Nebraska Newspapers

    A FOOL FOR LOVE
By FRANCIS LYNDE
AUTHOR OF “THE GRAFTERS." ETC.
(Copyright. 13Uf>, by J. P. lappinoou Co.)
CHAPTER XI.—Continued.
The Rajah dropped his cigar butt
in the snow and trod upon it.
“Possibly you will faveh us with
your company to breakfast in the
Rosemary, Misteh Winton—you and
Misteh Adams. No? Then I bid you
a vehy good morning, gentlemen, and
hope to see you lateh.” And he swung
up to the steps of the private car.
Half an hour afterwards, the snow
still whirling dismally, Winton and
Adams were cowering over a handful
of hissing embers, drinking their com
missary coffee and munching the camp
cook's poor excuse for a breakfast.
“Jig's up pretty definitely, don’t you
think?” said the Technologian, with
a glance around at the idle track
force huddling for shelter under the
lee of the flats and the decapod.
Winton shook his head and groaned.
“I’m a ruined man, Morty.”
Adams found his cigarette case.
“I guess that’s so,” he said, quite
heartlessly. Then: “Hello! what is
our friend the enemy up to now?”
McGrath’s fireman was uncoupling
the engine from the Rosemary, and
Mr. Darrah, complacently lighting his
after-breakfast cigar, came across to
the pissing ember fire.
“A word with you, gentlemen, if
you will faveh me,” he began. “I am
about to run down to Argentine on my
engine, and I propose leaving the la
dies in your cha'ge, Misteh Winton.
Will you give me your word of boneh,
seh, that they will not be annoyed in
my absence?”
Winton sprang up, losing his tem
per again.
“It's—well, it’s blessed lucky that
you know your man, Mr. Darrah!” he
exploded. "Go on about your busi
ness—which is to bring another army
of deputy sheriffs down on us, I take
it. You know well enough that no
man of mine will lay a hand on your
car so long as the ladies are in it.”
The Rajah thanked him, dismissed
the matter with a Chesterfleldian
wave of his hand, climbed to his place
in the cab, and the engine shrilled
away around the curve and disap
peared in the snow-wreaths.
Adams rose and stretched himself.
“By Jove! when it comes to cheek,
pure and unadulterated, commend me
to a Virginia gentleman who has ac
quired the proper modicum of west
ern bluff,” he laughed. Then, with
a cavernous yawn dating back to the
sleepless night: “Since there is noth
ing immediately pressing, I believe I’ll
go and call on the ladies. Won’t you
come along?”
“No!” said Winton, savagely; and
the Technologian lounged off by him
self.
Some little time afterward Winton,
glooming over his handful of spitting
embers, saw Adams and Virginia come
out to stand together on the observa
tion platform of the Rosemary. They
talked long and earnestly, and when
Winton was beginning to add the dull
pang of unreasoning jealousy to his
other hurtings Adams beckoned him.
“I should think you might come and
say ‘Good morning’ to me, Mr. Win
ton. I’m not Uncle Somerville,” said
Miss Carteret.
Winton said “Good morning,” not
too graciously, and Adams mocked
him.
“Besides being a bear with a sore
head. Miss Carteret thinks you’re not
much of a hustler,” he said, coolly.
“She knows the situation; knows that
you were stupid enough to promise
not to lay hands on the ear when we
could have pushed it out of the way
without annoying anybody. None the
less, she thinks that you might find
a way to go on building your railroad
without breaking your word to Mr.
Darrah.”
winton put ms sore-nearteaness rar
enough behind him to smile and say:
“Perhaps Miss Virginia will be good
enough to tell me how.”
“I don’t know how,” she rejoined,
quickly. “And you’d only laugh at
me if I should tell you what I
thought of.”
“You might try it and see,” he ven
tured. “I’m desperate enough to take
suggestions from anyone.”
“Tell me something first. Is your
railroad obliged to run straight along
in the middle of this nice little ridge
you’ve been making for it?"
“Why—no; temporarily, it can run
anywhere. But the problem is to get
the track laid beyond this crossing be
fore your uncle gets back with a train
load of armed guards.”
