The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on February 4, 1891 · Page 7
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 7

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, February 4, 1891
Page 7
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THE REPUBLICAN. BTAltU A MAT,»,0<)K, FublUhov*. ALGONA, IOWA, JJESSE BELL'S NERVE. A Hard Fight and Long Journey to a Doctor. F IT IS true as I read it in the n c w s p a p c rs that Jesse Bell of Wind river is dead," said C. P. Lorinior, of the Helen No. 2 Mining Company, "then the nerviest man that ever prospected, killed bears and hunted Indians in the wilds of .Wyoming or any other wilds is dead. The first time I ever saw Jesse Bell he 'had just completed a journey of one hun- • dred and twenty miles with his upper jaw and partof his nose and check gone, half of his scalp torn off, one foot •crushed and mangled, his right arm badly lacerated and three ribs broken. "The journey had taken two days and a half and two nights and a half. It bc- ,gan at the mouth, of Horse creek, on the •Green river, and ended at Fort Bridger. I was at the fort when Jesse was brought in by. his partner, Arkansas Bill, and another man, a stranger. I mover saw such a sight as he was. No (explanations were a&kcd for or given •until Jesse was placed safely in the hos- ,pital. Then the commandant said to Arkansas Bill: " 'Indians?' " 'No,' replied Bill; 'bears.' "And then Bill told the story of one of '•the most terrific bear fights that any .•man in that region of big and fierce bears and intrepid bear hunters had ever heard of. Jesse and Bill had been •prospecting, hunting and trapping about •the headwaters of Snake, Wind and 'Green rivers for some time. They found no ore or sign of any, and the hunting and trapping were none of the best. They worked t'iieir way down through McDougall's Gap, struck tho headwaters of Horse creek, which they •followed to its mouth. There they .struck great signs of otter, beaver and -other fur animals, put up a cabin, and settled down for a few weeks' trapping. 'One day they saw a herd of antelope rand started out to bag one or two of the shy little deer. The antelope led •them toward a high bluff, and they followed the game for eight miles without "being able to get a shot. The antelope finally passed around one edge •of the bluff, and the two hunters began crawling along the bluff, out •of sight of the antelope, with the hope of getting within range. Jesse Bell was in the lead, and as he turned •.a sharp corner of rock he came face to face with the big she silver-tip bear, a yearling cub and two spring •cubs. They were not ten feet away, .and they saw Jesse as soon as he saw them. They were in a little hollow, and the position and place Jesse was in made it a dangerous spot either for an .attack on the bears or for defense against them. Arkansas Bill had crept to Jesse's side before the latter could tell him 'Svhat was ahead. He took in the situation at once and jumped back. Before Jesse could follow him the old bear, her blood being up, made a rush for him. Jesse fired and broke the bear's shoulder. Then he jumped aside, but the bear was too close to him, and she caught him in the side. Both went down in a heap, the bear falling •on top, at Arkansas Bill's feet. The bear closed her great jaws on Jesse's •side. Her upper teeth were buried in the flesh, cracking three ribs like pipe- •stcms. Fortunately her under teeth struck a heavy leather bullet pouch that .Jesse carried slung over his shoulder by a, strap. That prevented the enormous jaws from closing together in Jesse's to his feet and got his revoh cr in his left hand. Tho bear recovered horsell and struck Jessn a blow with hcj paw on the head and face that knocked him down anrain. Ho held on to his revolver, and put a ball into tha bear's body. Before he coald shoot again tha bear seized livs wua between her teeth and crunched it clear through the bone. Jesse now lay so that Bill conld not firo without endangering his life. Bill Shouted to him to move his head. .Tesse did so, but the instant ho moved it the bear snapped at it quickly, as Jesse lay half face upward, and closed down on hia head clear to the upper jaw. Jesse, in describing this situation afterward, said that he could look right down tha bear's throat. But Arkansas Bill was equal to the occasion, and placing the muzzle of his rifle at the bear's car, fired. The bear sprang back. She did not take the trouble, though, to loosen her hold on Jesse's head and face, and tore away tho upper jaw, part of the