Posts Tagged ‘1909’

California

September 9, 2011

From Maps of San Francisco and California on Steve Haughey’s website

{Written for the Oakland Daily Evening TRIBUNE.}

CALIFORNIA.

Oh, California! On thy rock-bound, misty shore,
I watch, and hear the surging breakers roar,
And wonder if their restless, seeming endless flow
Was just the same one hundred years ago!

As through the Golden Gate the briny, ebbing tide,
Recedes to mingle with the Ocean, fair and wide,
I watch the vessels passing to and fro,
And wonder if ‘t were thus one hundred years ago!

I see upon the shore fair beings, walking light,
With manly brow, complexion fair and white,
And from their lips sweet words of wisdom flow.
I ask, could this be seen one hundred years ago?

I see, where Ocean piled its golden sands,
A noble city in rich grandeur stands,
Where fireside joys are lit with genial glow,
Oh, was it thus one hundred years ago?

On spiral domes that seem to reach the sky,
Our Nation’s Flag is streaming bold and high.
It seems to say, while waving to and fro,
“I waved not here one hundred years ago!”

I hear the cannons’ boom as thunders loud,
And from their mouths I see the smoky cloud
Rise up to mingle with the winds that blow —
Blow now as then, one hundred years ago.

Yes, here amid the fog which has enshrined
Thy shore, these visions flit across my mind,
And to my queries come the answer, “No!
These things were not, one hundred years ago.”

The Golden City, as it stands to-day,
Bears witness of a rich, progressive sway;
The cannons’ boom that falls upon our ears
Speaks of the change in one short hundred years,

And thus it is our State, with prospect bright,
Becomes a nation’s glory and her proud delight;
The comforts gained through labors fraught with tears,
Oh, may our nation share them many hundred years!

–[Charlie F****
WASHINGTON CORNERS, July 9th, 1876.

Oakland Daily Evening Tribune (Oakland, California) Jul 12, 1876

The subjoined poem which recently appeared in the Washington, D.C., Capital was written by Mary M. Clemons, fourteen years old, and a daughter of Dr. Clemons, formerly of Sandusky. It would do credit to a much older head. Dr. Clemons is in the pension service at Washington, having been transferred from the southwest, and his family have been in Southern California for the past winter. Here is the poem:

CALIFORNIA.

Bright blue skies above us,
Grass so green and sweet,
Around are friends that love us,
And flowers at our feet.

Oh! this is California,
The land of sunshine blest,
Where every one, tho’ rich or poor
Can have a chance to rest.

Oh! this is California,
Where hearts are light and gay,
Where every one you chance to meet;
Have pleasant words to say.

Oh! this is California,
Where everybody sees
The glorious sunshine all the year,
And all the flowers and trees.

Oh! this is California,
Where every one doth sing
No matter if ’tis summer,
Or winter, fall or spring.

Oh! this is California,
Where all my friends should be,
And if you don’t believe me,
Why, just come out and see.

Fullerton, Los Angeles, Co., Cal., April, 30, 1889.

Sandusky Daily Register (Sandusky, Ohio) Jan 11, 1890

Image from the Aztec Club of 1847 website

CALIFORNIA.
From the New York Sun

The brown man’s foot is on thy shore, California!
His hand is at thy people’s door, California!
Say, bang him one and draw his gore
And with his face mop up the floor,
So he won’t trouble you no more,
California, oh, California!

Thou wilt not cower in the dust, California!
Thy yellow boycott shall not rust, California!
Remember Kearney’s sacred trust
To do the mongols up or bust.
And let them have the knock-out thrust
California, oh, California!

Rise ’tis the red dawn of the day, California!
When low-browed leaders point the way, California!
With Grove L. Johnson in the fray,
And friends of Schmitz in bold array,
The Japs must go, but they must stay,
California, oh, California!

We see the blush upon thy cheek, California!
For thou wert every bravely meek, California!
But lo’ there surges forth a shriek —
From vale to vale, from peak to peak —
Pacific calls to Bitter Creek,
California, oh, California!

We hear the old-time Sand Lots hum, California!
We hear the hoodlum and the bum, California!
They call the Golden State to come
And join the rabble and the scum.
But will she do it? Say, by gum?
California, oh, California!

Washington Post — Feb 5, 1909


Nonagenarian Writes Poetically Of Woodland as State’s Fairest

S.H. Hancock, 90 years of age, with Mrs. Hancock has been visiting Mr. and Mrs. W.H. Eakle in this city. Although a nonagenarian, Mr. Hancock’s mind is as clear as a bell and his muse still retains all the fire and beauty of youth, as will be realized after a perusal of the following appraisement of Woodland, which was composed on the front porch of the Eakle home before the honorable couple departed for their home in Oakland:

WOODLAND AS I SAW IT.

A beautiful picture drawn with a free hand,
One of the fairest in our broad land;
Hedged in by trees forming a lovely frame,
Nothing seems amiss — not even the name.
Nature has put forth her wonderful power,
Calling her maidens from the leafy bower;
Planting a carpet in colors bright
From the deepest blue to the snowy white;
Weaving in flowers with a prodigal hand,
None were too lovely to beautify the land.
Her noble trees so lofty and fair
Waving to and fro in the summer air,
Casting a shade deep and profound,
Tracing their shadow on the grass grown ground.
A ride through her streets fills one with amaze.
We break forth in melody to sing their praise.
Men accomplished much but Nature was at the fore,
At each angle you turn, new beauties galore.
Oh, California, you should be proud of this spot,
One of the fairest that fell to your lot.
Fairy-land! Flower-land! Woodland!
Names will only fail.
I shall not forget you, even at the end of the trail.

— S.H. HANCOCK.

Woodland Daily Democrat (Woodland, California) Dec 4, 1922

Dolls for Afghan Warriors

August 22, 2011

Afghan soldier treasures few things more than an European doll, and such a puppet will provide his comrades and himself with material for amusement, admiration, and amazement.

The soldiers are not alone in this matter, and it is on record, for instance, that many dolls had their place in the harem of the late Amir of Afghanistan. Most of the dolls that find their way from Europe to Afghanistan are of composition or of kid, wax dolls perishing too easily under the heat of an Afghan summer.

Daily Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Jul 23, 1909

California Gold Poetry

February 22, 2011

The Grip of Gold.

Gold, gold, gold, gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold,
Molten, graven, hammered and rolled,
Heavy to get and light to hold;
Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold,
Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled;
Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old
To the very verge of the churchyard mold,
Price of many a crime untold.
Gold, gold, gold, gold!
Good or bad a thousandfold!

— Thomas Hood

The Gettsyburg Times (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Feb 26, 1909

TO MISS SARAH —-

To Californy I will go,
Where lots of goold is found.
I’ll take my pick axe, spade and hoe
To excavate the ground.

Perhaps for years, I’m doomed to roam,
Till I quite rich have grown
A stranger from my native home,
“Solitary and alone.”

Sometimes of me, perchance, you’ll think,
When I am far away,
A digging for the shining chunk,
In Californi-a.

It grieves me much with you to part,
May be to meet no more
But on to morrow I must start
To seek the yellow ore.

But if I live, I will come back,
My goold with you to share,
And then will take a like time tack —
In wedlock we will steer.

So for a time, I must adjourn
Far o’er the mountains blue,
But with the shiners I’ll return,
My love, to marry you.

Yours till death, JACK —–

Alton Telegraph And Democratic Review (Alton, Illinois) Jan 19, 1849

{Original.}
To my brother, on leaving for California.

To California’s rugged wild,
Where art refined, hath never smiled;
Where the uncultured savage rude,
Delights in scenes of crime and blood;

Thy daring footsteps soon must haste;
Before thee is the trackless waste:
Oh, brother! then, when far away,
Forget not thou, to “watch and pray.”

To watch — lest the fell tempter’s art,
From God, should lure thee to depart;
Fear more his dark and serpent tread,
Than bandit’s steel, or foemen dread.

Thy way lies thro’ a thousand snares,
Through perils, dangers, toils, and cares;
And pestilence, that stalks abroad;
But trust thou in the arm of God.

May health around thy pillow smile,
And hope thine every care beguile;
May’st thou be shielded from the brand
Of savage, and each hostile band.

Farewell, my brother! soon shall seas
Divide us — and each murmuring breeeze
That thro’ the waving woods shall stray,
Will whisper, thou are far away!
Forget not then — forget not then.
Thy sister! — may we meet again!

M.A.W.

Alton Telegraph and Democratic Review (Alton, Illinois) Apr 19, 1850

The Returned Californian’s Song.

AIR — “Oh Susannah.”

I’ve been to Californy,
With my wash-bowl on my knee;
I’ve seen the tallest elephant
That ever mortal see —
He measures from one tip to tip,
About a million feet,
And from the other tip to top
The critter can’t be beat.

CHORUS. — Oh, California!
You’re not the land for me;
I’ve been and left the wash-bowl
I had upon my knee.

He ate the Liza’s cargo,
And then he wanted more,
He ate a man for dinner,
One day he went a shore;
He tried to eat another,
But the feller’s coat tails flew,
And he never stopp’d to tell the folk
A quarter what he knew.

Oh, California! & c.

The folks in California,
They drink a dreadful sight;
You see a fellow very loose,
And then you see one tight;
A loose one shoot’s a tight one
And then they write the folks,
That a grizzly bear devoured him!
And its a very bear-faced Hoax.

Oh, California! & c.

There’s plenty of people raises Ned,
And lots of music goin’;
There’s forty thousand fiddle men
A tootin’ and a blowin’.
The loafers drink and gamble,
And they don’t do nothin, more,
And they’re somehow disappointed,
‘Cause all their hopes is ORE.

Oh, California! & c.

I seen a right smart chance of hills
As full as they could hold,
Of pecks and pecks of silver,
And QUARTZ and QUARTZ of gold,
I filled my wash bowl with ’em,
But a Sidney chap from prison,
He took the bowl and shot at me,
Because the claim was his’n.

Oh, California! & c.

I’ve scap’d the mountains clear my boys,
And drained them rivers dry,
My pockets full enough of rocks,
The gold dust’s “in my eye.”
It ain’t so hard to raise the dust,
If a feller’ll only blow,
(‘Tis WINDY business, blowin’ is,
As whales and black-fish know.)

Oh, California! & c.

I can’t begin to count my gold,
But a feller did that knows;
It took a heap of figgers,
And I think they all wat O’s;
Them O’s is pretty figgers,
But then it seems to foller,
That when a figger’s circular,
It’s so etarnal hollar!

Oh, California! & c.

I jumped off from the ‘Liza ship,
And traveled up the river,
I caught the gue and the shakes,
(The shakes means when you shiver,)
I shook my teeth from out my head,
But then I didn’t need ’em,
I didn’t have them filled with gold,
And so I didn’t feed ’em.

Oh, California! & c.

And now I’m gwine to dig again,
And do it with a will,
But it’s gwine to be a dry diggin,
In another kind of hill!
I’ll dig the lumps and wsh ’em well,
And in the course of nater,
I know, some day, I’m bound to find
Some gold in every tater.

Oh, California! & c.

We’ll rest content with quiet lot,
In spite of lots in ‘Frisky —
And while we raise the taterses,
The fools may drink the whiskey.
Then here’s to California,
And luck to all who try!
And since we’re safe at home again,
Why, brothers, don’t you cry.

Oh, California —
You’re not the land for me,
I’ve been, and left the wash-bowl
I had upon my knee.