“Any kind of a track would do,
wouldn't it?—just to secure the cross
ing?”
"Certainly; anything that would
hold the weight of the decapod. We
shall have to rebuild most of the line,
anyway, as soon as the frost comes
out of the ground in spring.”
The brown eyes became far-seeing.
“I was thinking,” she said, musing
ly, “there is no time to make an
other nice little ridge. But you have
piles and piles of logs over there”—
she meant the cross-ties—“couldn’t
you build a sort of cobhouse ridga
with those between your track and
uncle’s, and cross behind the car?
Don’t laugh, please.”
But Winton was far enough from
laughing at her. Why so simple an
expedient had not suggested Itself in
stantly he did not stop to inquire. It
was enough that the Heaven-born idea
had been given.
“Down out of that, Morty!” h«
cried. “It’s one chance in a thousand
Pass the word to the men; I’ll b«
with you in a second.” And wher
Adams was rousing the track forc<
with the bawling shout of “Ev-ery
body!” Winton looked up into thi
brown eyes.
|- “My debt to you was already verj
> great; I owe you more now,” he said
But she gave him his quittance in i
whiplike retort.
“And you will stand here talking
about it when every moment Is pre
clous? Go!” she commanded; and h<
-went
So now we are to conceive the mad
dest activity leaping into being in full
view of the watchers at the windows
of the private car. Winton’s chilled
and sodden army, welcoming any bat
tle-cry of action, flew to the work with
a will. In a twinkling the corded
piles of cross-ties had melted to reap
pear in cob-house balks bridging an
angle from the Utah embankment to
that of the spur track in rear of the
blockading Rosemary. In briefest
time the hammermen were spiking the
rails on the rough-and-ready trestle,
and the Italians were bring up the
crossing-frogs.
But the Rajah, astute colonel of in
dustry, had not left himself defense
less. On the contrary, he had provid
ed for this precise contingency by
leaving McGrath's firemap in mechan
ical command on the Rosemary. If
Winton should attempt to build
around the private car. the fireman
was to wait till the critical moment;
then he was to lessen the pressure on
the automatic air-brakes and let the
car drop back down the grade just
far enough to block the new crossing.
So it came about that this mechan
ical lieutenant waited, laughing ia his
sleeve, until he saw the Italians com
ing with tlie crossing-frogs. Then,
judging the. time to be fully ripe, he
ducked under the Rosemary to “bleed"
the air-tank.
Winton heard the hiss of the escap
ing air above all the industry clamor;
heard, and saw the car start backward.
Then he had a flitting glimpse of a
man in grimy overclothes scrambling
terror-frenzied from beneath the Rose
mary. The thing done had been over
done. The fireman had “bled” the air
tank too freely, and the liberated car,
gathering momentum with every
wheel-turn, surged around the circling
spur track and shot out masterless
on the steeper gradient of the main
line.
Now, for the occupants of a runa
way car on a Rocky mountain line
there is death and naught else. Win
ton saw, in a phantasmagoric flash
of second sight, the meteor flight of
the heavy car; saw the Reverend Bil
ly’s ineffectual efforts to apply the
hand-brakes, if by good hap he should
even guess that there were! any hand
brakes; saw the car, bounding and
“RUN, CALVERT.
lurching, keeping to the rails, may
hap, for some few miles below Ar
gentine, where it would crash head
long into the upward climbing Car
bonate train, and all would end.
In unreasoning misery, he did the
only thing that offered: Ran blindly
down his own embankment, hoping
nothing but that he might, have one
last glimpse of Virginia clinging to
the hand-rail before she should be lost
to him forever.
But as he ran a thought white-hot
from the furnace of despair fell into
his brain to set it ablaze with pur
pose. Beyond the litter of activities
the decapod was standing, empty of
its crew. Bounding up into the cab,
he released the brake and sent the
great engine flying down the track of
the new line.
In the measuring of the first mile
the despair-born thought took shape
and form. If he could outpace the
runaway on the parallel line, stop the
decapod and dash across to the C. &
G. R. track ahead of the Rosemary,
there was one chance in a million that
he might fling himself upon the car
in mid flight and alight with life
enough left to help Calvert with the
hand-brakes.