nose, one cheek, and a piece of tho scalp nine inches long and five wide. The bear fell over against Arkansas Bill dead. Hor great body carried him down with her and pinned him fast by both legs. He extricated himself with difficulty and limped to the aid of hia companion. Jesse was sitting up, a ghastly spectacle. His jaw was hanging by a strip of flesh to his check. Bill cut it loose. While he was dressing Jesse's torn scalp the yearling bear, which, with • the two cubs, had been silent spectators of the fight, concluded to take it up where the old bear had been forced to leave it off, and made a savage rxisli upon the two hunters. Arkansas Bill had a lively tussle with the young silver-tip before he managed to kill it with his six-shooter, every chamber being emptied before the bear gave up. "Jesse waited without a groan /w a word until Bill had finished the young boar and returned to the dressing of his wounds. Having fixed them up tho best he could with the means at hand, Bill took Jesse on his back and started for camp. It was late in the afternoon, and it was important that camp should A LIVELY TUSSLE WITH THE YOUNG VEE TIP. SHE MADE A GRAB FOB JESSE'S HEAD. <side, and tearing a large portion of it .away. All that Jesse could do was to ,give the bear a tremendous kick in the stomach. At the same instant Arkansas Bill fired at the bear. The ball entered back of her shoulder. "The bear evidently thought the pain from the bullet was the result of Jesse's kick, for she turned and caught his foot just below the ankle and crushed it with one savage bite. Not satisfied with that she bit and chewed at the ioot and leg and tore away the flesh at every bite, while Jesse was struggling to get hi* revolver out of his belt. All tbie time Arkansas Bill was loading his rifle, breech-loaders not yet having come in use out in that country. Jesse's struggles to turn and got his revolver caused the bear to wheel about again. She made a grab for Jesse's head. Bill had hi* gun loaded by this time, and eejjit another feidtefc ij* the tough old he^, f^ tap- be reached before dark, for black wolves were numerous in the hiljs, and both Jesse and Bill knew that they would follow their trail if darkness overtook them Some idea of Arkansas Bill's capacity may be had when it is known that Jesse Bell was a man six feet four in his stocking feet, and made in proportion. The camp was eight miles away, and the way was extremely rough. Bill reached the camp with hia burden a short time after dark, and was not any too soon, for behind them, and not far away, they began to hear the cries of pursuing wolves. "When they reached camp Bill found their cabin occupied by a prospector who had stumbled in the shelter and entered. He was a timely visitor. Together Bill and the stranger fixed up a bed of buckskin and fur on two tepee poles, which they fastened to a pony, Indian fashion, and, placing Jesse on the drag, started at once for the nearest place 1 where medical'and surgical aid could be had, Fort Bridger, one hundred and twenty miles away, through a rough and unbroken wilderness. They traveled day and night, stopping only to bathe Jesse's wounds at the rivers and creeks they had to cross. They ate as they traveled, and on the afternoon of the third day they came into Fort Bridger with their terribly wounded charge. On all that memorable journey Jesse Bell never once complained of suffering either from pain or hardship. He was placed in the hospital, and the surgeon told Arkansas Bill that he could never survive his injuries. But he did and was out in a month, sadly and permanently disfigured, but the same tough and intrepid mountaineer that he was before his great bear fight." —N. Y. Sun. A CoySlul Invitation. Mother—Was your aunt glad to sea you, and Tommy, and Frankie, and Fred? Johnny—Yes, ma'am. Mother—Did she invite yow to call again? Johnny—Yes; and she told us to bring you, and papa, and Susie, and the dog next time.—Jury. Protection. First Matron—What safeguard against "burglars have you in your house? Second Matron—All our things are imitation.—Harper's Bazar. —Travers—"Robinson told me yesterday he was going to marry his landlady—the one he has been living with so many years. Let's see. Not long ago that fellow was wealthy, and now I don't suppose he is worth any thing." Jagway—"Why on earth is he going to get married, then?" Travers — "Ha wants to 'get his money back."