Huron Reflector (Norwalk, Ohio) Jun 24, 1851

More Gold Rush Poetry:

Miner Rhymes From the Gold Country

Poetry of Gold

Ho! For California

Going Ahead on the Yankee Trail

A Miner Rhyme

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

What Were They Serving in Gettysburg?

November 23, 2010

What a bargain! Check out what they were serving at the Hotel Gettysburg for Thanksgiving dinner in 1909:

The Gettysburg Times (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Nov 24, 1909

Also from the Gettysburg Times – – but– different year:

This Thanksgiving “victim” was printed directly above the following poem in the newspaper, but there doesn’t seem to be any real connection between the two.

A Day of Days

THIS is the day of all our days
When we in crowded cities sigh
For one sweet breath of old time ways
That once we passed so heedless by.
How romance clothes the stubbled mead!
What glory crowns the bare brown hill!
How sounds afar the ancient creed,
“Oh, if we could be children still!”

A million roofs its echoes send;
The lonely street gives back its cry;
Its message stirs the city’s end;
Its vision cheers the longing eye.
We mount the charger of desire;
He wings us through November haze
And drops us by the farmhouse fire
With childhood friends of childhood days.

How rose the turkey mountain high
And how we sighed with cough and call
As plate on plate went passing by,
Lest aunts and uncles eat it all!
How blazed the logs while tales were told
And apples roasted russet brown —
How fancy filled the grate with gold
And chimney ghosts came tumbling down!

Well, well! I’d better rub my eyes.
I must have turned a hidden page
Back to the realm where memory tries
To bribe us with forgotten age.
Thanksgiving? Why, ’tis everywhere.
Youth may not claim it for its own
‘Tis just a little joy to spare
Out of the harvest we have sown.

— Percey Shaw in New York American.

The Gettysburg Times (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Nov 29, 1916

Old Bucktails Answer the Final Roll Call

November 11, 2010

Alanson E. Niles

DEATH OF COLONEL ALANSON E NILES

SKETCH OF A PROMINENT MILITARY OFFICER AND WELL-KNOWN CITIZEN

Last Thursday morning Colonel Alanson E Niles, of this borough, died at the German hospital in Philadelphia, where he went on the 21st of September to undergo a delicate surgical operation. He stood the operation well and seemed to be on the way to recovery, when Bright’s disease was developed and he rapidly grew weaker until the end. Mrs. Niles and his son Lieut. Nathan E. Niles were at his bedside. The remains were brought home on Friday, and on Saturday afternoon the funeral was held at his late residence on Main street, the burial being with military honors.

Alanson Erric Niles was a son of Mr. Nathan Niles, one of the early settlers of Charleston township. He was born on his father’s farm near this borough October 5, 1816. He inherited the homestead and was engaged in farming until 1857, when he came to this borough and engaged in the mercantile business with Mr. Aaron G. Elliott, the firm of Niles & Elliott doing business in the old wooden building which stood on Main street on the corner just below the First National bank.

In 1861 Mr. Niles was among the first to respond to the call  for volunteers to suppress the Rebellion. He enlisted in this borough, recruiting a company of men, and was elected Captain of Company E of the First Pennsylvania Rifles, better known throughout the country as the “Bucktails.” He was mustered into service May 31, 1861.

At Dranesville on December 20, 1861, the Bucktails are credited with winning the first victory of the war for the army of the Potomac. Here Captain Niles was severely wounded, being shot through the lungs. He was in the hospital some time, but as soon as he was able he hastened back to his regiment.

On the morning of the second day of the battle of Gaines Hill six companies of the Bucktails were stationed on a hill above a swamp to guard a bridge, the only crossing for miles in either direction. When the armies retreated, Companies D and E, with Captain Niles in command, were left to hold the bridge. The boys stood their ground until a Rebel brigade came up in their rear to within ten rods, when they retreated over the brow of the hill to fall into Jackson’s advancing corps. They were completely surrounded and taken prisoners. Company E was the color company of the regiment and rather than have their flag fall into Rebel hands they burned it in the swamp. Captain Niles was in Libby prison for 49 days, when he was exchanged, together with most of the members in his company, and they at once went to the front again.

Captain Niles was promoted to the rank of Major on March 1, 1863, and on the 15th of May following he was made Lieutenant-Colonel of the regiment. It was while with the Bucktails in their charge on Little Round Top at Gettysburg, on the 2d of July, 1863, that he was wounded in the left thigh.

Lieut Col Niles was afterward transferred to the Veteran Reserve Corps with promotion to the rank of Colonel. He commanded the corps during the raids of the famous Mosby in eastern Virginia, and at White House Landing he held the field against Mosby’s men for one whole day, when he was relieved by Gen. Sheridan.

Colonel Niles was then sent to Point Lookout, a general depot for prisoners, where he remained in charge until after Lee’s surrender. He then went to Washington.

On the night that President Lincoln was assassinated Col Niles was in Ford’s theater, and he heard the pistol shot and hastened to the hallway and saw the wounded President being carried out.

Col Niles participated in the following battles during the war: New Creek, Hunter’s Mills, Dranesville, Gaines Hill of the seven days fight before Richmond, Fredericksburg, South Mountain, Antietam and Gettysburg.

When the war closed and the grand review was held in Washington Colonel Niles was selected from among the thousands of officers to be the officer of the day, and he had full military charge of the city at the time.

Col Niles was then commissioned as Captain in the regular Army, and for three years he was stationed at Plattsburgh, N.Y., in command of the military barracks.

On account of disability by reason of his wounds he was retired in 1869 with the rank and pay of a Captain, and he came to this borough to reside. After his retirement he lived here quietly, enjoying the respect and esteem of his neighbors, and always taking a lively interest in the affairs of the Government. He was an ardent lover of rifle-shooting and recently notwithstanding his years, he made some remarkable scores on the rifle range.

It can truthfully be said of Col Niles that he was a stranger to fear and a martyr to duty. His record during the war was one of great personal courage and of thorough devotion to the exact discharge of military duty in every station. At home among his friends although of a naturally retiring nature, he was cheerful, genial and steadfast.

Col Niles was married November 10, 1842 to Angeline Austin, of Charleston. Two sons and two daughters were born to them. His widow and Lieut Nathan E. Niles of the Navy, survive him.

The funeral was held last Saturday afternoon at the family residence and it was largely attended. Rev. Dr. A.C. Shaw conducted the service. The Cook Post, G.A.R. attended in a body, and twenty five members of Col Niles’s company acted as a military escort to the cemetery and tenderly committed the remains of their late commander to the dust. Each member wore the distinguishing bucktail on his hat. Among the many floral tributes was a buck constructed of white flowers, which was a testimonial of Company E of the Bucktails. At the cemetery the service was in charge of the Cook Post No. 315, G.A.R.

The Wellsboro Agitator (Wellsboro, Pennsylvania Oct 14, 1891

Image from Find-A-Grave

Mr. Henry Clay Roland died at his home in Delmar township last Friday morning — a victim of the prevalent influenza. Mr. Roland was born in Lycoming county forty-eight years ago; but he came to this county when still young, living for a time in Charleston and afterward in Delmar.

During the war of the Rebellion he was an efficient soldier of the Union, being a member of Company E of the Bucktails, under the late Colonel Niles.

After the war he was engaged in farming, and he was an excellent citizen and a man respected and liked by all his acquaintances. The funeral was largely attended last Sunday at the family residence, many of Mr. Roland’s old comrades being present. The interment was in the cemetery in this borough. Mr. Roland leaves a widow and four children — two sons and two daughters.

The Wellsboro Agitator (Wellsboro, Pennsylvania) Apr 6, 1892

Flag image from the Descendant’s Association of the 149th PA Bucktails

Death of Mr. Jacob Huck.

Mr. Jacob Huck, aged 72, died after a week’s illness of pneumonia, on Friday evening at the home of Mr. George W. Smith, at Cedar Run, with whom he made his home. He was a member of Co. E, of the famous 1st Pa. Rifles, or “Bucktails,” and served through the civil war. Five brothers also served in this war.

Mr. Huck had been a member of Wellsboro Lodge, I.O.O.F., for 25 years. He was a conscientious, upright Christian gentleman and was respected and esteemed by all who knew him. Mr. Huck never married. He is survived by the following brothers and sisters: Messrs. Harrison Huck, of Lockhaven; Myron, of Delmar, and Samuel and John, who live in the West, and Mrs. Bert Lloyd, of Olmsville. The Wellsboro Odd Fellows sent a beautiful floral offering and several members of that Lodge besides many Slate Run Odd Fellows attended the funeral at the Cedar Run Methodist church on Monday at 2 p.m.

The following was written by a comrade of the deceased:

“Sergeant Jacob Huck was one of six brothers who enlisted in 1861. Jacob, George and Samuel served in Co. E, of the “Old Bucktails.” Jacob was Color Sergeant for two years and during that time he was wounded three times. At the battle of Cold Harbor a Rebel soldier seized the flag staff and tried to capture the colors. Huck killed him instantly by running him through with a saber. As a soldier and friend none excelled him. He was characterized by his extreme modesty, never mentioning his brave deeds to his most intimate friends. His brothers, Harrison, of Lockhaven, and Myron, of Delmar, with their families, and his sister, Mrs. Bert Lloyd, of Olmsville, attended the funeral. Comrades G.O. Darby, Peter D. Walbridge and W.W. English, of Co. E, with three other veterans acted as pall bearers.”

The Wellsboro Agitator (Wellsboro, Pennsylvania) Mar 1, 1905

Image from Find-A-Grave

Mr. Chester F. Kimball, aged 64, died Saturday evening about 9 o’clock at his home on Crafton street. He was apparently as well as usual on Saturday afternoon, but was stricken suddenly with paralysis about 4 o’clock while making purchases in Finkelstein Bros.’ store. He was removed to his home, where he passed away within a few hours.

Mr. Kimball was born at Homer, Cortland county, N.Y., on April 30th, 1842. He was twice married, his first wife being Sarah Boydson, whom he married on December 20, 1870. and who died on May 18, 1878. Two sons were born to them, Charles N. Kimball, Esq., of Sistersville, West Virginia, and Mr. Everett E. Kimball, of Cleveland, Ohio, both of whom survive.

On April 30, 1890, Mr. Kimball married Sarah Rollins, of Roundtop, who survives him, with one daughter, Clara A.

Two sisters also survive him, Mrs. Adelbert Green, of Syracuse, N.Y., and Mrs. Miles Dunbar, of Necedah, Wisconsin.

Mr. Kimball enlisted on August 7, 1861, in Co. E, of the 1st Pa. rifles, better known as the “Old Bucktails.” He served with honor and distinction and was one of the best soldiers in his company. He later served with the 13th Veteran Reserve Corps. He was a member of the Union Veteran Legion and of the Methodist church. The deceased was a good man, an upright and progressive citizen and was highly esteemed by all who knew him.

Funeral services will be held this morning at 10 o’clock at the late home of the deceased, Rev. W.H. Reese, D.D., officiating.

The Wellsboro Agitator (Wellsboro, Pennsylvania) Jan 30, 1907

 

Another Veteran Mustered Out.

At his home near Ewing, Neb., February 16th, of bronchitis, Orsamus P. Borden answered the final roll call. He was born November 30, 1829 at Pultney, N.Y., and at the time of his death was 77 years, 2 months and 16 days old.

When a young man he moved with his parents to Tioga county, Pa. He married Miss Sarah Impson, January 28, 1854, in Delmar, Pa. To this union were born four children, three sons and one daughter, only one of whom survive, namely, Arthur H. Borden of Genessee, Potter county. His wife died April 17, 867.