Now. in the most unhopeful struggle
it is often the thing least hoped for
that comes to pass. At Argentine
Winton’s speed was a mile a minute
over a track rougher than a corduroy
wagon-road; yet the decapod held the
rail and was neck and neck with the
runaway.
Three miles more ot the surging,
racking, nerve-killing race and Win
ton had his hand’a-bresdth of Had and
had picked his place for the million
cbanced wrestle with death. It was at
the C. & G. R. station of Tierra
Blanca, just below a series of sharp
curves which he hoped might check a
little the arrowlike flight of the runa
way.
Twenty seconds later the telegraph
operator at the lonely little way sta
tion ot Tierra Blanca saw a heroic
bit of man-play. The upward-bound
Carbonate train was whistling in the
; gorge below when out of the snow
wreaths shrouded the new line a big
i engine shot down to stop with \ fire
grinding from the wheels, and a
dropped from the high eab to dash
across to the station platform.
At the same instant a runaway pas*
senger car thundered out of the can
yon above. The man crouched, flung
himself at it in passing, missed the
forward hand-rail, caught, the rear,
was snatched from his feet and trailed
through the air like the thong of a
whiplash, yet made good his hold and
clambered on.
This was all the operator saw, but
when he had snapped his key and run
cut, he heard the shrill squeal of the
brakes on the car and knew that John
Winton had not risked his life for
nothing.
And on board the Rosemary? Win
ton, spent to the last breath, was lying
prone on the railed platform, where
he had fallen when the last twist had
been given to the shrieking brakes,
his head in Miss Carteret’s lap.
“Run, Calvert! Run ahead and—
stop—the—up-train!” he gasped; then
the light went out of the gray eye3
and Virginia wept unaffectedly and
fell to dabbling his forehead with
handfuls of snow.
“Help me get him in to the divan,
Cousin Billy,” said Virginia, when all
was over and the Rosemary was safe
ly coupled in ahead of the upcoming
train to be slowly pushed back to Ar
gentine.
But Winton opened his eyes and
struggled to his feet unaided.
“Not yet,” he said. “I’ve left my
automobile on the other side of the
creek; and, besides, I have a railroad
to build. My respects to Mr. Darrah,
and you may tell him I’m not beaten
yet.” And he swung over the rail
ing and dropped off to mount the
octopod and to race it back to the
front.
Three days afterwards, to a scream
ing of smelter whistles and other
noisy demonstrations of mining-camp
joy, the Utah Short Line laid the final
rail of its new extension in the Car
bonate yards.
The driving of the silver spike ac
complished, Winton slipped out of the
congratulatory throng and made his
way across the C. & G. R. tracks to a
private car standing alone on its sid
ing. Its railed platform, commanding
a view of the civic celebration, bad
its quota of onlookers—a flerce-eyed
old man with huge white mustaches,
an athletic young clergyman, two
Bisques and a goddess.
“Climb up, Misteh Winton, climb up
and join us.” said the fierce-eyed one
heartily. “Virginia, heah,. thinks we
ought to call each otheh out, but I tell
her—”
What the Rajah had told his niece
is of small account to us. But what
Winton whispered in her ear when he
had taken his place beside her ia
more to the purpose of this history.
“I have built my railroad, as you
told me to, and now I have come for
me—”
"Can’t
"Hush!” she said, softly,
you wait?”
“No.”
"Shameless one!” she murmured.
But when the Rajah proposed an
adjournment to the gathering-room of
the car, and to luncheon therein, he
surprised them standing hand-in-hand
and laughed.
“Hah, you little rebel,” he said.
“Do you think you dese’ve that block
of stock I promised you when you
should marry? Anseh me, my deah.”
She blushed and shook her head,
but the brown eyes were dancing.
The Rajah opened the car door with
his courtliest bow.
“Nevertheless, you shall have it, my
deah Virginia, if only to remind an
old man of the time when he was sim
ple enough to make a business con
federate of a charming young woman.
Straight on, Misteh Adams; after you,
Misteh Winton.”
