The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on June 17, 1891 · Page 3
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, June 17, 1891
Page 3
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THE REPUBLICAN, A At.GONA. t»«t»11*h*r*. IOWA. A NEW ENGINEER'S SfOftV. An '-Engineer's Story" in form fegttlatiftn, t ain't going ter tell—I tun not cruel hearted) I'hts story, In Ulnd, is the first since creation' Upon Us long journey o 1 mysteries started. 1 loved Sallie Jenkins—a name that's not taldn, With people what hanker for poetry nnrnea— 4 Twus the gal not 'er name, ilr thet first did awakin Affection In me, an' enkindled love's flames. We mot, un' jes' as soon as hor ]>lrty eyes hit me I felt my heart jump, like a feller la dozo. Isoz: "Thur's a gol what'll jes' 'zactly fit mo, I'll hov 'er no matter what troubles oppose." J found she wuz willin' but then hor ole daddy ,He took clown hiz gun from tho garret an' sed: J 'IC ever I 'tempted ter take her, ho had mo, He'd draw back the hammer, 'so I Would go dead." 3 khowod he would do It, yes, 'cause the ole party Ho'd won much renown fer sich Innocent capers— His appetite allerg fer fightin' wuz hearty, 'N much ho lied done I hed read In tho papers. But fortune lilt alters smiles out on two lovers, I rested fer things ter develop themselves! Good luck in the cloud that affrights us oft hovers, Success in calamity's house often dwells. One evenin' at duslt, when tho moon wuz up creepln', My train near her home wuz u-chargln' with might; Ahead, near the track, there wuz sumthln' ft' leapln, Then a form uv a woman grew quick on my sight I 6he seemed all unconscious uv what she wuz doin-; She heeded no whistle—stepped right on tho track; Her form on the vails soon the wheels would be gluin 1 Unless by a miracle she wuz jerked back. -One chance in a thousand 1 Reversing the lever, An', makin' a leap an' a grab at one time, I landed her ove:- tho bank in a quiver Of terror and gladness—that sweet gal o' mine I Next day all the papers wuz full uv the story; "The brave engineer" wuz the Idol uv all: Ser old dad was on me—his eyes no more gory- He hugged me, while tears from hiz whiskers did fall I An' now for pure fact in this awful narration— For since we are married the public may scoff— Taat job wuz put up at the sharp gal's dictation— When I leaped ter save, she wuz twenty steps Vuncebitrg, Ky. —James Nool Johnson, in N. Y. Herald. , decreed another separation— one Which promised to have ho end. It seems that Bill, when a boy and When skating with Penny one day upon the old village millponct, had, through coolness and foresight, saved his companion's life. It was the same old story oi "daring'* to Cross a fragile bridge of ico between two air holes, when Penny found himself vainly struggling in the frigid waters, and with a swift current aiming to draw him beneath the surface. It was a situation demanding prompt action on the part of Bill, and at almost the last moment he succeeded, by greatly periling his own safety, in savins- Penny. 6 This happening tended'to bind them more closely in their youthful days, and also—in connection with other events—cemented a feeling of interdependence throughout the course of their army career. "I don't know as I ever told entrance, an' Tom hfl pressed a little silver knob t'. one side, while I stood In th' background. " 'T wasn't long afore a servant af>- peared, an' In answer t' Tom's question he said: TREATMENT COLDS. Two Things RetinUlte—ttoafc and th« . uccment ot I'ersplration. it is wonderful how the doctors manage to keep their peace of mind at all, 1V . | Kn °wing as much as they do Yes, sah, dis am Mistah Pickorson'i ailments that are possible to WAR REMINISCENCES. you about that happenin' when Penny had th' fuver clown in Carolina, did I?" queried Bill. 