On November 2, 1867, he married Miss Josephine S. Butler, his present wife. To them were born thirteen children of whom five are living, three sons and two daughters.

In 1861, Mr. Borden enlisted in Company E of the “Bucktails.” He served through the entire war. Was taken prisoner at Mechanicsville, June 26, 1862, and spent some time in Libby and Belle Island prisons.

In 1882 he moved his family to Nebraska and settled on a homestead, where he spent the remainder of his days, and with his faithful wife, fought the hard battles, and faced the privations of a frontier life. In courage and fidelity to what he considered right, he proved himself in every respect a man. He was a member of the Grand Army, General Anger Post 192 of Ewing, and no one of its members was more faithful in attendance at its meetings, or more loyal to its laws.

The Wellsboro Agitator (Wellsboro, Pennsylvania) Mar 27, 1907

Another Veteran Gone.

Samuel Freeland, aged 75 years, died last Tuesday morning at 3:45 o’clock at his home in Corning of paralysis.

Mr. Freeland was born in Chatham Tioga county, Pa., December 1, 18[3]3, and the early part of his life was spent on farms in different parts of this country. When the civil war broke out he enlisted in Company A, Bucktails. Early in the war he was captured by the Confederates and was in Libby prison for a number of weeks until he was exchanged. When he entered this famous prison pen he was a large man, weighing over 200 pounds but so severe was his treatment that when he came from the confinement he tipped the scale at only 100 pounds. He was so worn and changed that his own brother failed to recognize him. He again went into active serviced and shortly after he was wounded in the right hip. He lay for four days on the battle field where he received the wound and was finally found by the Rebels and again taken to Libby prison. During the days that he lay on the filed of battle he had only one drink of water, this from the canteen of a Rebel captain. This time he was confined in Libby prison only about six weeks and when exchanged he was honorably discharged from service because of his wound. He carried the bullet to the day of his death.

After recovering from his injury he lived at Addison where he worked in the sash and blind factory and where he married Mary L. Seaman on the first day of February, 1865. He also lived at Coudersport for a time. About four years ago he removed to Corning where he had since lived. Besides his wife he is survived by five children — G.V. Freeland, of Spokane, Wash., C.H. Freeland, of Corning; William Freeland, of Hunt, N.Y.; Mrs. Arthur Slad with whom he lived, and Mrs. Rose Varner, of Albany Falls.

He was a member of the Arch Jones Post, G.A.R. at Coudersport, and was one of the charter members of the W.W. Angle Post, at Addison.

The Wellsboro Agitator (Wellsboro, Pennsylvania Mar 3, 1909

Image from the Richard Warren Smith family tree on Ancestry.com

Benjamin W. Topping, Sr., died recently at his home in Elmira, aged 79 years. He is survived by his widow, one son, B.W. Topping, Jr.; one daughter, Mrs. B.G. Birney, of Cincinnati. Mr. Topping had been a resident of Elmira for many years. He was a veteran of the civil war and was a captain in Co. H, Pennsylvania “Bucktails.” He was a commercial traveler for 35 years and, as a cigar salesman, was well known in almost every city and town in northern Pennsylvania and southern New York.

Wellsboro Agitator (Wellsboro, Pennsylvania Feb 21, 1917

Image from Find-A-Grave

DEATH OF P.D. WALBRIDGE.

Highly Esteemed Civil War Veteran Died Last Wednesday.

Peter D. Walbridge, aged 83 years, died at the Blossburg hospital early last Wednesday morning, following the amputation of his right leg, which operation was performed Monday. Mr. Walbridge’s right foot had caused him much suffering for several years and not long ago gangrene developed and amputation of his knee was necessary as the only hope of saving is life, but he failed to recover from the shock of the operation.

He is survived by one son, Peter D. Walbridge, Jr., of Pueblo, Colorado, and three daughters, Mrs. W.D. Riffle and Miss May Walbridge, of Wellsboro, and Miss Maude Walbridge, of New York city.

Mr. Walbridge served with conspicuous bravery during the civil war as a member of Co. E, of the famous “Old Bucktails” regiment, and many are the tales of heroism his comrades tell of him, but Mr. Walbridge seldom spoke of his own experiences during the dark days of ’61-’65. He was a prisoner at Andersonville for nearly a year and that trying ordeal took a heavy toll from his naturally strong constitution. Mr. Walbridge had a host of warm friends to whom his death brings deepest sorrow.

The funeral was held Saturday afternoon at two o’clock at the First Baptist church, Rev. C.W. Macgeorge officiating; burial in the Wellsboro cemetery.

The Wellsboro Agitator (Wellsboro, Pennsylvania) Dec 3, 1919

BRILLIANT WAR RECORD.

Brief Review of a Brave Soldier’s Career During the Civil War.

The brilliant and gallant Civil War record of the late Peter D. Walbridge, of Wellsboro, who died a few days ago at the Blossburg Hospital, following amputation of his left leg for gangrene, should not pass unnoticed. He was one of the first from Wellsboro to enlist in the original Old Bucktails under Captain Alanson E. Niles and served throughout the entire Civil War.

Notwithstanding Peter Walbridge was always conceded one of the bravest and most daring soldiers of the fighting Bucktails, having performed many heroic deeds worthy of note, he bore his honors meekly, without display, blow or bluster. He had a big heart and it was in the right place, as all his comrades in arms can testify.

The Gazette takes great pride in presenting the following summary of this brave soldier’s war record:

Peter D. Walbridge enlisted April 28th, 1861, from Wellboro, Pa., and was mustered into the United States service May 31st, 1861, at Harrisburg, as a private to serve for a term of three years in Company E, First Regiment, Penna. Vol. Rifles, under Captains A.E. Niles and S.J. Mack and Cols. Theodore L. Kane, J. Biddle, H.W. McNeil and C.F. Taylor. The Regiment was the 42nd Pa. Vol. Inf., 1st Bucktails or 13th Regiment, Penna. Reserves Infantry.

Moved to a point opposite Cumberland, Md., June 22nd, thence to West Va., in support of Lew Wallace till October; then moved to Tennallytown and attached to McCall’s Reserve Division, Army of Potomac. Engaged at Drainesville, Va., Dec. 20th, ’61. Moved to Virginia Peninsula, June 9th to 12th, ’62.

Attached to 5th Corps Army of Potomac. Engaged in seven days battle before Richmond, Jun 25th to July 1st, ’62; battle of Mechanisville, June 26th; Meadow Bridge, June 26th; Gainesville, July 27th; Savage Station, June 29th; Charles City, Cross-Road and Glendale, Jun 30th ’62; Malvern Hill, July 1st, ’62; battles of Gailnesville and Groveton, August 28th and 29th, ’62; Second Bull Run, August 30th, ’62; South Mountain, Md. Sept. 1?, Antietam, Md., Sept. 7th, ’62. Was wounded here by gunshot in right leg and sent to Harrisburg. Received 50 days furlough to go home from Governor Curtin. Rejoined regiment and participated in battle of Fredericksburg, Va., December 13th, ’62, and March, January 20th to 24th, ’63.

Ordered to Washington, D.C., Feb. 6th, ’63. Duty there and at Alexandria till June 25th, ’63. Rejoined the Potomac Army, June 25th, ’63. Attached to 1st Brigade, 3rd Div., 5th Corps, Army of Potomac. Engaged in Battle of Gettysburg, July 1st to 3rd, ’63. Pursuit of Lee, July 5th to 24th, ’63. Engaged at Rappahannock Station, Nov. 7th, ’63; Mine Run, Nov. 26th and 28th, ’63.

Honorably discharged Feb. 27th, ’64. Re-enlisted as a veteran Feb. 28th, ’64, in the field as Sergeant in same Company and Regiment, three years more, or during the war, under Captains S.J. Mack and Col. A.E. Niles. Participated in Battle of the Wilderness, May 5th-7th, ’64;; Laurel Hill, Va., May 8th; Spottsylvania, May 8th to 12th, ’64; assault on the Bloody Angle, May 12th ’64; Spottsylvania Court House, May 13th to 21st, ’64; Harris Farm, May 19th; North Anna River, May 23rd to 26th, ’64; Jericho Ford, May 25th; Penunkeg River, May 26th to 28th; Totokotomy, May 29th to 31st; Bethesda Church, May 30th to June 6th.

Was wounded May 30th in head, left leg and right arm by shell explosion and was captured and taken to Spotts Hospital, Richmond, Va., until July ’64. Then was placed in Andersonville, later Florence, prison. Was paroled and sent to Annapolis, Md. Received furlough home until April, 1865. Rejoined regiment. Was on May 31st, 1865, transferred to Co. E, 190th Reg., Pa. Vol., Infantry, which he joined close to Petersburg. Engaged at Appomattox Court House, Lee’s surrender, April 9th, 1865. Washington, D.C., May 1st to 12th; Grand Review, May 23rd, 1865. Honorably discharged June 28th, 1865, at Harrisburg, by reason of close of war.

The Wellsboro Gazette (Wellsboro, Pennsylvania) Dec 11, 1919

Image from Find-A-Grave

CIVIL WAR VETERAN ANSWERS LAST CALL

James T. Hebel, 79 years old, a veteran of the Civil War, while accompanying a neighbor, Joseph Lenig from his home in Hunter’s Valley to Newport, Perry County, Pa., on Friday morning, May 26, got off the wagon in the narrows, along the steep mountain road to walk up a hill, and while walking along back of the wagon, dropped dead in the road. Death was due to heart failure.

His son, Alfred of Osecola Mills, went to visit him on Monday, May 22, as had been his custom, about every four to six weeks. On Tuesday morning his father suggested that they go to Newport on Wednesday morning, as he wanted to buy a suit and hat and shoes to wear to the Memorial services at Liverpool on Sunday, May 28 and on Tuesday, May 30. As planned, they went to Newport on Wednesday morning and after making the purchases, and were about to part to go in different directions to their homes, and as his father said “Good Bye” to his boy he remarked, he would wear his new clothes to the memorial services, neither thinking that the time was so near at hand when he should answer the final “roll call” and be numbered among those whose graves would be strewn with flowers, by his few surviving comrades on that day.

Mr. Hebel was born near Liverpool Perry County, Pa., March 19th, 1843. He was the son of George and Rosanna (Matchet) Hebel, natives of Lancaster and Dauphin Counties. The early part of his life was spent in working as a millwright with his father. He was eighteen years old when the Civil War broke out and at once enlisted in the service of his country in Co. B, 7th Penna. Reserves, being organized at Liverpool by Capt. G.K. Shull and after serving in this regiment and company for some time was transferred to the “Old Bucktails” and at the expiration of his 3 year enlistment re-enlisted, for three years more, or until the close of the war. He took part in nearly all the important battles between the Army of the Potomac and the Confederate forces under command of Robert E. Lee, from the first battle of Bull Run to Appomattox. Then took part in the Grand Review at Washington, D.C. Then went to Harrisburg where he was honorably discharged from the United States Service, July 5th, 1865, after having served his country over four years, in its most trying hours.