[THE END.]
ENOUGH SAID.
Gerald—We all have our weak
nesses.
Geraldine—Well, you’re not mine.—
Illustrated Bits.
"I have two lovely little puppies,’1
said Mrs. Tawkley.
“I have met your husband,” replied
the man. “Who is the other one?”-*
Judge.
Training the Nose.
THEj^UMPTAlMNrXD . AMD dTJDT YOUR NOdlf
MOd£°f_CJdClUA UQF.TUd — —
-tut SUMWeam,
manna;
11
THE &UGHTET TINTED NOW,
MjlThe one that rd.rmcALu
American
There are beauty doctors these days who do nothing but train the nose.
Their mission is to preserve it so that it shall be both useful and aristocratic.
They treat the nose until it becomes the handsomest of features.
“You would scarcely believe,” said one of these, “how many women come
to us to have the nose doctored. We had a woman the other day whose nose
was the color of a peony. It was not only bright red; it wras scarlet. No red
nose was ever any redder than this nose. The woman wept when she told
us about it.
“ ‘I have done everything,’ she said, ‘and my nose gets redder and redder.
The last thing I did was to dip it in very hot wrater every night. Somebody
told me it would take the color out of my nose, but has only put more color
into it.”
“We quieted her. here in our beauty shop, and requested her to wait a
few days. ‘Follow these instructions,’ we said to her, ‘and your nose will
stop being red.’ She did as requested and her nose is now quiet perfect. She
was otherwise a beauty except for this awful red nose.
“The woman with a coarse ugly nose should take care of it at once. It
is the beginning of a permanent blemish. Noses grow old first of all. You
can tell how old a woman is simply by the appearance of her nose. It is bet
ter than looking at her teeth.
"To keep the nose from growing old you must massage it. Massage does
not make the nose red. Soap it once a day and scrub it with a cloth. It will
make the skin grow finer instead of reddening it.
“When the nose is coarse and ugly as to its texture and when the pores
are big and open the only thing to do is to rub it with alcohol. The beauty
doctors will tell you to use a benzoinated bath. This means a big basin of
tepid water, with a few drops pi benzoin in it, just enough to make it milky.
But, if you don’t want to go to all that trouble, just take pure alcohol. Bathe
the tip of the nose with it for a week. The pores will begin to contract.”
The Bondage of the Blues.
Intangible Perils, Rather Than Definite Ones, Are Those
at Which We Are Most Frightened.
BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
Being in bondage to the blues is
precisely like being lost in a London
fog. The latter is thick and black and
obliterates familiar landmarks. A
man may be within a few doors of his
home, yet grope helplessly through the
murk to find the well-worn threshold.
A person under the tyranny of the
blues is temporarily unable to adjust
life to its usual limitations. He or she
cannot see an. inch beyond the dread
ful present. Everything looks dark
and forbidding, and despair with an
iron clutch, pins its victim down.
People think, loosely, that trials that
may be weighed and measured and felt
and handled, are the worst trials to
which flesh is heir. Loss of fortune,
loss of children, loss of friends, they
call these disasters that must tax the
soul to its utmost endurance, and
crush the heart beneath their weight.
But they are mistaken. Hearts are
elastic and real sorrows seldom crush
them. Souls have in them a wonder
ful capacity for recovering after knock
down blows. It is the intangible, the
thing that one dreads vaguely, that
catches one in the dark, that suggests
and intimates'a peril that is spiritual
rather than mortal; it is the burden
that carries dismay and terror to the
Imagination.
Half our fears in life and more than
half our troubles, as we known when
we are reasonable, are perfectly
groundless. Apprehensions of evil are
worse than evils themselves.
A tendency to the blues may be an
unfortunate legacy from a forgotten
great-grandfather. Away back In
the shadowy past there was somebody
in the family line who had lost the
power of looking up and, like Bunyan’s
man with the muck rake, spent his
time in looking down and raking to
gether useless rubbish and who never
knew that there was another world
than the one at his feet.