'JI think not," replied the lawyer. "Well, it was on that cold, raw night in November, '03, when th' command was passed along t' us, rather sudden, t' advance with all speed. You may remember what a nasty, drizzlin' rain was comin' down, wettin' everything we had on. Penny had not been feelin' well that day, nor for several days before that, 'an' I could see that he had anything but enthusiasm when we started out. I took my place near t' him an' I could THE VETERAN'S STORY. .As I Overheard It Oar. on a Railroad (Written for This Paper.] HAD been so /absorbed in my I newspaper, after leaving the city on a west-bound train, that I had not noticed the {fathering- shades of night, nor had I observed my immediate neighbors in the swiftly-speeding railway car. A consciousness of the one condition—the advent of night—soon brought me to a partial realization, at least, of those near by. Occupying the seat in front of me were two war veterans—and G. A. E. Tjoys, as I soon discerned—who, f found, were returning from an encampment where they had lived again the scenes of the past. Passing from the chronicle of day's -events given me by the newspaper, I became at once interested in the earnest conversation of my fellow travelers. I trust that my course of eavesdropping will not be considered particularly reprehensible, inasmuch as I only relapsed into a condition of ease, and drank in, as a creature of circumstance might, the flow of words which came to me over the back of that car seat. I early learned that the two men were old playmates, as well as army comrades, and were held closely by these ties, notwithstanding that fortune had been more lavish in the one case than in the other. One of the men-rFrank—was a prominent attorney in a western city; while the other—Bill, as his friend called him —had become a sturdy tiller of the one of the Presently Bill, the older two, spoke up: "I say, Prank, you remember 'Pen»y' Pickerson, don't you?" "''Penny' Pickerson? I » guess I do remember him, and I would go a good ways to see old 'Penny.' " "But you wouldn't find him, Frank, He's gone. Yes, 'Penny's' gone. I'll jest tell you about it." And the old Wan turned himself a little more towards hie companion, placed his hat •upon his knees, and was then ready to <mter upon his story. Apropos, however, to the old soldier's *ale let me briefly gather together a *ew fragments of interest which were propped, some before and some during •the narrative, e It appears that during childhood's <lays a»d afterwards, running through • period of early schoo l times, •the Frank, the lawyer, Tom Hazzard, 'Penny Pickersoa a*d old Bill were all playfellows and qjpse friends. Whatever one was engaged in, the others were quite certain to Rhftre. Joys and *orrows wore mutually divided. Their «omi»on stream of Jjf e> however, sep*rated some little time before the war began, but that great strife, strange as it may seem, again brought them to* g-ether, and i« the Shoulder to shoulder, it said, they passed regiment. ,-**& "BILI,, STAY WITH ME! FOB GOD'S SAKE, DON'T LEA.VK ME!" see that he was strugglin' manfully t' throw_ off th' weakness which was a-comin' over him more an' more with every step he took. Purty soon when he see he couldn't stan' it no longer, he said t'me: " 'Bill, I can't go 'nother rod.' " 'What's th' matter, Penny?' says I. 11 'I don't know, Bill, but I feel awful strange. I must drop out,' an' he fell by th' muddy roadside, while I tried t' find out what th' matter was, t' get him some kind of relief. I was jest about movin' a few steps t' one side, lookin' for a better spot from th' rain, when Penny cried out loudly: " 'Bill, stay with me. For God's sake don't leave me, Bill. I want you.' "I never shall forget those words if I live t' be a thousan' years old. They were th' last intelligent words Penny spoke for long weeks—you well recollect his sickness, an' how I stay'd by him." "By an' by he pulled out of th' fever, an' it seemed he never could say enough about his gratitude t' me. He was always bringin' it up whenever he had th' chance. "When th' war was over, an' th' tro&_ disbanded. Penny, y' know, remained right in Washington, an' somehow it wasn't long afore I lost track of him entirely. You an' Tom went out west; an"t'wasn't long till I found myself driftin' up in Michigan, where I took up a farm. "Well, about a year or so back I went down t' Washington on some business, an' afore I'd been there more'n a day or two who should I run against but Tom Hazzard, who also happen'd t' have some transactions at th' capitol. We had a good talk about ol' times, an' finally Tom said: " 'Say, Bill, do you ever think of Penny Pickerson?" "'Think of Penny Pickerson?—I guess I do think of him; an' he, for that matter, has a purty good cause to think of me,' said 11' Tom. ' ; ( 'Well now, I'll telly' what we'll do,' said Tom. 