—Harper's Bazar. "What is this tHing called hypnotism?" "A certain power possessed bj some people of making others go to sleep." "Then I've got a splendid antidote for it. Our new baby. "—Philadelphia Times. __ • -"I say, Tom, I wish l was a caterpillar." "What good wyuld that do you?" "Why, then it wotold to jftake both fflodft WASHINGTON'S SIMPLE RULES* Ideas of Etiquette Which the Oreftt Patriot Wrote When a Hoy. At Mt. Vcrnon, where George Wash* Ington's early childhood was passed ifl a humble home and hia later years in a beautiful mansion, there lay for many years a pile of his schoolbooka, writes Moncure 1). Con way. A mong these w a9 a large copybook full of arithmetical exercises, forms for advertising sales of land and cattle, accounts and most things that would be tiseful in business. The forms requiring dates are dated 1745, and there are other signs that the book was kept that year, when Washington was about thirteen years of age, probably a little more than thirteen. The book is scrupulously neat, has no blots, and is written in such clear and handsome penmanship that the lad must have won the prize if there was any given in the school for handwriting. Sometimes there are fioxirishes around his capital letters, but the small letters are almost as if engraved. Now, in this book there are several pagea on. which George Washington has written down more than a hundred "Rules of civility and* -decent behavior in company and conversation." During the years in which the country waa neglecting these rules, adopted from tho wisdom of the past, the Mt. Vernon mice seem to have had^a taste for them. Nine of the rules were partly devoured, and several nearly destroyed. One of them was left with only these words: "Too much at any publick." I had nearly given up all hopes of findi?5g out what that lost rule was, when I found it in a book compiled by an English child eight years old, one hundred years before our little Washington got hold of it. The rule was: "Da not laugh too loud or too much at any public spectacle lest you cause yourself to be laughed at." Another rule that puzzled me a good deal had been left by the mice in this condition: "A man ought not to value himself of his achievements or rare qua . Ics, virtues, or kindred . . . ." At last I found that what Washington woote was: "A man ought not to value himself of his achievements or rare qualities, his riches, titles, virtue, or kindred; but he need not speak meanly of himself." Some of these rules relate to politeness—in the school, in the home, in public, in the play-ground, in company; others relate to morality and the formation of character. There is no part of life but is taught its lesson; the boy learns to keep his nails clean, and also to keep his conscience clean. I will first give some of the rules of good manners in things sometimes thought trifles, though they arc really of large importance: "If you cough, sneeze, sigh or yawn, do it not loud, but privately; and speak not in your yawning, but put your handkerchief or hand before your face, and turn aside." "Being set at meal scratch not, neither spit, cough or blow your nose, except there is a necessity for it." "Make no sn> show of taking great delight in your victuals, feed not with greediness, cut your bread with a knife, loan not on the table, neither find fault with what you eat." One must not spit the stones of fruit upon the plate. "Put not another bit in your mouth until the former be swallowed; let not your morsels be too big for the fowls." The Mt. Vernon mice have played sad havoc with another rule, leaving it thus: "In company of your betters be not . . . than they are, lay not your arm, but ar ..." I found it to be as follows: "In company of your betters, be not longer in eating than they are; lay not your arm, but arise with only a touch on the edge of the table." I will quote two other rules concerning behavior at the table: "If others talk at table be attentive; but talk not with meat in your mouth." (In the rules "meat" is used i*i the same sense as "food," as it sometimes is in the Bible.) In table-talk another rule warns us against speaking of "doleful things," such as "death and wounds." Andhere is a noble rule: "Be not angry at table, whatever happens; and if you have reason to be so, show it not; put on a cheerful countenance, especially if there be strangers. For good humor makes one dish of meat a feast."i-Boston Herald. PITH AND POINT. ~Where you will find the girls and boys industriously paring—at an apple bee—Drake's Magazine. —"TCmmeline, can yon keep a secret?" he whispered hoarsely. "I don't know; I never tried to. What is it?"—Phila- delfhia Press. —Great difficulty will soon be experienced in deciding which of the two cal«8 of ice left nt your door is the mill;.