This man bequeathed a fatal tenden
cy to those who came after him. Pos
sibly it skipped a generation or two
to pounce like a beast from an ambush
on somebody who should be enjoying
the gladness of this blithe age, but who
has little chance of escaping the
chains of his birthright. _ Still, inher
ited handicaps, if recognized, may be
vanquished and thrown aside. “I
would give,” said a man, not long ago,
“all my worldly goods if I could be
freed from the despotism of the spirit
of my grandfather that dwells in and
controls me, and turns my days the
color of indigo when they might be
the’ color of the rose. I would change
places willingly with the tramp by the
roadside, if I could be as light
hearted and cheerful as he.”
In nine cases out of ten, actual
tramping to the point of fatigue and
actual camping out of doors, with noth
ing but a tent between the starlit
heaven and the hard pillow, would be
a cure for this malady. It is a malady,
and should be met and coped with de
fiantly on this issue. A thoroughly
healthful, wholesome and sane phil
osophy of life has nothing to do with
doleful terrors and cheerless views.
Nature has balm for wounded hearts.
The blues often come as other mor
bid affections do from a disordered
liver. Undoubtedly, it ia a mortifica
tion to admit that the ethereal part of
one, the mind, the soul, the spirit, may
be at the mercy of the liver or the
spleen or the stomach, but facts bear
out the assertion that a blue piil will
often conquer the blues, and that a
doctor’s prescription will put a new
face on the sufferer’s world. The
chronic dyspeptic is sure to be blue
unless he is a saint high on the roll
of those of whom the world is not
worthy.
*****
Manifestly, we have no right to
yield to the tyranny of the blues,
either for our own sake or for that of
others. It is bad enough to wander
aimlessly through a labyrinth of de
pression, but it is criminal to drag
one’s family along. The blues are con
tagious, as contagious as smallpox,
yellow fever or whooping cough, and
as much to be avoided as they. They
are less easily dealt with, on the
whole, and therefore it is positively
wicked and almost unpardonable to
risk the safety and comfort of other
people in their neighborhood.
Apart from the obvious necessity of
securing for the body such a regimen
as shall bring it up to the best avail
able standard of health, apart from se
curing rest for jaded nerves, there is
another way of escape from the bond
age of the blues. It is the way taken
through the centuries by those who
have believed that earth is not all, and
that heaven is forever near us. Faith
in the Unseen, the faith that tramples
doubt underfoot and takes hold on the
everlasting power of an infinite and
Almighty God, can transform the bar
ren waste of melancholy into a Garden
of Paradise. By prayer and pains one
may escape from the bitter bondage
of the blues.
Why forget the aphorism that the
darkest day lived till to-morrow will
have passed away? Just around the
corner, at the turn of the road, an
angel may be waiting whose sharp
sword will rout the demon that has
dogged your steps. Look for the angel.
The angel is stronger than the demon,
as life is stronger than death.
(Copyright, 1906. by Joseph B. Bowie*.)
Lace Waists in Black and White.
The white lace waists with black
handwork run in have become very
smart. Indeed, one does not know
where they will end, for their vogue
has become so great. One sees them
everywhere: yet they are costly.
“If I wanted a handsome white lace
shirt waist and could not afford to pay
$60 for one of French origin,” said
a modiste, “1 would buy a plain white
lace one and embroider it. I would
choose a novelty lace, for the Irish
lace waists are rather difficult to em
broider. And I would run the black
silk threads through the pattern in
such a manner as to bring it out nice
ly, without making it too conspicuous.
“If I were trying to embroider an
Irish lace waist I would make tiny
wheels of black silk and of chiffon,
and would set them into the lace be
tween the heavy figures of Irish hand
work. In this manner one gets an
effective waist to wear under an
Eton.”
Torpedo toques are not so danger
ous as their name implies, but they
are really well named and are the
newest thing in small hats.
Our Washington Letter
A Bevy of Pretty Debuntantes Will Make the Coming Social Sea
son at the Capital an Unusually Interesting One—Figures Show
ing the Salt We Eat
WASHINGTON.—There Is always a delight
ful expectancy relative to the debutantes of at
Washington season, and this year's crop presents,
unusual features in many ways. There are rich
girls and poor girls, pretty girls and homely girls, ,
accomplished girls and athletic girls, but there ’
is no gainsaying that they are all highly interest
ing girls, and each possessed of many endearing'
young charms.