'After our business at t' department is over, an' you have called on Col. D , we'll see if we can't find Penny. I don't think we'll have much trouble about it, for I've heard that he is now a wealthy man, an' of some considerable prominence in business circles. He'll probably not know us at first, but yet a meetin' with him '11 be a mutual pleasure, I've no doubt.' '"All right, Tom,'said I. TJlfoller.' "After we'd hunted 'round quite a spell we finally was directed t' a great big gray stone structure, set way back from th' street, as bein' owned an' occupied by Mr. P. Picket-son. "Evenin' had cast her mantle o'er th' mighty city—as they say—an' I must own that th' electric lights made everything look snug an' nice 'bout that great mansion an' its surroundin's. J know that I was purty much befuddled, an' couldn't think that this was th' place where now lived our simple comrade of 'pears like, but few years ago, I could n*T. imarWIVkn ewnVt « A.___,~-e -" '"- residence. " 'Is Mr. Pickerson at home?' Tom then asked. "'Yes, sah.' "'Can we see th' gentleman?' Tom Went on. " Ts afeard not, sah. Mistah Pickerson is very sick, sah, an' de doctah had lof ordahs not t' have him distu'bed. De doctah am comin' now, sah. You can ask him, sah.' "At this moment a mighty dignified -n' stout gentleman came up th' few steps an' seein' th' nigger, he said: " 'Good evenin', Benjamin. How is Mr. Pickerson this evenin'?' " 'Good evenin', dqctah. I's afeared mastah's not as well dis evenin', sah. Doctah, dese gentlemen have jest called t' sec Mistah Pickerson, an' I have re- fer'd dem t' you.' "Tom then introduced himself an' told th' physician that we were old playmates an' army chums of Penny's; had not seen him for many year's, an' wished that privilege if possible, as another opportunity might not occur durin' our lives. "Tho physician listened t' Tom, an' then told Benjamin t' usher us into th' hous« t' wait his return from th' sick room, when he would see if 'would do for us t' go up. "Well, Frank, I thought I had never dreamed of such grandeur as met my gazje upon enterin' th' gorgeously furnished rooms we were shown into. 1 was really dizzy with all th' splendor that surrounded me. Tom, though, didn't seem t' mind it much, for he soon took possession of th' softest an' easiest chair in th' room. We had not long t' wait before th' physician returned wearin' a very anxious expression. Approachin' Tom, he said: You may step upstairs an' look upon your old friend, but inasmuch as he is delirious, an', I fear, has but few hours *•' live, you can do but little more than see him a moment. I would not deny you this privilege. Th' family have retired for a brief spell; therefore if you will follow, me I will take you t' Mr. Pickerson's bedside.' Up th' heavily-carved an' finaly- carpeted stairs we went; th' physician arst, then Tom, an' finally m'self. Goin' m t' a spacious room wo approached a great mahogony bedstead, where, guarded by a couple of servants, we saw th' restless form of a thin, pale man. " 'It's Penny, b' gosh!' says I- couldn't hold it back. 'Don't y' me, Penny?' '"S—h,' whisper'd Tom, 'He's out of 'is head. He's delirious. Th' doctor says we must not talk t'him.' "So we stood there a few minutes, watchin'th'pantin' chest an' restless frame, while a few wanderin' words were passin' th' fever'd lips. Then we turned, an' were carefully departin', when a shrill, deathlike cry sounded through th' room, strikin' alarm t' everyone. "Th' sick man had raised upon his elbow, an' with a dull, vacant stare was lookin' partly away from us, an' callin' loudly: " 'Bill, stay with me. For God's takt don't leave me, Bill. I want you." " 'My God! said I, as I heard Penny's cry. 'Them's the very same words that Penny said t' me way down there by that black Carolina roadside. Does he know what he is sayin'?' "Th' doctor shook his head, an' said: "No, he's not aware of what he utters. This is an old recollection, undoubtedly, that still abides with him. He's very weak, an' is not far from his end.' "Tom an' I were soon forced to withdraw, though—particularly in my case- it was with much reluctance; an' as we went along th' street I could still heat A doctor told The Woman About Town the other day that there were twenty- one different kinds of sore throat. And He was as composed about it as if he were- talking about the different kinds of soda water sirups. And then again another doctor told The Woman in an easy, off-hand way that he didn't doubt that half the mortal illnesses in the World came from taking