—Lowell Citizen. —"I .suffer dreadfully from insomnia," said the novelist. "Then you don't do your own proof-reading?" queried Cynicus.—N. Y. Herald. —If the time ever comes when an ordinary man weighs more than a ton it happens along about the time a bootblack calls him "Colonel."—Ham's Horn. —A clock manufacturer advertises that his wares have "a dead beat attachment." So have we; No. 7s, with nails in the heels and extra heavy tips. '—Philadelphia Traveler. —Do you have much excitement down here on the beach? "Oh, yes. With a good glass I can see sea serpents almost any day." "A good glass of what?"—St. i'aul Pioneer Press. —Son—"Father, I am twenty-one ami I want a silk hat." Father—"But you haven't a dress suit yet." Son— "No, but I would have to havo one if I had a silk hat."—Clothier and Furnisher. —"You are more than beautiful, madam." "Don-'t flatter, sir—don't flatter. I can not forget that I am thirty years old." "But what are thirty years in comparison to eternity?"—Fliegende Blatter. —The Race Improving-. — "IIow your son getting along at school, Un- 3lc Abe?" "Mighty fine, sah. Gitten tci be a gem'man mighty fast. Ye jes orier see how lie makes fun of us two ole ig-nerent nigger folks when he somes home. It makes me mighty proud, sah."—Epoch. —Returned for Repairs.—Dashaway— "Do you remember that some time ago [ borrowed an umbrella from you one aiglit, when it was raining! Here it is."' Cleverton—"You don't mean to say you. have brought it back!" Dashaway—"Ofj eoiuse I have bi-ought it back. I want) it re-covered."—N. Y. Sun. —Hie Chief Clerk (aside)—"His royal nibs ain't himself to-day. Kind of sileit and sad. Wonder what's up." Onregenerate Office-Boy (sotto voce)— "Giiiss ray little plan worked. Knowed it vould when I fastened the typewriter's yaller hah' on his overcoat last, aigl t. An' I'll do it every time he calls me i chump."—Pittsburg Bulletin. —ITlorine—"Have you heard, Winifred of the death of our young friend, Chalie Addle?" Winifred—"No. The poo7 fellow's really dead, eh?" Florine —"He is, and his death is an event whi;h will leave quite a void in our little drcle." Winifred—"How appropriate! It couldn't leave any thing that world more eloquently recall him .to mini."—Boston Courier. —A well-dressed, ladylike-looking woman entered a street-car the other day with her little boy of about six years of age. On the conductor coming to collect the fares, the lady handed her little son a fifty-cent piece, he being nearer the dooi. The little fellow examined the coii carefully and then gave WAR REMINISCENCES. HIS LAST BATTLE. it to the condi man returned youngster clap; ing at autly: his mot "Mamm the bad Monthly. fiftj THE OB Scarcely had the change than the ctor. the ed his hands, and look icr exclaimed. triumph- i, mamma, he has taken cents." — Demorest's TINATE CAMEL. The Apache Criterion of Wives. The plural wife system prevails at San Carlos, where it is regarded by Apache bucks as profitable for the reason that wives are tireless toilers. They chop wood, carry water, pack hay, herd stock, build wickiups, cook, and in fact do all the labor calculated to contribute to the necessity and comfort of the camp. Apache women are merchantable—are boiight and sold. A buck's wealth is estimated, in part, by the number of his wives. The value of a, wife is calculated by the weight she can carry; therefore those having defective spines and unable to pack a sack of flour, or bundle of hay, or an eighth of a cord of wood and a pappoose at the same time, are not regarded as valuable property, and are less appreciated by their masters than a pony or a burro. —Globe Silver Belt. A.n American's First Experience witli th6 X,uiJberlng Animal. If any other animal gives out it is still possible to make it travel a few milea by a judicious use of patience and a club; but notso with a camel. When he lies down le will get up only when ha feels like Joing BO; you may drag at the string which is fastened to the stick through his nostrils till you tear it out, he will only froan and spit. It was my first experience with camels, and I vowed that i would be my last; for, taking them altogether, they are the most tiresome and troublesome animals 1 have ever reen, and are suited only to Asiatics, thamost patient and long-suffering of hunan beings. Besides resulting, Making a Point. Mrs. Slimpurse—My dear, I was utterly amazed, shocked, to'hear you use such ungrammatical expressions while talking to Mrs. De Fashion. Why did you do it? Miss Slunpurse—I wanted her to think our family was rich enough to have me brought up by the servants.