There will be at least 40 to enjoy the Ftache
lors, the Sixty Couple and the numerous subscrip
tion dances, and there are more ballrooms to be
open next season than ever before in this city..
Usually a girl has established a reputation for
dancing before her formal presentation, and even
thus early in the game it is not unusual to hear
some well-seasoned bachelor remark that a cer-'
MISS MARGARET
SHONTS.
turn gin til ills set is niuiust as nuc « uiuim as
was her mother or perhaps her elder sister.
There is no longer such a thing as surprising
the social world with some shy beauty who has been kept housed, shjelterjed .
and almost smothered with accomplishments and learning. Not much. The
oud of to-day generally has a generous foretaste of the world for qt least a
season before she is launched, just to make her easy and'at home, you know.
She dances through a winter, romps through tennis and golf on the open field
in the summer, rides with all the old beaux, and is even pretty well introduced
abroad before formally making her bow here, and sometimes even presented
at court abroad just to give them experience.
Most all of the girls will make their debuts in December, and, so far as
now known, the old-fashioned afternoon tea will prevail, with a charming
exception, such as a pretty ball like the one at which Mrs. Gaff introduced
Miss Zaidee Gaff two winters ago, or the series of dinners, which method
was adopted by Mrs. Postlethwaite in presenting her daughter, who was mar
ried Wednesday, October 3, to Henry Ives Cobb.
There is quite a little story connected with that series of dinners of’ Mrs.
Postlethwaite’s, however, which was revived by her daughter’s marriage.- All
of the guests, bidden to the first dinner 0ere surprised not to find the bud
there at all. Then ensued an explanation to the effect that Mrs. Longworth.
then Miss Alice Roosevelt, had telephoned over to Miss Postlethwaite saying
that the President and Mrs. Roosevelt were dining out and that she would
like the debutante to come over and enjoy dinner with her and a few of her
friends. Miss Postlethwaite, now Mrs. Cobb, in her charming manner ex
plained to Miss Roosevelt that she was having a dinner at home that night.
Mrs. Postlethwaite, however, who took a different view of the situation and
looked upon Miss Roosevelt’s invitation as an order, insisted that her daugh
ter leave her own guests and go. So Washington had its first experience of
a debutante dinner without the debutante, an e-.vent quite as cheerful as a
wedding without a bride.
CAPITAL BEAUTIES IN GREAT VARIETIES.
There is a delightful variety of girls to be
presented. One cabinet girl. Miss Erma Shaw;
one diplomatic gin, so iar as Known, naroness
Elizabeth Rosen, who astonished the North Shore
with, her expert swimming, strong tennis and de
lectable horsemanship all last summer.
There are more than a half dozen girls from
the army and navy sets, and others from official
and resident society.
Newest of all the girls in Washington who
will be presented this season is pretty, tall, wil
lowy Katherine Jennings, who is one of the most
winsome girls ever introduced from what is
known in Washington as the “South African con
tingent.” She is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs.
Hennen Jennings, who last year, as they will this,
occupied Mrs. A. C. Barney’s residence in Rhode
Island avenue, near the French embassy, from
wmcn miss z^aiaee uan maae ner aeDui two years
ago.
JENNINGS.
The daughters of chairman of the Panama canal commission and Mrs.
Theodore P. Shonts, Miss Theodora, and Miss Marguerite, have the double
advantage of having been presented at the spring court in London this year,
where they were much admired, and a good share of the entire season under
the chaperonage of Mrs. Whitelaw Reid, but they also have many friends in
Washington.
INTERESTING FIGURES ABOUT SALT.
The United States consumes 26,872,700 bar
y<5w000;000 y
pounds /
rels or salt annually, or a barrel for every three
persons In the land. Last year it went abroad
for only 1,151,133 barrels. In 1880 63.5 per cent,
of the salt used in our country was of home pro
duction. Last year 95.7 per cent, of the product
consumed was produced within the borders of
this country. In 1880 the consumption in this
country was only 9,384,263 barrels. Thus we see
that the people of the United States are using an
nually three times as much salt as they used 26
years ago.