cold. And when she demanded indignantly why, U that were true, the doctors didn't go about button-holing people on the Streets and telling them so he only shrugged his shoulders and said he was curing diseases, not preventing them, Mriit wouldn't help matters a bit, any! But it would. The trouble with people is either that they don't know how to take care of a cold or they don't understand the necessity of it. There are just two things that underlie all treatment for, colds-rest and inducing perspiration. The first thing to do when you find yourself acquiring an elaborate and symmetrical cold is to stay in the house and rest. If you can trust vour- seii to take medicine—that is, If have sense enough not to take aconite. Drop^accurately ten drops of tincture of aconite into a glass containing twelve teaspoonf uls of water and take a teaspoonful once an hour. Remember that aconite _ is one of the most poisons in the world and care. you overdose— CLOSE A. RemttiixRoncn TO DEATH, and of tho "Um.rSlhm" of tho Civil W>ir. A southern correspondent sends a story of war-time. In some parts of the south, and especially in North Carolina, the horrors of war were greatly aggravated by the strife between irregular organizations of union and confederate sympathizers, known respectively as "Buffaloes" and "Guerillas." Both organizations were composed of lawless men, and no ultimate good appears to have been accomplished by them, either for the north or for the south. After Gen. Burnside's capture of Roanoke Island and Elizabeth City, things began to grow very uncomfortable for the buffaloes, who had made themselves obnoxious to their neighbors by many deeds of mischief. One of their acknowledged leaders put his family into a buggy, and set out for Elizabeth City. On the way he was met by a band of guerillas, who called upon him to surrender. He knew that he could hope for no mercy if he gave himself up, and thinking that they might not fire upon his wife and children, he urged his horse forward, at the same time holding his infant child in front of himself as a shield. But the order to fire was given, and he fell back dead, a volley of bullets having reached him through the body of his child. deadlv take U wit *» for I know Then get yourself into a profuse perspiration by taking a hot mustard footbath. To do this the clothing must be removed and a heavy blanket wrapped about the body. Then immerse the feet m a vessel of water as hot as can he borne and into which a big tablespoonful of mustard has been stirred After five minutes of this treatment remove one foot at a time and give it a brisk rubbing. Then cover yourself up closely in bed and— go to sleep. If your body treats you as well as you have treated it you will wake up with half your load of cold taken from you: The philosophy of the hot foot-bath is that it restores the circulation to the surface of the body, and so relieves the congested membranes within. If you were to catch your cold while away from home or where treatment of this kind is not possible a good way to help yourself would be to walk it off —which means simply this, walking yourself into a perspiration, which acts as the hot foot-bath does. Put on your wraps, taking special pains to protect your throat Walk just as rapidly as -you can until you start a perspiration. Then walk just a little harder imtil you reach home. Then throw an extra covering over your wraps, without loosening them, and sit down, taking- care to keep out o£ draughts. Sit still until you are quite cool. Then remove your clothing, sponge yourself rapidly With alcohol, and put on fresh dry garments throughout. If you do this carefully you will not be likely to have to call in the doctor to look wise and tell you you've got the grip.