— Good News. Cleverly Dodged. Mother (sternly)—Laura, was that young man kissing- you in the parlor, last night? I heard some suspicious noises. Laura—Why, mother, he was only smacking his lips after eating a piece of that splendid cake you made. Mother—Oh, was that all? Laura, I think you may invite him to call again soon.—Yankee Blade. A» Infallible Bcuiedy. Dobbs—I wish Buffer would keep away from me- I detest the fellow and don't like to have Mm. around, Hobbs—Wliy dpn*{i you lend, hj*B money, old infirmities believe, from of temper, hereditary dyspepsia, a i evidenced by such coatee totigues, off- nsive breaths, and gurgling stomachs a I have seen with no other ruminants, hey are delicate in the extreme. Tin y can work only in the winter months for as soon as their woo! begins to all, Sampson like, their strength ab ,ndons them. They car travel only over a country where ther< are no stones, for the pads of their f e it wear out and then they have to be atched, a most troublesoml operation. The camel is thrown and a piece of lai/ther stitched on over the foot, the stitches being taken through the soft part of it; in this condition it may travelMll the skin has thickened again; or, yhat is more likely, until it refuses to pake a step.—W. Woodvilla Kocthill, i| Century. He Needed a Wife. A jeeenti wedding in England was so interrupted 'iat the friend of the wed« ded pair xmnd special reason to conr grat\;late mem when the ceremony was at last (Wfer. All went merrily until the b)idegl-oom was called upon to pro- fiuce (ihe wedding-ring. In vain he felt In hit trousers' pocket for the indispensable trinp. Nothing could be found, except a pole through which tlie ring had eridei tly fallen into the high boot, whiel is a Lopted by young men of that distri-t. :Vhat was he to do? "Take your bool orf," said the parson. The suspeise i nd silence were painful. The orgajdst, -t the priest's bidding, struck up a'yob, ntary." The young man re- uaovetihiii boot, the ring was found, also jl hple in his stocking, and the worth] jgjnister remarked, evidently than the delay of tbs eesetfjind: "Young man, i* > t»m,e The Pathptle Kn«1 of a Itrava Voting Confnd* crate Hero. "After the battle at Pittsburgh Landing 1 ," says an ex-Confederate, "I had oc- sasion to visit a wounded comrade in one of the hospitals at Memphis. Occupying 1 the same ward with him was a lad fifteen years of age named Charlie Jaclcsoju. His case was hopeless and the little fellow knew it. Dr. Keller, the surgeon in charge, related his story, and it .so aptly illustrates the character of the private soldier, whether fighting under the stars and bars or the stars and stripes, that it is worthy of repetition. Several months prior to the battle his father had raised a company, in which Charlie was permitted to drill, and eventually he became so expert in the manual that at times he was permitted to act as drill-master. After a while marching orders were received, when the father, considering 1 the age of the boy, and probably his own paternal feelings, told him that lie must remain at home. To this Charlie strongly demurred, and gave his parent to understand that if he could not go with him he would join another company. Yielding 1 to his obstinacy, a sort of silent eon- sent was given, and the lad left home for the front with the rest of the boys. "The regiment to which they belong 1 was ordered to Hurnsville, several miles from Corinth. Here it remained until the, Friday or Saturday preceding the battle, when orders were received to repair at once to the field and take possession. Charlie was asleep at the time of the departure, and the father, unwilling that one so young should undergo the fatigue of a long march of twenty miles and the dangers of the coming fig-lit, gave orders that the boy should not be aroused. When several hours afterward, Charlie awoke and took in the situation of affairs he instantly determined to follow. Seizing his gun he started alone on the trail of his absent regiment. Hour after hour he trudged along, and just as they halted, preparatory to going into battle, lie succeeded in joining his company. His father chided him, but how could he do otherwise than admire the indomitaBde spirit of his boy? The fight began and Charlie was soon in its midst. A bullet struck him and made an ugly wound that would have sent most men to the rear, rat the lad pressed on with unchecked enthusiasm, firing, cheering and charg- ng with the remainder of