He then returned to his home in Perry County, but in December of the same year, came to Clearfield, where he learned the carpenter trade under Ezra Ale. During the spring of 1867 he was united in marriage to Miss Charlotte Deis, and moved to Luthersburg, where he followed his trade, farming and lumbering until October 1897 when he was appointed and assumed the position of post master. He resigned that position April, 1906 and moved to Curwensville where his wife died on the 19th of December 1907. He then returned to Perry county and purchased forty acres of land in Hunter’s Valley, near the place of his birth, and about midway between Newport and Liverpool, where he lived during the summer and spent the winter with his four surviving children, Alfred M. of Osceola Mills, Mrs. Mary Freedline of Bell Township near Mahaffey, Clearfield County, Pa., Mrs. C.U. Downs of Kansas City, Mo and Warren L. of Harrisburg, Pa. He is also survived by nine grandchildren.

His Body was taken to Osceola Mills to the home of his son Alfred, on Saturday evening at which place funeral services were held Sunday afternoon at 4:30 o’clock, conducted by Rev. J.W. Shillington of the M.E. Church. On Monday morning the body was taken to Luthersburg where it was laid to rest beside that of his wife and deceased children.

Mr. Hebel was a kind and affectionate father and was dearly loved by his children. He was a member of the Methodist Episcopal church from the time he first moved to Luthersburg until he returned to Perry County, where he associated himself with the church he attended as a boy and was regular in attendance at services until his advanced age made it almost impossible for him to walk the six miles to the church and back.

Clearfield Progress (Clearfield, Pennsylvania) Jun 2, 1922

AGED CIVIL WAR VETERAN DIES

Eugene H. Stone Was Nearly One Hundred Two Years Old.

Eugene H. Stone, of near Wellsboro, civil war veteran, died at the Soldiers’ Facility, Bath, N.Y., Thurdays afternoon, Sept. 2, after a long illness.

There is now only one civil war veteran living in Tioga county, John Eldridge Harvey, aged 101, of Westfield.

Mr. Stone was a half-brother of the late William A. Stone, a former governor of Pennsylvania. He was born in Delmar, Jan. 31, 1842, son of Israel and Abbie Stone. At the age of 19 in August, 1861, he enlisted with Co. E, 42nd Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry, known as the Bucktails.

Mr. Stone was captured July 22, 1862, at the battle of Mechanicsville, after being in the battles of South Mountain and Antietam. He was held prisoner at Libby and Belle Isle Prisons 40 days, when he was exchanged and rejoined his regiment. He was mustered out Aug. 7, 1864, at Petersburg, Va.

On Nov. 9, 1864, he married Sarah Francis, daughter of Ephraim Francis, of Charleston. For six years they resided on his parents’ farm and then he purchased adjoining farms in Shippen and Delmar townships.

He went to Pawnee county, Kans., where he took up 160 acres of government land. Three years later he returned to Tioga county.

He served as school director and Shippen township Supervisor, was a member of the Masons and the Grange.

The funeral was held Saturday at the Johnson Funeral Home in Wellsboro, Rev. C.W. Sheriff officiating’; burial in the West Branch cemetery.

Mr. Stone is survived by a son, Fred A. stone, of Ansonia; two daughters, Mrs. Hobart Maynard and Mrs. Rankin Stermer, of Wellboro, R.D.; five grandchildren and 12 great-grandchildren.

The first three “Bucktail” companies were organized by Thomas L. Kane at Smethport, McKean county, in April, 1861. One volunteer, seeing a deer suspended in front of a market, cut off the buck’s tail and stuck it in his hat and when he enlisted the name “Bucktail” was adopted.

The Tioga county contingent was organized in early May, 1861, by R.C. Cocks, of Liberty, afterward Colonel of the 207th Regiment of Pennsylvania Volunteers and later advanced to Brigadier General, in answer to President Lincoln’s call for 75,000 men.

The Wellsboro regiment was commanded by Alanson [E.] Niles. This troop, with four others, marched overland to Troy and took the Northern Central Railroad to Harrisburg, announcing the arrival at the state capitol by a salvo of musketry. The contingent became Co. E, First Pennsylvania Rifle Regiment, and entered active service.

Mr. Stone participated in many of the principal battles of the war. He had three brothers in the Union forces. One was a member of his own company. All returned to their homes at the close of the war.

Of adult population of 6,000, 2,000 Tioga county men enlisted in the civil war and 445 never came back, a record equaled by only one other county in the union in proportion to population.

Wellsboro Agitator (Wellboro, Pennsylvania) Sep 8, 1943

Are Your Clocks Fast? Set ‘Em Back!

November 7, 2010

What Time Is It At Your House Today?

By GEORGE TAYLOR

If the phrase “time change” doesn’t remind you of a certain biannual ritual that you attended to last night, then it is time to put down the paper and call the time number on the telephone.

You may have already lost an hour of sleep or, if you are a post-church newspaper reader, you may have arrived at church an hour early.

Just for the record, this morning at 2 a.m. most of the nation went back on Standard Time.

If you didn’t set your clocks back last night or this morning then all you need to do is subtract one hour from the time. For example, if your clock says it is 8 a.m., then set it for 7 a.m.

Of course this can be done by turning it back an hour or ahead 11 hours. Now, in the event you happen to miss the number the first time around, you can correct the error by continuing and setting it back one hour plus any multiple of twelve or by setting it ahead 11 hours plus any multiple of twelve.

For those who are confused at this point, it may help to know that there are residents in 46 other states who are equally confused.

Since the Uniform Time Act of 1966 only Kentucky, Hawaii, Alaska and parts of Indiana in the Eastern Time Zone are being exempted.

By next year all states in the country will be making the spring change to Daylight Saving Time and the fall change back to Standard Time.

New Journal (Mansfiled, Ohio) Oct 28, 1967


From the San Antonio Light (San Antonio, Texas) Nov 21, 1883

ARE YOUR CLOCKS FAST?

Did you “oversleep” an hour this morning?

Could be, if you forgot to set your clocks back sixty minutes before retiring Saturday night. For this is the day California regains that hour lost last April when Daylight Saving Time sent into effect.

When the clock hands touched 2 this morning it really was 1 o’clock, Pacific Standard Time. The lost hour was regained — until next spring.

Independent Press Telegram (Long Beach, California) Oct 25, 1964


They must have had quite a few heavy drinkers and slackers  living in New Hampshire during the 1950s.

Set ‘Em Back

The lazy man, the tired man, or the fellow sleeping off a hangover will be in luck tonight because he can legitimately take an extra hour’s slumber.

Yep, Daylight saving time goes out the window officially at 2 a.m. Sunday morning, so don’t forget to set your clocks BACK one hour before retiring tonight.

The time change applies both in New Hampshire and across the border in Maine as well as all the other New England and northeastern states and parts of eastern Canada.

Portsmouth Herald (Portsmouth, New Hampshire) Oct 25, 1958

Retroactive Time, heh!

NEW TIME CHANGE

Don’t set your clocks back now, but wheels within wheels are turning on a bill to re-establish pre-war time for the months of November, December, January, and February. It is hard to see how it will be made retroactive for November if it should pass.

Preliminary committee hearings listened to farm representatives who are ardent proponents. The dairy man who used to start his daily schedule at four, now has to start at three to catch up with market.

Amarillo Daily News (Amarillo, Texas) Nov 26, 1943

From the Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin)  Nov 1, 1909

I am so thankful time isn’t quite as confusing as it was for the poor folks in Coshocton, Ohio, circa 1919. I think the newspaper should have had a chart to go with their explanation. My head was swimming just trying to transcribe it!

CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME, ONE HOUR SLOWER, IS STANDARD IN COSHOCTON-CO AFTER SATURD’Y

At midnight tonight Coshocton city and county goes back to central standard time on a daylight saving basis. All reference to time in these columns will be understood to mean central daylight time, which is a half hour faster than sun time, an hour faster than the pre-war central standard time, and one hour slower than the prevailing eastern daylight saving time.

Congress has apparently decided to keep the daylight saving law in force until October. When that act is repealed in October central and eastern standard time will both move back one hour. What time Coshocton-co will use then remains to be decided upon.

Central standard time on a daylight saving basis, in use in Coshocton-co after midnight tonight is one hour slower than railroad and Western Union time. Therefore, if a train is scheduled to leave Coshocton at 4:58 p.m. that train goes at 3:58 p.m. by Coshocton time.

Coshocton time is the legal time for the state of Ohio, and all state activities, including opening and closing of election polls will continue to be by central daylight saving time. This is due to the fact that a majority of Ohio territory, including the capital, is located in the central time belt.

Special attention is called to the fact that all church announcements for Sunday morning are in terms of the new time, one hour earlier by the sun, but the same hour by the clocks, which have been turned back one hour.

Coshocton Tribune (Coshocton, Ohio) Jun 7, 1919

Seth Bullock Goes to Deadwood

August 18, 2010

FROM THE BLACK HILLS.

A Newsy Letter from Seth Bullock.

Through the courtesy of Mr. Chas. Warren we are permitted to use the following letter from the well known ex-Sheriff of Lewis and Clark county:

DEADWOOD, Sept. 8, 1876.

“I arrived here August 3d, and found a “red hot” mining town, situated at a point where Deadwood empties into Whitewood. The gulches are very rich; claims are all taken, and sold at high figures. Deadwood is the best gulch so far as known. Claims are 300 feet up and down, and extend from hill top across — about as large as a ranch. The country is overdone, or rather men have come here too fast for the amount of work that can be done in one summer. A great many are here idle and broke. The Indians will not permit a man to go out side of the gulch, so that very little prospecting can be done.

Crowds arrive and leave daily. Most all the travel is by way of Cheyenne. Fare all the way from ten to thirty-five dollars; time from five to thirty days. Business of all kinds are represented. Langrishe has a theatre here, and two dance houses boom nightly. We have no law and no order, and no prospect of either. Several murders have been committed and nothing done. A night herd romes the streets at night, and whoop and shoot until morning.

Nebraska farmers peddle flour, bacon and groceries from claim to claim, which makes the grocery trade dull.

Dennee is here. “Sid Osborne” left for Montana a few days ago on biz. The country is full of Montanians. Ches. Trais arrived to-day and 106 others. Tell your friends not to come here this fall, that is, those who come to work or prospect. I cannot advise you to come; on the contrary I think you are doing better than you could here. Board here is $10 per week, flour $8 per hundred, bacon 20 cents per pound, etc., whisky 25 cents a drink. The Hills are too near the “genial influnces” for times to be here as they were in Montana in ’49 without other diggings are found. Two years will take the cream of this country. I don’t believe it is any better for farming than Montana. We have a little more rain here, and as many grasshoppers. Sol Star is here and doing fair. I am satisfied to remain for a while. I shall go east this winter if you do. We have no regular mail. A coach is expected here daily. Let me hear from you with the Montana news.

Your friend,

SETH BULLOCK.

Butte Miner (Butte, Montana) Oct 3, 1876

Seth Bullock Has Him In Charge.

DEADWOOD, August 26. Three road agents who have been plying their vocation on the Cheyenne stage route were arrested and jailed here this evening. They came into town yesterday morning and were spotted by the Sheriff and his deputies. The arrests were made this evening. One of the robbers resisted arrest, drawing a revolver and shooting Officer May through the arm, The fire was returned, but the desperado succeeded in getting to his horse and started over the hills. The horse was killed by a rifle shot, and before the robber could recover himself from the fall Sheriff Bullock closed with and easily overcame him, as he had been shot through the body and was weak from loss of blood. The wound is probably fatal.

The Helena Independent (Helena, Montana) Aug 28, 1877

In the contest for the office of Sheriff of the Black Hills, between Seth Bullock and John Manning, both old Montanians, the latter was victorious. The entire Democratic ticket was elected by handsome majorities. Doc Carter ran on the People’s ticket for County Recorder and got left out in the cold.