— N. Y. Sun. AMERICAN n't imagine such a transformation in Penny's snrroundin's, "We kinder stopped when we'd 'bout half covered th' distance t' th 1 house an'I couldn't help sayin': "'Tom, we're wrong. This ain't Penny's place. Be don't lodge in nq such palace as this, an' I know it.' " 'This is certainly th' place we were directed t',' replied Tom, who had seen more of these changing in man's condition, and consequently wag not so kinder overcome as I was, " 'Well, I can't have it tt»t way, »n' I jest know we're off th' trae.k * sa I 'But, ttwfc « yoi» thtak, so, th' THEM'S THE VERY SAME WORDS!" those sharp tones appealin' t' me f stay. I could hear 'em th' day after, an' I can hear 'em even now. " 'Twas not many weeks after this happenin', Frank, that I got a letter one day which ran something like this: " 'By a provision contained in th' last will an' testament of P. Pickerson (deceased) there falls t' yoa,durin' your lifetime, th' interest of twenty tbou* san' dollars; together with various relics of the late war gathered by yourself an' Mr. P.' "Then there was somethin' about correspondence, as* go on, an 1 th' letter was signed by th' administrator of Penny's estate. "I hesitated quite a long 1 time about answerin' th' letter, *till anally, feelin' niyself gettin' old, an' bein' purty well shatter'd from a long an' hard l*rmy service, I concluded f look upon it as somewhat oft providential pen-'-•» which would tj&e good care of me rest of my days." 1I the lips of the nardy old veteran i» the seat before me. J was so infjue»cedl, not by the Darra.tip ft O f events, RAILROADS. An English Nobleman's Comparison With the Krltish System. In a country like America, where interests are so diverse and the laws of various states differ in many respects, it is impossible, writes the duke of Marlborough, to expect that a rigid control by congress can be kept, as in Europe or England over large public properties such as railways. No one who has been to America can fail to be struck with the vastness of the railway interest in that country. It represents the life and lungs of trade, and at the same time it is the predominant factor in preserving political unity of interests between states separated by thousands of miles of intervening plains, rivers and mountains. The management as well as the mismanagement of these vast systems is one of the marvels of that great continent. As a very observing acquaintance said to me the other day, when we were returning together on board an ocean steamer, having been over with tho Iron and Steel institute: "I went to America .this autumn with my son, and we traveled over more than twelve thousand miles of railway all over the continent, and we never had a hitch or failed to make a connection throughout all tho journey." It is not a flattering thing, perhaps, to our national pride, but if the truth ia told our English railways are toy systems and our rolling stock are toy freight earners compared to tho trains that are run all over America. The immense haulage of American linos done on single pairs of rails is marvelous, and these systems must continue to grow to meet the wants of increasing population and the large centers of permanent industries and manufacture that exist everywhere. It must be noted, however, that the great main arteries of these systems are now permanently marked out It will be practically impossible to make new main routes, except at fabulous cost with approaches to the coast. The strate- gical positions are seized and occupied, and whoever can possess himself to-day of a controlling interest in a main through route and allied feeders across the great central basin of the northern states cannot be deprived of a gig-antic monopoly, in the present and in the future. --Fortnightly Beview. —What Our Artist (the Newly-Married One) Has to Put Up With.—Our Artist—"Just look, darling! I was short of canvases, so I've stretched a clean pocket-handkerchief! See how splendid it takes the paint!" His Prudent tittle Wife—'<Qh, John dear, how extravagant of you! It'll never come out!"—Punch- lamps were invented by a native of Geneva, ~ _ The horrible deed roused intense indignation, of course, and vengeance was threatened. Unhappily suspicion fastened upon the wrong man, and he was marked for destruction. News reached him upon his farm that the Buffaloes were in pursuit of his head, and he arranged with his wife a code of signals for his protection. Again and .again, by day and by night, his house was searched,-but without success. Many times he watched the searching parties as they withdrew, disappointed, from the premises. One day he had a peculiarly narrow escape. A band of armed men were seen approaching. Evidently they were after him again. He hastened from the house into the field, thinking himself unseen; but his pursuers had caught sight of him, and at once started in pursuit. There was no time to reach the woods, and in his extremity he crawled into a log which lay near the entrance to the field. Hardly was he inside when his enemies