his regiment until at a late hour of the day he fell with another bullet in his leg. Giving a cheer he called to his father to 'Go on. Don't mind me. Keep on. I'll lie here till you come back.' This, of, course, the feelings of the parent would not permit him to do, and taking his son in his arms he carried him to the nearest fielc hospital. A day or two after the battle the little soldier was sent to Menphis, feeble, yet full of hope and courage. When Dr. Keller, the surgeon-in- chief, examined the wound he saw tha the poor boy was beyond recovery, and that an amputation of the limb would only increase his sufferings without prolonging life. Charlie noticed the sober countenance of the physician as he turned away to break the mournful news to the weeping father and mother, for nothing could be done but administer opiates that would allay the pain. When, a few minutes afterward, the surgeon returned to the bedside of the sufferer, the young hero abruptly met him with the remark: " 'Doctor, will you • answer me a straight-forward question and tell me the truth?" 'The physician mused a moment, then said: 'Yes, Charlie, I will; but you must prepare for bad news.' ' "Can I live?" "No; -nothing can save you but a miracle. You have a mortal wound." ' "Well, I thought so myself,' wa,s the response. 'I feel as if I was going to die. Do father and mother know this?' ' "Yes," answered the surgeon, 'I have just told them.' ' "Please ask them to come in here.' "When the parents had done so and taken their places by the bedside Charlie reached out, and, grasping their hands, said: " 'Dear father and mother, Dr. Keller says that I can't live. I'm not afraid to die, but I want to ask your forgiveness for all the wrong I have done. I have tried to be a good boy in every way but one, and that was when I disobeyed you both and joined the army. I couldn't help that, for I felt as if I ought to be right where you were, father, and to fight as long as I was able. I'm only sorry that I can't fight through the war. If I've said or done any thing wrong, won't you forgive me?' ' 'The afflicted parents could only weep their assent. " 'Now, father," continued the boy, 'one thing more; don't stay here, but go back to the boys in camp and tell them how you left me. Mother will take good care of me, and you are more wanted in the company than in the hospital. And, father, tell the boys how I died—just as a soldier ought to, and that I shall watch them and pray for them in camp and in battle.' "A few days afterward Charlie breathed his last, and the soldier tolc me that, inured as he was to spectacles of suffering and woe, when he stood by the side of that dying boy his heart overflowed in tears, and he knelt down and sobbed like a child."—N. Y. Press Just then the order lo fall back en. He was assisted to his feet, gered a few yards in a dazed kindbf* way, and then fell in a heap as a Con* federate brig-acle swarmed into tnd Woods. His comrades were forced tO leave him, and he never rejoined them. The War Department records bore oy posite his name this note: Wounded and missing in tho battle of Chick* araaugft, September 19, 1803. And so he disappeared from comrades and friends and home, one of the tin* known dead. His father, years afterwards, applied for a pension on. account of his service, his mother having died prior to his enlistment. No doubt was raised as to his death in the army, but the claim was rejected on the legal ground of non-dependence. The next scene in this strange history opens on a lonely country road, where, on a freezing February evening in 1870, Hugh Thompson, the wounded soldier oi Chickamanga, "came to himself," as he expressed it. It was just as if at that moment he had awoke from a dreamless sleep of seven years and became conscious of existence. But his memory was gone, totally and absolutely. His other faculties were keen enough,but he could' not recall his own name, where he had been, his family or his home. His entire past up to that moment was simply a jlank. The cloud on his darkened mind grad- lally lifted, and old scenes and inci- lents came back to him more or less vividly. Tie became aware that he had jcen in the a rmy and had been wounded. Along in the '80s he drifted to Kansas' and entered a homestead, on which he ;cttled,having married in Illinois. He finally became satisfied that lie had served in an Ohio regiment, and then aided by the Grand Army men of Kansas, to whom he told his story, he set about discovering his home and his family. The local newspapers took up the matter, gave accurate