The Helena Independent (Helena, Montana) Nov 21, 1877

Seth Bullock, Capt. Hazerodt and J.F. Mckenna are the Republican, and John Manning, Jeff McDermott and W.H. Stittwell the Democratic aspirants for the office of Sheriff in Lawrence county, Dakota.

The Helena Independent (Helena, Montana) Oct 1, 1878

Montanians Seeking Office.

The Black Hills people appear to take a good deal of stock in Montanians, as they nominate them for all the important offices. Those who were formerly residents of Helena and candidates on the Democratic ticket, are: John Manning, for Sheriff; Geo. Felix Ingram for Assessor, and Frank Abt for County Commissioner. The Republicans have nominated Seth Bullock for Sheriff and James Carney for Treasurer.

The Helena Independent (Helena, Montana) Nov 2, 1878

Seth Bullock, an old-time sheriff of Lewis and Clarke county, arrived in the city last Sunday from the Black Hills, where he is extensively engaged in business. He received a perfect ovation from his many friends here.

The Helena Independent (Helena, Montana) May 23, 1882

Deadwood Dotlets.

Special to the Globe.

DEADWOOD, Dak., June 6. — It was announced yesterday that the Fremont, Elkhorn & Missouri Valley railroad, the track of which is now laid within fifty miles of Rapid City, would build north and west to a point near Fort Meade this summer. This will bring the railroad within fifteen miles of Deadwood…

The Electric Light company will start up this evening, after two weeks idleness. The company had been reorganized and the works will be moved from the present location on Sherman street to Upper Main street …

Judge Church of the district court on Monday denied an injunction to F.W. Hamilton et al. against Seth Bullock and others who are in possession of the Hattenbach smelter and water right at the carbonate camp. The decision was received with general rejoicing here as it was feared that had the decision been otherwise work would be stopped on the Iron Hill for some years, as the Hattenbach water right affords the only water at present available for working the Iron Hill mill…

The annual meeting of the Iron Hill stockholders was held in this city yesterday, who re-elected the old board of directors. A monthly dividend of 5 cents per share was declared….

The grand lodge of Knights of Pythias will meet at Rapid City on the 15th inst. The knights of the hills are determined to make this session of the grand lodge a memorable one, and large delegation will attend from Deadwood, Central City and Lead City.

St. Paul Globe (St. Paul, Minnesota) Jun 7, 1886

A new faction is to appear in the Watertown convention from the Black Hills, designated as the Bullwumps. It will appear as a contesting force, nominally for SETH BULLOCK, but ready to trade with any faction that will give them a show for seats. The name is, of course, derived from that of the leader. There are two or three other lots of contestants that will tend to enliven matters at Watertown.

St. Paul Daily Globe (St. Paul, Minnesota) Aug 18, 1888

DEADWOOD NIPPINGS.

Judge Palmer Was Wired as the Proxy of the Hills at Huron.

DEADWOOD, Dak., Jan. 18. — “We, the people of Lawrence county,” met at the city hall Tuesday afternoon the 13th, and elected twenty-two delegates to attend the Huron convention. An obscure call appeared in the morning papers of the same morning, and before those papers appeared in the outside precincts, the “mass” convention had met, resoluted and adjourned. It is well said that Dakota holds more conventions than any other state in the Unions, but in Lawrence county they can  call and hold a mass meeting of the citizens of the county in less time than it takes to tell. The one held on the 15th was remarkable in that it was conceived, called, held and over with in less than ten hours, and the county is larger than the state of Rhode Island. The total number present at this “we, the people” was five, consisting of Messrs. G.G. Bennett, Seth Bullock, Samuel Cushman, Ploughman and Church. Several newspaper representatives were also present.

Twenty-two delegates were chosen, comprising what is known as the Mugwump element of the county and a few others, and the proxies of the entire delegation were telegraphed to Judge Palmer.

Resolutions were also telegraphed favoring division and admission and a new constitutional convention for South Dakota, and strongly urging a new election of officers.

St. Paul Daily Globe (St. Paul, Minnesota) Jan 19, 1889

ENERGY’S LIBERAL REWARD

The Gates of Mineral Edens Yield to Hard, Persistent Knocks.

A SKETCH OF ENTERPRISE IN THE BLACK HILL
[Excerpt]

The Black Hills.

DEADWOOD, S.D., Aug. 27. — Correspondence of THE BEE. — The Bald mountain and Ruby Basin mining districts of the Black Hills which are just now attracting more attention perhaps, than any other gold and silver mining districts in the United States, lay some eight miles north of Deadwood, in Laurence county. The districts are some four miles long by three miles wide and are remarkable for the great number of deposits of pay ore that have been brought into sight by a minimum amount of development. The ore which is silicious, occurs in blanket veins, from three to twenty-five feet thick, and from ten to eight feet wide, as in the Golden Reward, and ranges in value from $18 per ton upwards into the hundreds. The general average being about $30….

With a courage and determination admirable, when the many difficulties standing in the way, and the long line of misfortunes by which all previous efforts had been met, are contemplated Mr. Franklin and the gentlemen associated with him, refused to abandon the purpose they had in view, and lost no time in looking about for some other process. The Newberry-Vautin chlorination method was just then attracting attention in the United States, as well as in Australia. The company had a small plant in Denver, and thereto Messrs. Franklin, Bullock and C.W. Carpenter went.

Several weeks were spent studying the process, the gentlemen returning to Deadwood satisfied that while as operated at Denver it was not practical for Black Hills ores, it was susceptible to change and modifications, which would excellently adapt it to the peculiarities of the Hills. So many failures had characterized the effort to treat these ores that when approached for subscriptions toward building another plant, a majority refused having anything to do with the project. The burden, therefore, fell on some eight or ten, most prominent among them being Harris Franklin, his business partner Ben Baer, Seth Bullock, Colonel C.W. Carpenter and George C. Hickok.

These gentlemen organized a corporation under the name of “Golden Reward Chlorination works,” and at once began building a plant. Warned by other failures they started on a small scale, the works at first having a capacity of only thirty tons per day. The first run was not a brilliant success. Nothing daunted the gentlemen continued putting money in, and some seven or eight months later were able to positively announce that the difficulty has at length been solved, that the chlorination process, as operated by them, was an absolute success in saving every cent of gold contained in the ore, and that the operation of Bald Mountain and Ruby Basin mines to a profit was not only possible, but probable and practicable.

The next four months’ operations of the plant proved conclusively all they had claimed for it. Capacity was doubled and the plant has been kept continually busy on ore from the Golden Reward mine, turning out bullion at the rate of $30,000 to $33,000 per month. It is not claimed for this process, however, that it will save any silver the ore may contain, and as a good many of the silicious deposits referred to carry silver in value ranging from $8 ot $30 per ton (Golden Reward ore carried from $1 to $3 silver only), in addition to the gold, it became necessary to devise a method for saving the silver.

At the Golden Reward plant the cost of treatment is something under $5 per ton for gold alone, and experiments made proved that by adding vats and resort to lixiviation the silver could be saved for an additional cost of $2 per ton. The ore of this particular mine carries so little silver, however, that it has not been deemed advisable to put in the additional machinery necessary to save it.

About the time Mr. Franklin and associates completed this chlorination plant, Dr. Franklin R. Carpenter, then dean of the Dakota school of mines, who had given close study to Ruby Basin and Bald Mountain ores, and who had some months previously published an article in the Rapid Republican, advocating their treatment by pyritic smelting, made a series of successful experiments with the process at the school of mines laboratory. At some of these experiments Seth Bullock, then president of the Iron Hill mining company, and the late J.K.P. Miller, of Deadwood, were present. The gentlemen were both convinced that the process was an absolute success, and returned with that idea firmly fixed in their minds. Mr. Bullock shortly afterward determined on a practical test at the Iron Hill. The result is concisely told in the following clipping from the Black Hills Times of January 1, 1890.

“The first practical test of the pyrite scheme was made by Seth Bullock at the Iron Hill, when the basic ores of the mine were mixed with the dry gold-silver ores of Ruby Basin and pyrite from Galena, also carrying a little gold and silver, thus modifying but very slightly the process as usually practiced. The process was a gratifying success as demonstrated by the treatment of over 400 tons of ore. Two runs were made — thorough test of eight days continuance, the only change necessary to the smelter being the filling of the lead well. The proportions of a charge cannot be stated more definitely than that from fifteen to twenty per cent of pyrites is an ingredient with Iron Hill and Ruby ores and lime, effecting a concentration of ten tons into one and giving an absolute clean slug.”…

Omaha Daily Bee (Omaha, Nebraska) Aug 30, 1891

Seth Bullock of Deadwood will write a book entitled, “Twenty Years in the Territories.” Its subject matter will touch on the doings of vigilants of Montana, the horse thieves of Nebraska and the stage robbers of the Black Hills.

Omaha Daily Bee (Omaha, Nebraska) Jul 10, 1893

HERE IN UP-TO-DATE GUISE

FRONTIERSMAN SETH BULLOCK VISITS ST. PAUL

Was One of the Civilizers of Montana and the Black Hills Region — As the First Sheriff of the Black Hills He Put to Death Many of the Desperadoes of the Frontier.

Seth Bullock, a frontiersman, who assisted in the civilization of Montana and the Black Hills region, by sending innumerable desperadoes over the great divide via the pistol route and the hangman’s noose, is visiting the Twin Cities in the thoroughly up-to-date guise of a promoter for the Belle Fourche Smelting and Refining company, of the Black Hills.

Mr. Bullock formerly owned the land being worked by the Belle Fourche company, and now that his former occupation of sheriff, vigilante and Indian fighter is gone, he is engaged in furthering the mining interests of the section where he passed through so many dangers and thrilling experiences.

As the first sheriff of the Black Hills, Seth Bullock was a peace officer feared by the desperadoes of the hills. His determination to do his duty, coupled with indomitable courage, led him to relentlessly pursue evil doers, and when the “bad” men found Bullock on their tracks they knew justice would be meted out to them.

While never taking life needlessly, Seth Bullock says he has been forced to kill so many tough characters that he has lost actual count of the notches on the butts of his “shooting irons.”

Sometimes, when accompanying a valuable consignment of bullion overland, Mr. Bullock was obliged to distribute the contents of his Winchester rifle among half a dozen bandits who attempted to hold up the stage. The stage seldom stopped to get a list of the dead and wounded from the robbers, so Mr. Bullock does not know just how many he killed in these “sorties.” On one occasion, however, while the stage which he was carrying through traveled a small canyon sixty miles from Deadwood, four knights of the road undertook to appropriate the treasure aboard, but a series of rapid shots from Bullock’s rifle eliminated all danger and annihilated the robbers.

Mr. Bullock made his reputation as chairman of the 3-7-77 vigilance committee, of Helena, Mont., before he went into the Black Hills. There was a great deal of work for the vigilantes in those days, and very frequently the figures 3-7-77, meaning a meeting of the committee was to be held that night, could be seen chalked about the street.

In the secret conclaves Bullock presided over the deliberations of men as sternly bent on exterminating lawlessness as himself, and when it was decided that any particularly tough character was due, he was soon captured. The vigilance committee did not execute the criminals, but turned them over to the courts.

In 1872 Bullock was elected sheriff and during four years of service hung many criminals. He was quite a monopolist as regarded the hanging function as was indicated on one occasion when lynch law was about to be invoked in the case of two men arrested for train robbing.