swarmed into the field. "Where is he?" "Where is he?" he heard one and another ask. "We saw him run this way, and he hasn't had time to cross the field. He is hiding here somewhere, and we have him at last. Some kept watch, and the rest searched the field. After a while all hands came together about the log, and some of them sat down upon it. One would shoot him at sight; another wanted to hang him to a tree and riddle him with bullets. No one suggested a trial, or the possibility of his innocence. The prisoner was almost afraid to breathe. Another search was made, and his agony of suspense continued. In his distress he prayed earnestly for protection. No one thought to look into the log, and late in the afternoon the sound of the bell notified him that the coast was clear, and he might return to the house. Many years have passed. The man still lives, and still believes that there was some connection between his prayer and his deliverance.—Youth's Companion. Every icftin is ufitnfr a ahort-f use ahefl. The ground shakes aad trembles, titt roar shuts out all 6ouiid8 ffonl a tifll three miles long, and the shells %&* shrieking into the swamp to cut tree* ehort off, to mow gr«?it tfttps In 4fi9 bushes, to hunt out afld shatter and- mangle men until their corpse Can not be^ recognized as human. Yoii would think a tornado was howling thrdugto the forest, followed by billows of fire*, and yet men live through it— aye, prel* forward to capture the battery, W6 can hear their shouts as they form 10* the rush. Now the shells are changed for grape and canister, and guns are fired so fftsfc that all reports blend into one mighty roar. The shriek of a shell is the wickedest sound in war, but nothing makes the flesh crawl like the demonical singing, purring whistling grape-shot, and the serpent-like hiss of canister. Men's legs and heads are torn from bodies, and bodies cut in two. A round shot or shell takes two men out of the rank as it crashes through. Grape and canister mow a swath and pile the dead on top of each other. Through the smoke we see a swarm of men. It is not a battle-line, but a mob of men desperate enough to bathe their bayonets in the flame of the guns. The guns leap from the ground, almost, as they are depressed on the foe, and shrieks and screams and shouts blend into one awful and steady cry. Twenty men out of the battery are down, and the firing is interrupted. The foe accept jt as a sign of wavering and come rushing on. They are not ten feet away when the guns give them a last shot. That discharge picks living men off their feet and throws them into the swamp, a blackened bloody mass. Up, now, as the enemy are among the gfuns! There is a silence of ten seconds, and then the flash of more than 3,000 muskets and a rush forward with bayonets. For what? Neither on the right nor left nor in front of us is a living foe! There are corpses around us which have been struck by three, four and even six bullets, and nowhere on this acre of ground is a wounded The wheels of the until the blockade J3»$, and were introduced fo* kondon in 178S. A BATTERY IN ACTION. The Thrilling Sight Which Cheered the Drooping: Soldiers' Hearts. One who has fought on many a battle-field writes the following thrilling description of the work of a battery of six guns: Did you ever see a battery take position? It hasn't the thrill of a cavalry charge, nor the grimness of a line of bayonets moving slowly and determinedly on, but there is a peculiar excitement about it that makes old veterans rise in their saddles and cheer. We have been fighting at the edge of the woods. Every cartridge box has been emptied once or more, and one- fourth of the brigade has melted away in dead and wounded and missing. Not a cheer is heard in the whole brigade. We know that we are being driven foot by foot; and that when we break once more the line will go to pieces, and the enemy will pour through the gap. Here comes help! Down the crowded highway gallops u battery, withdrawn from some other position to save ours. The field fence is scattered while you could count thirty, and the guns rush for the hill behind us. Six horses to a piece—three riders to each gun. Over dry ditches where a farmer could not drive a wagon, through clumps of bushes, over logs a foot thick, .every horse on the gallop, every rider lashing his team and yelling—the sight behind us makes us forget the foe in front. The