descriptions of him, and the strange story of the "Nameless Soldier," as he came to be known,,traveled to Ohio and was read by Thompson's aged father, who recognized in the description his long lost son Hugh. Correspondence ensued, and the result was that Hugh returned home in 1887. was easily identified by his family and former comrades, applied for a pension, 'and at last the certificate directing payment to him as the wounded and missing Hugh Thompson, of Chickamauga, has been forwarded. Through all his wanderings lie carried a little Testament, given to him by a sister, when he enlisted. The sister, still living, recognized it at once when he exhibited it upon his return. All his efforts have so far failed to recall to him any thing that occurred from the time that lie tumbled over on the bloody field of Chickamauga until the strange awakening of his dormant perceptive faculties in 1870.—National Tribune. ONE OF THE QUEER CHANCES. The Narrow Escape of Death. a Soldier front Every once in a while some war vet* ran, under proper circumstances and onditions, will tell you how he escaped eath at such a place and such a time by he "queerest chance in the world." )ne of these ' 'queerest chances in the world" fell to the lot of an old-timer vho lives in Germantown, and, in truth, b is one of the very queerest. He was bout to leave for the seat of war in 863, and the girl to whom tye he was mgaged, among numerous other things, gave him a chest-protector made by her own fair hands and wet by her tears. t was meant to be practical, and was of mmense thickness—that is, it was padded to the depth of an inch or two. Dur- ng a long and tedious campaign in chilly weather, the soldier found it invaluable as a safeguard against colds, and wore it almost constantly. He hact t on one morning when plunged into the heat of a hand-to-hand skirmish. The affair developed into quite little battle and soon the straggling ire on both sides had become rattling- volleys. When it was over the soldier retired to his tent and removed his coat and shirt in order to stanch the flow of alood from a small flesh wound in MB jack. In removing the protector he :elt a sharp pain shoot through hfo chest, and then he noticed that the pro- ;ector was cut all up by.the passage of bullet. An investigation developed an awfully "queer chance." Hissweet- icart had accidentally left a needle sticking in the pad which he had never noticed before. This ran right through ;he cloth and a bullet had struck it on ;he point. The needle had been forced back clear through a thick button on, his woolen undershirt and thence ha4 gone a little distance into the skin. The resistance of the button had forced the soft lead of the bullet clear round the needle so that the bullet was fairly impaled on the slender wire. Thus was the life of the soldier saved, and through the carelessness of his beloved in leaving the needle in the protector.—Chicago Journal. THE NAMELESS SOLDIER. Wounded lu the War and Lost for Twenty Four Years. It was on September 1, 1862, that t youth of twenty, named Hugh Thomp son, enlisted at Van Wert, O., in th Fifteenth O. V. I. There was nothing to distinguish him specially from thousand other farmer lads who donnec the blue and marched away to the fron in the early days of the war. At th battle of Chickamauga, as a comrade relates, while they were lying on the ground at the front to esoape the tern pest of balls that swept the thin woods where his regiment was engaged, a case shot, deflected from & tree, struck him jn the head, and his face was instantly covered with blood. His he did SBp a^«flff FOR THE OLD SOLDIERS, THE Confederate army numbered at the time of its final surrender 175,000 men. THIRTY years ago Brigadier General John R. Brooke was a young lawyer in Central Pennsylvania. EX-CON?EDEBATBS are raising funds for a monument at Helena, Ark., to General Patrick Cleburne. THIS flag over Grant's tomb at Rivej* side is more weather-riddled than banners 'his own brave boys home from bloody victories. "I HAVE," says a Maine penwo» agent, "what I consider a funny pea- sion case on hand. Several years agff I secured a pension for a soldier of A certain regiment and company, and then, after his death, I secured 9 pension for his widow. Now she comes tflu me to help her secure another as the widow of another member of same regiment. You see that since { secured her first widow's pension ^% had married a comrade-in-arms of " first husband, and #awr is dead, with a frugality she is

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