The vigilantes wanted to string the prisoners up without ceremony. Seth reckoned as how he would attend to the hanging himself and proceeded to execute the robbers.

“You are a d–m monopolist,” said one of the vigilantes, “you want to do all of the hanging yourself.”

Mr. Bullock was a personal friend of Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill, with whom he was at times closely associated. Seth liked Wild Bill, and though McCall killed many men, Seth thinks he was justified in many cases.

When the gold discoveries were made in the Black Hill Seth Bullock and a party of friends went with the rush to this section. It was a lawless country, where murders and robbery were the order of the day. Outlawry became so rampant that Bullock was prevailed upon to accept the office of sheriff in the hills as he had done in Helena. His election gave the Black Hills country its first sheriff, and as such Bullock’s name struck terror to the hearts of evil doers.

It was here that he did most of his Indian fighting. The troublesome Sioux of Sitting Bull made border life extremely dangerous, and when the general uprising, which resulted in the terrible Custer massacre, threatened the extermination of white settlers, it was Seth Bullock who offered to put down the red skins. Bullock had been appointed adjutant general of the territory and wired Gov. Pennington the following message:

“The Indians are still massacreing our people in Spear Fish and Belle Fourche valleys. I advise that you permit me to take my troops down and kill the agents at Pine Ridge, Cheyenne and Standing Rock. This will stop the Indian trouble.”

Gov. Pennington telegraphed in reply: “Better wait awhile, Seth.”

Mr. Bullock says his plan was somewhat unusual, but declares it was a solution of the problem, as he charges the Indian agents with the responsibility of the uprisings.
In appearance Seth Bullock is the typical frontiersman, with one exception. He has never worn his hair long, as is characteristic of most Western notables. Fully six feet tall, straight as an arrow, with a muscular figure and aquiline features, he appears a splendid type of physical manhood. His blue-gray eyes are a noticeable feature.

Sparkling with subdued fire, they are kindly in expression, but bespeak the “flinty” look of the yellowback novel, should the owner become aroused.

Since it has become safe to live in the Black Hills, Mr. Bullock has undertaken the development of rich gold property which came into his possession. Several Twin city capitalists are associated with him in business. Mr. Bullock declares the Black Hills district is the richest gold producing country in the world. Last year the output, he says, was $10,000,000, and that of the year before $8,000,000, and all of this wealth, Mr. Bullock says, came from a district within a ten-mile radius of Deadwood.

The mining in this section is all quartz mining, Mr. Bullock says, and the claims owned by large companies, who operate huge smelters for extracting the precious yellow metal, the largest smelter in the world, he says, being at Deadwood. Mr. Bullock says few people realize the richness of the Black Hills gold region.

The Saint Paul Globe (St. Paul, Minnesota) Mar 25, 1898

Enlisting Rough Riders.

DEADWOOD, S.D., May 4. — (Special Telegram.) — The appointment of Seth Bullock as a captain in the regiment of cavalry which Attorney General Grigsby has been authorized to raise has created much enthusiasm in this and other adjoining counties of the Black Hills. As soon as his appointment was telegraphed him Mr. Bullock sent runners to every cow camp in the Black Hills and has now enrolled in his command over 400 of the best shots and most fearless riders in the world, all of whom are ready for service in Cuba or the Philippines.

Omaha Daily Bee (Omaha, Nebraska) May 5, 1898

Grigsby’s Rough Riders.

The daily reports of the surgeons show that the health of the camp is improving.

The Rough Riders were mustered in yesterday morning and will probably receive their pay today. Several of the officers left camp to obtain signatures of those who are sick, so they can draw their pay.

The troop commanded by Captain Bullock has been pronounced the healthiest body of men in the regiment….

The camp of Colonel Grigsby’s cowboys was moved yesterday from the location where they have been camped since their arrival at the park, to the Brotherton field, east of the First Illinois cavalry. Lieutenant Colonel Lloyd, who is in command of the cowboys, is well pleased with the new location and thinks the change will prove beneficial to the health of the regiment….

A general court-martial has been appointed and ordered to be convened at the brigade headquarters by Assistant Adjutant General William E. Almy. The following are the members of the court-martial: Major L.H. French of the cowboys and Major Frank B. Alsip of the First Illinois cavalry and Captains Seth Bullock, J.B. Binder, C.E. Gregory and J.T. Brown of the cowboy regiment…A large number of cases will be tried by the court.

Omaha Daily Bee (Omaha, Nebraska) Aug 4, 1898

Captain Bullock Convalescing.

DEADWOOD, S.D. Sept. 26. — (Special) — Captain Seth Bullock of Grigsby’s regiment had been dangerously ill in this city with malarial fever, which was contracted in Camp Thomas. He is slowly recovering.

Omaha Daily Bee (Omaha, Nebraska) Sep 27, 1898

TO THE FOREST RANGERS.

A Circular Issued by Seth Bullock, of Deadwood.

The manner in which the great timber preserves of the Northwest are protected against fires and the ravages of outlaw timber cutters is illustrated in a circular letter just issued by Seth Bullock, of Deadwood, S.D., one of the most energetic forest supervisors in the country. Mr. Bullock was sheriff in Deadwood when that town was infested by the most lawless element of the West. His decisive actions resulted in the establishment of law and order. Under his regime ugly characters learned to give Deadwood a wide berth.

President Roosevelt, while operating a ranch at Medora, was one of Mr. Bullock’s deputies. The circular issued by Mr. Bullock is addressed to the Forest Rangers, and is as follows:

“To Forest Rangers, Black Hill Forest Reserve.

“Sirs: Your attention is called to the fact that in a number of instances the monthly reports of the forest rangers of this Reserve show but a few miles traveled per day while patrolling their districts. From two to ten miles frequently appears as all that is accomplished, no other work being undertaken or reported as having been performed.

“You are advised that a forest ranger is supposed to patrol his district on horseback, and that the patrolling of districts on foot will not be permitted. A few monthly reports — very few, I am glad to say — indicate that that particular ranger performs as little service as he can during the month, just enough to have his report approved and escape censure. Rangers of this class must not be disappointed if they are furloughed this fall, and an additional leave of absence granted them next summer. Shiftless, careless work will not be tolerated in the future. An honest day’s work honestly performed is what is required and will be insisted upon.

“You are expected to thoroughly patrol your district, getting to every part of it at least once a month, familiarizing yourselves with every trail and every road upon or through it; by whom and for what purpose they are used. You should also know the name and occupation of every resident of your district temporary as well as permanent, and ascertain by what right they are upon the reserve and what their business it. An especial and vigilant watch must be kept for forest fires. Visit often the places frequented by campers as they are a prolific source of fires. Establish correspondence at various points within your district with persons  residing therein who will keep you advised of forest fires and depredations, either on the forest reserve or on the public lands near by.

“See that the forest fire notices are put up and maintained upon all the public roads and trails of your district. Report all cases of fire and trespass as soon as you have knowledge of them. In all your intercourse with the public extend such treatment that every honest man within your district shall be your personal friend. Very respectfully,

“SETH BULLOCK.

“Forest Supervisor.”

The Evening Times (Washington, D.C.) Oct 12, 1901

BORDER MAN IS GUEST AT WHITE HOUSE

Seth Bullock See the President Daily.

Former Sheriff of Deadwood Warmly Welcomed.

Tells of Mr. Roosevelt’s Career in the Black Hills Country.

Special Dispatch to the Call.

CALL BUREAU, 1406 G STREET. N.W. WASHINGTON, Feb. 28. —

“Have you met Seth Bullock yet?” asked President Roosevelt of a caller to-day. “He comes from Deadwood and is about as fine a type of the real man as you will find in the Western country. He used to be a neighbor of mine.”

Seth Bullock of Deadwood, formerly a Black Hills Sheriff, has been a guest at the White House several times during the last week at luncheons and once or twice at dinner.

He has had a horseback rid or two with the President and last Thursday, mounted on one of the best horses in the White House stables, he and little “Archie” Roosevelt, mounted on his spotted pony, took a long ride over the country roads of Maryland.

Mr. Bullock, or “Captain” Bullock, as he is called, is supervisor of the national forest reserve in the Black Hills, which comprises a stretch of woodland 100 miles long and fifty wide. He is the commanding officer of twenty or thirty forest rangers.

This friend of the President is as straight as one of the pines in his native State of Michigan. He is six feet tall and as spare as a trained runner. He has the eagle nose of the fighter and eagle eye of a man who does not know what it is to flinch. He has a sandy moustache and a full head of hair that has dodged the Indian scalping knife a half dozen times. He was a born adventurer, because when 14 years of age he followed his five older brothers into the army and enlisted as a drummer boy.

“I have known the President for a good many years. I knew him first when he took up his ranch on the Little Missouri,” said he to-day. “It didn’t take the neighbors of Mr. Roosevelt very long to find out that, although he was from the East and a bit near-sighted, he was just as able to take care of himself as any of us who had been out there since the first stampede to the Black Hills, and he was ready to do his part, too. When cattle thieves came out of the Black Hole, he took his share of work in bringing them to justice, and when he had to be made a deputy Sheriff and was asked to go after a couple of desperadoes down in the river bottom he always went and he always brought them back.”

The San Francisco Call ( San Francisco, California) Mar 1, 1903

LOVELY SPURS FOR ARCHIE ROOSEVELT

President’s Son Gets Keepsake From Capt. Seth Bullock.

DEADWOOD, S.D., June 9. — Capt. Seth Bullock, of Deadwood, has ordered as a present for Archie Roosevelt, third son of the president, a handsome pair of cowboy spurs, made on a special order. They were procured for Capt. Bullock by Edward McDonald, mayor of Deadwood, who is a saddler. They are hand made and represent the highest skill of forging and finishing.

They are of the regulation cowboy type with drop shank, large rowells and locks with wide hand-stamped Russia leather and gold conchas. The spurs are silver mounted and chased with an artistic design. The boy for whom they are intended rode much with Capt. Bullock when the latter was in Washington.

The Saint Paul Globe (St. Paul, Minnesota) Jun 10, 1903

SETH BULLOCK IN WASHINGTON

ROOSEVELT’S OLD BAD LANDS FRIEND LUNCHES WITH HIM.

Doesn’t Like to Talk About the Days When He Was a Terror to Evildoers in Deadwood — More Interested in Forestry — Punctures the Calamity Jane Myth.

WASHINGTON, April 9. — Seth Bullock is making his annual visit to Washington. It is the same Seth Bullock, who, as the first Sheriff of Deadwood, was a terror to law breakers all over the Black Hills region and officiated at some half a dozen more or less impromptu executions of horse thieves and bad men. But in one way he has changed.

To his old comrade and friend, Theodore Roosevelt, and to his other companions of the old days on the Little Missouri, he is the same always. But to strangers who would fain converse about the dime novel exploits of his comrades and himself on the frontier he is simply a plain American citizen, quietly plodding paths of peace, and a little surprised, and even grieved, when the conversation is turned to such subjects as the early days of Deadwood and the exploits of Corral Charlie and Calamity Jane.

And so it happens that the conversation soon reverts to the affairs of the Black Hills Forest Reserve, of which Mr. Bullock is the Federal superintendent, and to the glories of President Roosevelt’s Administration and to Roosevelt’s peerless virtues as a gentleman and a scholar. Not even Jacob Riis is a more ardent admirer of Mr. Roosevelt than is Seth Bullock.