guns jump two feet high as the heavy wheels strike rock or log, but not a horse slackens his pace, nor a can- noneer loses his seat. Six guns, six caissons, sixty horses, eighty men race for the brow of the hill as if he who reached it first^ would be knighted. A moment ago the battery was a confused mob. We look again and the six guns are in position, the detached horses hurrying away, the ammunition chests open, and along our line runs the command: "Give them one more volley and fall back to support the guns." We have Scarcely obeyed when boom! boom! opens the battery, and jets of fire jump down and scorch the green trees under which we fought and despaired. The shattered old brigade has a Chance to breathe for the flrs,t time in three hours as we formed a line and lie down. What grim, eool fellows those cannoneers are. Everyman is * perfect machine. Bullets splash d« B * <TI their f aeee, but they do ftot wines. , sing over and around, th*jr do man. gun can not move of dead is removed. Men can not pass from caisson to gun without climbing over windrows of dead. Every gun and wheel is smeared with blood; every foot of grass has its horrible stain. Historians write of the glory of war. Burial parties saw murder where historians sawjjiory.— National Tribune. FIRST CONFEDERATE GUN. A. Valuable Eelie Owned by a Chattanooga (Tenn.) Woman, The first gun made for the Confederate government is owned by Mrs. H. L. Miller of this city. The gun was made by Mrs. Miller's father, W. S. McElwaine, at Holly Springs, Miss., in the summer of 1801. It was carried through a part of the war by a young man of Holly Springs, a friend of Mr. McElwaine. It had a rifled barrel originally. About the middle of the war the barrel was injured by a ball, and the gun was returned to Mr. McElwaine, who cut it off at the injured point and bored it for a shot-gun. As seen by a Globe-Democrat reporter lately, it was in comparatively good condition. Mr. McElwaine was a native of Pittsfield, Mass., where he learned the trade of a machinist. Afterward he worked in a gun factory in New York, and then moved to Sandusky, 0., where he engaged in the foundry and machine business. In 1859 he moved to Mississippi. In a crude way he began the. foundry business, with two partners. When the war broke out the company had a well- equipped^establishment, and Jefferson Davis, being conversant with the property, induced its owners to convert it into an armory. Small arms wer« badly needed and Mr. McElwaine having neither the machines nor patterns, went to work to produce them. He planned and made the necessary machinery for making stocks, barrels and borings, working out the patterns, and with his own hand made the first gun which his daughter now preserves. When the battle of Shiloh was fought in 18613 the plant was turning out twenty-five stands of arms a day and employed five hundred hands. The armory was afterwards sold to the Confeder" ate government for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in addition to the sixty thousand dollars paid for arms up to that time. The plant was removed to Mason, Ga. After the evacuation oi Corinth and vicinity by the Confeger- ates, a raid was made and the building* of Holly Springs set fire to and destroy* • After an eventful career the make? ed. shot of the first gun of the Confederacy died in Chattanooga in 1873. The owners Q£ Libby Prison, at Chicago, are in corre- pondence with Mrs, Miller for the pur* chase of the historic relic, —St Louis Globe-Democrat *^ Afraid of the Kerosene Lamp. Several anecdotes are given illustra* ting Gen. Johnston's indifference to danger in battle, and then this citation is made of his opinion regarding a f a» miliar household utensil; "I am the most timid man in the wo#ld, and dread" fully afraid of a kerosene lamp, Th$ other day a servant put one in »y roam, I was but half dressed, and I hurried out as fast as I could run. I knew fe was going to burst. Then think of itf The very next night some kind of a pat* • ent kerosene lamp was sent me «T ft • present, and the donor lit ft, exp to me thq method of wofekjij* & was my nervousness that T he was talking to somebody had I tried to reason poltroon I was, tfnae, but J assure yoK noti&yr ever induce ma to light or '^^ kerosene lamp. . , , arwed with kerosene lamps w, I should fegi 's3 •'<*!! , t&'i a ,-r

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