Only 5,961,060 barrels wtfre produced in this
country in 1880, and the consumers were forced
to go abroad for 3,427,639 barrels. Last year the
total production at home was 25,966,122 barrels.
The tariff act of 1894 placed salt on the free list
and the importations increased to nearly 560,000,
000 pounds the following year. The tariff act of
i__i_i_ _Ai_ __
— UV.U LUV »•» M**u Ul* M, 111 UU^,0, UU1 1 V.IO U1 WIUV1 (/MV, n
ages is now subject to a duty of 12 cents a hundred pounds, or 33.6 cents a
barrel.
The chief salt producing states are Michigan and New York. Statistics
recently gathered by the government show that the combined output of these
two states amounts to more than two-thirds of the total production of the
United States.
No attempt has ever been made to ascertain what per cent, of the salt
consumed in the United States is used for culinary purposes. The annual out
put is largely consumed in the industries of meat packing, fish curing, dairy
ing and the like.
REHABILITATING “OLD IRONSIDES."
Under an act of congress, “Old Ironsides” is
to be rebuilt once more and refitted for sea serv
/
iCTX
The work is to be done where she was orig
inally built—Boston—and the money is being
raised by the Massachusetts State society, United
States Daughters of 1812, through an appeal to
patriotic Americans for the preservation of this
historical object lesson, which will once more
cruise under “Old Glory” as a training ship for
naval apprentices. The original plans of this old
fighting ship were recently, unearthed in the East
Indian Marine Museum, Salem, Mass., and will
play an important part in the rebuilding.
In 1830 it was reported in the newspapers
that it was the intention of the government to
destroy the Constitution, together with a number
of other ships.
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clamor of disapproval, as did Secretary of the Navy Bonaparte’s recommenda
tion, late last year, that she be used for a target.
The Constitution was built in Boston in 1797, a frigate of 1,576 tons and
designed to carry 45 guns. She was one of the first ships to see active service
in the war of 1812.
Small wonder indeed that the New Englanders were moved to recite the
career of the famous old ship to the navy secretary, inasmuch as it is the
only real relic of that branch of American arms that preserved the United
States in her second war with Great Britain.
The “Old Ironsides” remained in active commission until the advent of
the real ironclad, when she was used for auxiliary purposes.
At last, having no utility, even as a training ship, her destruction was
ordered, and had been begun when the wave of popular dissent, voiced in the
poem of Oliver Wendell Holmes, forced the navy department to desist.
Since that time she has been lying in the Boston navy yard—her decks
roofed over like a nondescript building.
8AY8 UNITED 8TATES OWNS CUBA.
Congressman John James Jenkins, of Wiscon
sin, chairman of the judiciary committee of the
house, insists that we have absolute sovereignty
over Cuba. He says:
“Cuba is domestic and not foreign territory.
Under international law, independent of all treaty
obligations, Cuba became domestic territory at
the close of the war with Spain. But after the
ratification of the treaty with Spain Cuba became
domestic territory by virtue of the treaty and
subsequent action of the United States.
“The United States can only divest its sov
has not been done. The supreme court of the
United States in Neely vs. Henkel sustains my
position by holding that in June, 1900, the Island
of Cuba was occupied by and was under control
of the United States and that it is still so occu
pied, and control cannot be disputed.”
Congressman Jenkins has represented the Tenth Wisconsin district at
Washington since 1895. He served during the civil war with a Wisconsin
regiment. He was bora in W'eymouth, England in 1843, and came to America
at the age of nine years.
At the time of the insurance scandals last spring Mr. Jenkins, as chair
man of the judiciary committee, reported that, after an exhaustive study, they
found that congress had the power to regulate insurance companies. Mr.
Jenkins has spent most of his life in Chippewa, Wis., where he has held the
offices of city clerk, city attorney and county judge. In 1876 he went to
Wyoming for several years, having been appointed United States attorney for
the territory by President Grant.