He knew Roosevelt when Roosevelt was a plainsman, and it is his proud assertion that his old friend of the Bad Lands hasn’t changed a bit since he was elevated to the highest place in the nation. He took luncheon with the President at the White House the other day, and they swapped stories of the old days, and seriously discussed affairs of State and of the Black Hills Forest Reserve.

Last year he was the President’s guest at the White House, and he attended some of the largest of the State entertainments. He is quite at home in polite society, and except as a man of muscular build and the possessor of a rather fierce looking, melodrama villain’s mustache, would not attract special notice from casual observers.

To some intimates he did remark that the Marine Band played fine music, but that it was pretty far up the gulch for him; and he wished they would play “There’ll Be A Hot Time” and a few similar pieces more to his liking.

Bullock’s saddle gait and his sun tanned skin give him the look of a plainsman, or at least of a man accustomed to a vigorous outdoor life. The only article of apparel that suggests his habitat is a sombrero of the Montana peak variety, but he remarked to a friend who admired his that:

“Why, I’ve seen more hats almost like this in Washington to-day than you’d see in Deadwood in a week.”

To a reporter who called on him Mr. Bullock said smilingly that he didn’t propose to talk about Deadwood as it was, nor to discuss Calamity Jane, Corral Charlie, Arizona Ike or any other of the Western celebrities with whom he came into more or less forcible contact when he was Sheriff of Deadwood in the palmy days of the Black Hills gold excitement.

“The West, including Deadwood, is civilized now,” he said, “and I am sure there is more genuine interest in its present and future development and in the irrigation and forest reserve problems than in discussing the more or less notorious characters of the early days who have been lifted from their actual level in real life to a much higher plane in the realm of fiction.

“And I must say that I grow sorrier and sorrier every day to think that I was ever Sheriff of Deadwood. I am perfectly willing to discuss the Black Hills Forest Reserve by the hour, for it is a good work and an important work and a work in which any one might well take an interest. But I have found that when I meet a man who looks as if he wanted to ask questions and am priming myself to give him statistics of the population of Deadwood, and describe the trolley cars that run through the streets of that hustling little town, he usually begins by saying in a coaxing voice:

“‘Mr. Sheriff, is it true that you have killed forty-seven men?’

“That may appear as a joke to some people, but it is far from being one. Last year when I came to Washington and had been in town for half a day or so, I was somewhat surprised that no newspaper men came to interview me. You see, I have become rather used to the process.

“But in this case it seemed that personal interviews were not necessary, for when I read the papers the next morning I found various delightfully interesting and accurate accounts of the life of ‘The Sheriff of Deadwood,’ ‘The Conqueror of Deadwood Dick,’ ‘The Terror of South Dakota,’ ‘The Man With Sixteen Notches on His Gun Butt,’ and a lot of other things that make a man feel tired.

“The only way that I can figure it out is just that only two men I ever did send over the range — and they were worthless and deserved it — have been drawing compound interest all these years. At any rate, all that sort of thing is, to put it mildly, disagreeable. I don’t like it and my family and friends don’t like it.

“I am down here in Washington just now,” said Mr. Bullock in answer to a question, “on official business. There are some matters in connection with the forest reserve on which I wanted to consult the officials of the General Land Office.

“It is quite a change to be here in Washington, and I like it. When I am home, as Superintendent of the Black Hills Reserve I spend about half the time in the saddle, and of course it grows tiresome at times. You see, I have only fourteen men under me in the winter and between twenty-five and thirty in the summer, and it keeps us pretty busy patrolling a tract seventy miles long and forty wide, and containing about a million and a half acres of timber land.

“But our work is well repaid, for we have not had a forest fire of any size in the reservation since I became superintendent, and the timber is reproducing itself. Just as much timber is being cut as ever, but the careful supervision exercised over the tract and the cutting of timber under observation have resulted in reproduction, and if the same course is followed there will be just as much timber on the land fifty or one hundred years from now as there is as present.”

“I guess those were swift old days in Deadwood during the Black Hills excitement,” remarked the reporter reflectively.

“Oh, shucks!” said Mr. Bullock in disgust, “you’re just like all the rest. I thought I had you switched on to the forest reserve proposition, and I’ll bet you haven’t even been listening, but just waiting to spring that question.

“I don’t want to talk about those times, though I’ll admit they were strenuous; but I will say that just about as much fiction has been printed about one of the so-called famous characters of those times as there has about me. It is of a different kind, though, I trust.

“I mean Calamity Jane. Calamity Jane never was a scout and she never did any of the thousand and one wonderful things she’s been credited with doing.

“She started out once in her buckskin as a mule driver with an expedition that was going out after the Indians, but the commander discovered before very long that she was a woman and left her at Fort Laramie.

“There was a newspaper correspondent there who had started with the detachment, but got sick with mountain fever.

“Calamity Jane nursed him back to life, and he was so grateful that he gave her a reputation in fiction that she certainly never possessed in real life.

“And that’s about all of Deadwood — the old Deadwood — for today. Want to know anything more about the Black Hills Forest Reserve?”

The Sun (New York, New York) Apr 10, 1904

LIKENS CONVENTION TO FUNERAL DIRGE

Western Admirer of Roosevelt Deprecates Lack of Noise, Music and Enthusiasm.

BLAMES EASTERN DELEGATION

Seth Bullock, First Sheriff of Deadwood, Says if the President Were Present Things Would Be Run With a Whoop and a Bang.

REPUBLIC SPECIAL.
Chicago, June 21. — Seth Bullock of Deadwood, S.D. says:

“It’s too blame slow.”

Of Seth Bullock, President Roosevelt once said to the writer: “Have you seen Seth Bullock in town to-day? He is about as fine a type of man as this country produces.”

He was the first Sheriff of Deadwood, and is now Captain of the Black Hills Rangers. He can ride fast and shoot straight. He came here to see “his friend Theodore” nominated in a whirlwind of Black Hills excitement — a slap, a dash, a whoop and a bang. He is disappointed and does not hesitate to so express himself.

“Why, you New York fellows,” said he to-day, “are regular clams. We have got mosquitoes out in Deadwood that would create more enthusiasm than the entire New York delegation. Looks to me as if they were from the Jersey flats. No bands, no whooping and cheering and very little hand-clapping. Why, it’s as cold as Alaska, and I don’t like it.”

Captain Seth Bullock’s duty is to protect the forest reserve. So it happens that he is another of the Federal officeholders attending the convention. He is accustomed to seeing things done quickly and with enthusiasm.

“I must confess,” said Mr. Bullock, “that I am surprised at all this. If Mr. Roosevelt were only here himself you’d see things whooped up. We are for him out in the West good and hard. I’d like to see more noise about his nomination. We men out West are not gaited that way. Why, I saw hardly a smile on the New York delegation during the entire proceedings at the convention to-day, and when Mr. Root mentioned Mr. Roosevelt’s name at the end of his speech it was our fellows from the West who made the noise. And Mr. Roosevelt is a Republican, come from New York, and from Manhattan Island.”

“How many conventions have you attended?” was asked.

“My first was in 1880, right in this city, when Garfield was nominated. I was one of the original 306 Grant men, and I stuck to him to the finish. Grant was a sort of Roosevelt man, and we liked him out in the West for what he was and what he did. But when Garfield was finally nominated we whooped it up for the ticket just the same, because we were good Republicans.

“Why, there was more hollering in that convention in one minute than I have heard all the time since I’ve been in Chicago. That’s the way to nominate a man. Why, in those days the bands played all night. Now they don’t play in the daytime, or, if they do, it’s something like a dirge. And then I came to the convention here in 1888, which nominated ‘Ben’ Harrison. There was noise then, too, and, although General Harrison was not a man to inspire a great deal of hollering, yet we produced the goods. That’s why this convention seems so tame to me.”

“What are you Western Republicans going to do for Mr. Roosevelt in November?”

“Give him a corking big majority. Every State west of the Rockies will go for him strong, and I might say every Western State. But, all the same, I don’t like the way your New York crowd acts and I can’t understand it.”

And Mr. Bullock, Esq., wandered off to the cigar stand after more consolation.

The St. Louis Republic (St. Louis, Missouri) Jun 22, 1904

17 FEDERAL PRISONERS.

HEADED FROM SOUTH DAKOTA TO LEAVENWORTH.

IN CHARGE OF SETH BULLOCK

Horse Thieves, Bootleggers and a Counterfeiter Were Taken Through Here at Noon — Some of the Prisoners Were Bound in Chains.

It was a strange party of travelers that passed through Norfolk at noon bound from Deadwood, S.D., to Leavenworth, Kan., in a special car and chaperoned by a no less genial person than Seth Bullock, United States marshal for the district of South Dakota.

Seventeen federal prisoners, Indians, half breeds and criminal whites, formed one of the largest parties of convicts that have ever been transported through Norfolk. Federal court has been in session at Deadwood and the travelers through Norfolk represented the convictions ground out by the federal mill of justice.

There were no “bad men” in the bunch, just ordinary law smashers of the reservation variety. Here are the statistics of the party: seven horse thieves, seven boot leggers, two white sellers of whisky to the noble red man off the reservation, one counterfeiter.

Chains jingled from the limbs of a few of the prisoners but for the most part the South Dakota collection of criminals were simply under the watchful eyes of Marshal Bullock and his four guards.

Two nights and nearly two days is spent in the long trip across Nebraska to the federal prison at Leavenworth where federal convicts in this section of the northwest serve their time. And any one who has ever seen Marshal Bullock, a typical westerner of the best breed of the western prairie, won’t doubt for a minute but that the long line of criminals from the South Dakota west will file into the prison doors with none of the charming bunch missing.

E.M. Mathews of Omaha, chief deputy marshal of the Nebraska district, left Norfolk on the Deadwood train for Omaha and exchanged greetings with the South Dakota official.

Seth Bullock was with Secretary of War Taft when Taft went through Norfolk this summer.

The Norfolk Weekly News-Journal (Norfolk, Nebraska) Sep 20, 1907

TWO STATESMEN’S VIEWS.

Within the past week two distinguished South Dakota statesmen have passed through Norfolk and have stopped in the new northwest’s gateway long enough to give their views on this or that. One was United States Marshal Seth Bullock of Deadwood, the other was Governor Coe I. Crawford of Pierre. And it is interesting to note the diametrically opposite views of these two statesmen regarding a question which has been uppermost in the mind of the nation for some months past — the question as to President Roosevelt’s successor.

Seth Bullock was a rough rider with Roosevelt and is one of the warmest personal friends of the president to be found in the west. Governor Crawford is likewise a staunch friend of the president’s policies in government, though not the intimate personal friend that Bullock is to the chief executive. And because both are such ardent friends and admirers of the president, their precisely opposite opinions regarding the third term question for Roosevelt is the more interesting.

Governor Crawford in Norfolk the other day declared that he is absolutely and unqualifiedly for Roosevelt for a third term, and he said that he believed that South Dakota republicans would send a delegation to the next national convention instructed to insist upon the president’s acceptance of another nomination. “We have no second choice,” said the governor, because that would be qualifying our support of the president.”

But Seth Bullock takes a different view. Seth Bullock has just come back from Washington, where he talked with President Roosevelt as a matter of course. And when shown a dispatch quoting Senator Clapp of Minnesota as declaring that the president would be compelled to accept a third term nomination, Bullock said: “I’d like to see a photograph of anyone compelling Theodore Roosevelt to accept a nomination for the presidency of the United States. The American people know that the president can’t be driven to do anything. United States senators ought to know it and if they don’t it is about time they were finding it out.”

