, gray-haired, old “Lone Star” Fred M. Hans, Indian fighter, frontier scout and possibly last of the real “two gun cross arm draw” experts net death here last night with his “boots on.” But death did not come on the field of battle where he had so often faced it, nor on the wings of a bullet. He was crushed to death in an elevator shaft at the Omaha World Herald plant where he was night watchman.

Lone Star was caught by the elevator when he attempted to move the control lever from the outside and the lift suddenly shot upward.

Lone Star began his career as plainsman at the age of 16, when he left home to search for a brother kidnapped by Sioux Indians. He broke into fame first in 1876 in the “Hole in the Wall” country, Powder River, Wyoming, when single-handed he shot and killed “Shacknasty” Jim and his two fellow bandits. It was Lone Star’s hammer fanning that won the unequal fight.

The Indians called him “We-Cha-Pe-Wan-Ge-La,” which means Lone Star.

PROMINENT EVENTS

Other high spots of Hans’ life were:

Shot and killed two stage coach bandits April 12, 1877, near Valentine, Neb. Shot five Indians in battle of Little Missouri near Black Hills, August 31, 1877, saving the lives of a party of twenty prospectors. Killed eleven Indians with 12 shots, using both guns, hammer fanning, in the battle of Wounded Knee, South Dakota, in 1892 [I think this should be 1891]. Killed bandit Ainsworth, Nebraska in 1878. Shot and killed bandit in Fremont, Neb., in 1897. Was official war department investigator of Custer massacre and followed Sitting Bull six hundred miles on horseback, inducing him and his band to return to the reservation.

Was present at Sitting Bull’s death; was chief scoutmaster for General Phil Sheridan for six years; was chief special agent of the Northwestern railroad for years. In all Hans was credited with having killed eight white and twenty Indians.

“I was never beaten on the draw,” he often declared.

Until a month ago, Hans wore a scalp lock 13 inches long which he kept curled under a skull cap as he sat around in the Herald editorial rooms at night, often displaying his skill with his two guns to reporters and visitors.

“No one is after it now,” he explained when he ordered his lock cut off.

Lima News (Lima, Ohio) Apr 18, 1923

Gavel

DEATH CLAIM IS SETTLED

World Herald Company Pays $2,650 to Heirs of Nightwatchman Killed in Elevator.

State Compensation Commissioner, L.B. Frye has approved a lump sum settlement in which the World Herald Building company of Omaha paid $2,650 to the heirs of an employee, Fred M. Hans, night watchman who was instantly killed by a freight elevator of the World Herald building, April 17. The heirs agreed to this and the case was dismissed. The question of whether Hans had dependent heirs or was negligent in starting the elevator which killed him had arisen. The divorced wife, Roberta M. Hans, is alleged to have resumed marital relations. She was given $1,525 of the lump sum settlement and is to pay the cost of burial over and above $150 allowed by law for that purpose. The federal bill was $369. Lillian Caroline Budd, a child of the deceased watchman, was given $875. Grace L. Davis, another child was given $100.

The Evening State Journal and Lincoln Daily News (Lincoln, NE) Sep 21, 1923

*****

great sioux nation-1

Read the book written by Fred Hans: (Google Books link)

The great Sioux nation:  A complete history of Indian life and warfare in America By Frederic Malon Hans. 1907