Seth Bullock and Governor Crawford both know that the president on the night of election, November 8, 11904, in the face of an overwhelming Roosevelt landslide, declared his faith in “the wise custom which limits the president to two terms” and continued: “Under no circumstances will I be a candidate for or accept another nomination.” Apparently Seth Bullock, the personal rough-rider friend who knows Roosevelt, the man, has more faith in the latter’s integrity and sincerity than has Governor Crawford for where the one would take the president at his word and be willing to allow him to live up to the letter of his announcement, the other apparently so far doubts the absolute determination of the president to such an extent that he will seek, and with some hope of success, to persuade the president to reverse himself and take another nomination in the face of his declaration.

The general public naturally questions which of these South Dakota opinions is right when he says that the president can’t be driven to accept, or whether Crawford is right when he pins his faith to the hope that his delegation, and others like it, may influence the president to change his mind. And it might be remembered in this connection that first of all Bullock is a personal friend of the president, and is in better position to know the man’s determination and absolute integrity of purpose than the governor, who knows the president only at long range. It must also be borne in mind that Bullock, secure in his federal appointment so long as his friend Roosevelt remains at the helm, and maybe longer, is in a position to say just exactly what he thinks without regard to its effect upon the voters, while Governor Crawford must consider to a large degree, in view of his candidacy for Senator Kittredge’s toga, what effect his public expressions will have upon the public in South Dakota. And a dispatch recently sent out from Pierre goes so far as to suggest that, in case Roosevelt should finally reverse his decision and accept another nomination, the Crawford-Gamble faction in South Dakota, who have started the third term movement in that state, would inherit an enviable political prestige as creators of the boom.

In other words, it may be his sincere wish that the president should be forced to abandon his original announcement and accept another nomination in spite of it.

Governor Crawford’s views in the matter can not for a moment be separated from his own ambition to acquire sufficient popularity to elect him senator; while on the other hand, Seth Bullock, the personal friend of the president and under more obligations to the latter than any other man in South Dakota, and with no candidacy of his own to further, has such implicit faith in the president’s sincerity and integrity as to neither doubt his word for a moment nor to desire to enlist in any movement whose purpose is to compel the president to go back on that word.

Seth Bullock is a true blue republican and his loyalty is with the same party with which Governor Crawford is associated. But where the one would seek to force the president to retract his repeated announcement, the other would prefer that the integrity of the president in that announcement, because integrity in one matter involves integrity in all matters and because the party’s integrity is linked with the integrity of its official representatives, should be allowed to stand unshaken.

The Norfolk Weekly News-Journal (Norfolk, Nebraska) Sep 27, 1907

TAFT RETAINS SETH BULLOCK

ONLY REQUEST ROOSEVELT MADE IS KEPT.

South Dakota Cattle Puncher to Get United States Marshalship Without Wire-Pulling.

HIS FRIEND OF OTHER DAYS.

Washington, Dec. 29. — Theodore Roosevelt’s name is a good one to conjure with at the white house. This was shown when the announcement was made that Capt. Seth Bullock, who hails from out Deadwood way, will be reappointed United States marshal for the district of South Dakota. In territorial days Mr. Roosevelt, then a young man, punched cattle in Dakota, and while there he ran up with Seth Bullock, who was something of a rover at that time. A warm friendship sprang up between the two men and it still continues.

When Mr. Roosevelt was president, Seth Bullock was on a number of occasions a guest at the white house, and when the distinguished New Yorker was inaugurated in 1905 the Deadwood man brought a cowboy regiment to Washington that was easily the headline attraction of the occasion. This particular regiment cut up high jinks in the inauguration parade, and in the white house lot on the night of March 4, 1905, it marched into the white house ground and Mr. Roosevelt delivered a speech to the cowpunchers that tickled them nearly today. Right in front of the executive mansion these cowpunchers from the plains performed a number of stunts in lariat throwing and dare-devil riding that astonished the multitude and came near making Mr. Roosevelt forget that the inaugural ball was about to begin and awaited his presence.

Soon after Seth Bullock, who had up to that time been the head ranger of the Black Hills forest reserve in South Dakota, was named United States marshal. It may be stated upon good authority that before he left Washington Mr. Roosevelt did not make many requests of the man who was about to succeed him. In fact, it is known that he took the position that it would be indelicate for him to make suggestions as to the filling of public office in the new administration. He made an exception, however, in the case of Bullock. Mr. Roosevelt told his successor that if he could see his way clear to do so it would please him if Bullock was reappointed United States marshal. Accordingly, the nomination of Mr. Bullock for another term will be sent to the senate next week.

The Paducah Evening Sun (Puducah, Kentucky) Dec 29, 1909

Presidential Nominations.

(Herald Special.)

Washington, D.C., Jan. 17. — Among the presidential nominations today Seth Bullock was named for United States marshal of South Dakota, and Frederick W. Collins for the Southern district of Mississippi.

Palestine Daily Herald (Palestine, Texas) Jan 17, 1910

Image from The Black Hills Believables by John Hafnor

Highest Dakota Peak To Be Mt. Roosevelt

“Round Top,” One of Blacks Hills, Will Be Rechristened on Fourth of July

The highest peak in the Black Hills of South Dakota is to be rechristened Mount Theodore Roosevelt on July 4. The mountain, heretofore variously known as Sheep Mountain and Round Top, rises about three miles from Deadwood and from its summit can be seen the country where Roosevelt, the young ranchman, sought and found that bodily vigor which sustained the strenuous life of years to come.

Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, Colonel William Boyce Thompson, president of the Roosevelt Memorial Association, and a large party will go from here to attend the ceremony. The Governor of South Dakota will preside and Major General Leonard Wood will be one of the speakers. State officials of Wyoming, Nebraska and Montana have promised to attend.

Captain Seth Bullock heads a committee of the late ex-President’s early associates in the Northwest in charge of the affair. They are having erected at the top of the mountain a memorial cairn of boulders of native granite. This will be dedicated on Independence Day.

Next Sunday a number of Colonel Roosevelt’s old friends in North Dakota will hold a meeting at the Custer Trail Ranch, Medora, and organize a committee of the Roosevelt Memorial Association. The Custer Trail Ranch formed part of the Roosevelt Ranch on the Little Missouri. Sylvane Ferris and William J. Merrifield, Roosevelt’s ranch partners, and Joe Ferris, who took him on his first Buffalo hunt, have arranged a big round-up and barbecue picnic to mark the occasion.

New York Tribune (New York, New York) Jun 13, 1919

Image from Find-A-Grave - Laura Harvey

Find-A-Grave Link for Seth Bullock.

Seth Bullock, Friend of Roosevelt, Dead

DEADWOOD, S.D., Sept. 23. — Seth Bullock, lifelong friend of the late Theodore Roosevelt, died at his home here this morning after an illness of several weeks. He was a pioneer of the Black Hills and was sixty-two years old.

Seth Bullock was born in Sandwich, Canada, just across the river from Detroit. He went West just as soon as he was able to ride a horse. In South Dakota, he was miner, prospector, peace officer and cattleman.

When he became Sheriff of Deadwood he proceeded to clean up the town. One night, it is related of him, he himself arrested thirty-seven “bad men” by beating each one into insensibility with the butt of his gun. Three of the men escaped and hid in an old mine not far from Deadwood. Bullock went to the mine and smoked them out.

New York Tribune (New York, New York) Sep 24, 1919

Image from Find-A-Grave - by afraydknot

SETH BULLOCK HAD PICTURESQUE CAREER

Sheriff of Deadwood, Who Died Yesterday, Was Friend of Roosevelt

Deadwood, S.D., Sept. 24. — Seth Bullock, who died here yesterday at the age of sixty-two years, had numerous claims to celebrity before his friendship for Theodore Roosevelt brought him into the limelight.

As the first sheriff of Deadwood when this community was in its formative stage and had just as much respect for laws — whether man-made or heaven-inspired — as Seth had for the reputation of the bad men who were making Deadwood no place for a prohibitionist, the young Canadian (he was born in Sandwich, Canada, just across from Detroit) proved his mettle.

Straight, as slender and as strong as a Saskatchewan spruce and with the speed of a diamondback rattler, he looked like what he was. He was the easterner’s cherished vision of what the first sheriff of Deadwood, S.D., ought to be and look like. What the movie hero of a Wild West drama tries to portray Seth Bullock was and did.

His clean-up of Deadwood was swift and effective. He dominated the place by becoming just a little tougher than any citizen who was catalogued as tough before his election. Those yearning for a fight had but to apply to Seth and they got complete satisfaction.

It is said of him that Seth Bullock arrested thirty-seven bad men the night following his election as sheriff, using such measures as beating recalcitrants into submission with the butt of his gun and carefully shooting others in those sections of their anatomy that housed no vital organs.

By these direct methods Deadwood was transformed into as clean a town as the West of those days boasted, and he had a thoroughly enjoyable time doing it.

When Theodore Roosevelt set up his ranch on the Little Missouri river in 1885 a friendship was established between the two men that was genuine and permanent. At Roosevelt’s inauguration Bullock took a band of cowpunchers to Washington and with them participated in the inaugural parade. Roosevelt made Bullock United States marshal for South Dakota and throughout his career showed his high regard for the friend of his cowboy days. He went to London in 1910, arrayed in a hard-boiled shirt and eastern shoes, but he clung to his wide-brimmed hat so loudly and fiercely that he escaped the bowler destined for his sunburned brow.

In London Captain Bullock met Colonel Roosevelt again. The Colonel had just returned from his African exploration, and he and the sheriff of Deadwood did London and traveled Scotland together.

Upon his return Seth Bullock had things to say about Europe.

“There were plenty of kings in the atmosphere in London,” said Seth. “You’d had no trouble filling a royal flush at any time, while four kings would have been easier.”

Evening Public Ledger (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) Sep 24, 1919

*****

Books (Google books links)  of Interest:

Title: Grigsby’s Cowboys
Author: Otto l Sues
Published: 1899
Biography:Seth Bullock

Title: The happy Hunting-Grounds
Author: Kermit Roosevelt
Publisher: C. Scribner’s sons, 1921
Includes pictures of Seth Bullock

Title: Black Hills Believables: Strange-but-ture Tales of the Old West
Author: John Hafnor
Edition: 2 (Preview only)
Publisher: John Hafnor, 1984

Title: The Rough Riders: An autobiography
Volume: 153 of Library of America
Authors: Theodore Roosevelt, Louis Auchincloss
Editor: Louis Auchincloss
Edition: illustrated (picture of Seth)
Publisher: Library of America, 2004

Title    Outlaw tales: legends, myths, and folklore from America’s middle border
Authors    Richard Young, Judy Dockrey Young
Editors    Richard Young, Judy Dockrey Young
Publisher    august house, 1992
Seth Bullock and the miners (preview only)

Title: The Reader, Volume 6
Publisher: Bobbs-Merrill Co., 1905
Picture of Seth

Title: William Howard Taft, American
Author: Robert Lee Dunn
Publisher: The Chapple publishing company, ltd., 1908
Picture of Taft and Seth Bullock

Silent Letters

August 11, 2010

Random Rhymes

By NIXON WATERMAN.

SILENT LETTERS.

OF vowels, all — good, better, best —
The loud, round “O!” is noisiest:
The rest have ways more laudable
Because they’re all in AU-d-I-b-l-E.

The Fort Wayne Sentinel (Fort Wayne, Indiana) Oct 27, 1909