Eagle Pass News-Guide. (Eagle Pass, Tex.), Vol. 22, No. 26, Ed. 1 Saturday, January 15, 1910 Page: 6 of 8
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THE GUIDE PRINTING CO.
EAGLE PASS, :
TEXAS
KANSAS, CORN AND BABIES.
Kansas has some reason to be proud
flf its record this year in the produo
tion of corn, wheat and oats, and es^
pecially of corn. The total of the three
crops is placed at more by $15,000,000
than in any previous year in its his-
tory, and obviously that is a showing
to be proud of. But singularly enough
along with this proud showing the cen-
sus bureau comes forward with the de
pressing information that the baby
crop in Kansas has fallen off in the
same year, says Manchester Union.
There were 25,980 babies born in
Kansas in the fiscal year 1907, and
only 23,850 in the fiscal year 1908. Of
course the first question that presents
Itself is what the fiscal future of
rear has to do with such a matter any-
way. Yet it is obvious that one must
start from somewhere in such compu-
tations, and perhaps the beginning and
end of the fiscal year are as good
points as any. The thought that is
sure to suggest itself is, were the
Kansas farmers so busy planting their
big crops of wheat, corn and oats that
they overlooked the graver problem
of population?
The cerulean “sky-piece” has made
Its jaunty appearance in our midst.
Time was when a man attired himself
Dnly in sober hues, as befitted his dig-
nity and importance, says Washing-
ton Herald. No frivolous frolicking in
fanciful garb appealed to the mascu-
line taste. A strong reaction from the
days of silken hose and brocaded,
gold-laced coats and small clothes
swayed the balance in favor of Puri-
tanical and Quakerish garb of the past
two generations. But man is becoming
emancipated from his somber thral-
dom; not all at once, but gradually, as
is usually the case with great and im-
portant reforms. The necktie has long
since succeeded to the inevitable, and
its flamboyant brilliancy now shames
the rainbow and the peacock. Mascu-
line hosiery, too, has assumed the col-
ors of the spectrum in weird and won-
derful design. In hats we have passed
the quiet black, brown and gray stage,
apparently. The lurid college hatband
was only the forerunner of the solid
green hat which burst upon a startled
public a year or so ago. It was a
modest shade of green, to be sure, but
green for all that.
LAST VOYAGE OF T
mite/,
ISABEL
THAT’S RIGHT.
WBAjVHALL PAM/Sm
mm BMffwpm OffZACffifrc.
SYNOPSIS.
®tory opens with the introduction
of John Stephens, adventurer, a Massa-
chusetts man marooned by authorities at
Valparaiso, Chile. Being interested in
mining operations in Bolivia, he was de-
nounced by Chile as an insurrectionist
and as a consequence was hiding. At his
hotel his attention was attracted by an
Englishman and a young woman.
Stephens rescued the young woman from
a drunken officer. He was thanked by
her. Admiral of the Peruvian navy con-
fronted Stephens, told him that war had
been declared between Chile and Peru
and offered him the office of captain. He
desired that that night the Esmeralda, a
Chilean vessel, should ( be captured.
CHAPTER III—Continued.
I walked the floor twice from wall
to wall, thinking swiftly, the sodden
cigar clinched tightly between my
teeth. I could perceive no reason why
the deed might not be accomplished
if luck favored, and I was sufficiently
young so that the danger rather ap-
pealed than repelled. Suddenly I
wheeled and faced him, still seated at
the table.
“You may fill out the blank, senor,”
announced, quietly. “I will try a
throw of the dice.”
CHAPTER IV.
If a man doesn’t love his work, he
would better get something else to do.
But the trouble is that such people
will hardly love any kind of work. The
trouble is in them. They lack intelli-
gence. If they knew enough to know
good work they would soon learn to
love it. The manual training scheme
has this in view—to surround the job
a man is doing with such intelligence
and taste as will make it attractive to
him. The man who is in love with
his job gets more contentment out of
life than any other,” says Brander
Matthews; and he gets a great part of
his contentment in doing his work
right. No man can love his work who
shirks. No man can be contented who
is dishonest about his work. This is
shirking or doing it negligently. So
these things always go together—hon-
est work, contentment and love of the
job.
The Farmers’ National congress, in
session at Raleigh, N. C„ passed res-
olutions asking for an amendment of
the general parcels post regulations
admitting to the mails parcels up to
the weight of eleven pounds and re-
ducing the rate to 12 cents a pound,
and also for the adoption of the rural
delivery parcels post for a local serv-
ice at a lower rate, says Boston Her-
ald. Professions of interest in the
farmer, inspiring desire for rural up-
lift, and the effort to conserve the
country life of the nation might find
practical expression in this postal
legislation which every organization
of farmers throughout the country has
indorsed, and which successive post-
masters general have approved, and
which the express monopolies have
been most interested in opposing.
The death of the first Little Eva has
just been announced. It must be a
mistake. People who attended “Uncle
Tom’s Cabin” on its latest round are
willing to swear that the first Eva is
still on duty.
Flippant scribes may joke about
pellagra, but it is no joke. They
waxed facetious over the grip when if
first made its appearance in this coun*
try.
Parisian scientists may try to solve
the secrets of longevity, but the fact
remains that coffins and undertakers
wil be in demand long after these
learned gents have departed hence.
Poultry is now so well masked as
to its age in the cocking that no
fowl, however venerable, may be dis-
couraged from trying to be a chicken.
Anybody who wishes to do so may
attribute this weather to the approach-
ing comet
In Which I Meet My Crew.
The polite hotel clerk halted me as
I passed his desk on the way out with
information that a drunken naval offi-
cer—evidently Sanchez—had been
there twice already seeking me, had
also asked for Lord Darlington, and
would return again at ten o’clock. I
thanked him, smiling to myself, won-
dering if the English nobleman was
to be challenged also, and promptly
disappeared into the night without.
The unfortunate affair with the ag-
grieved lieutenant had become a small
matter no longer troubling me.
I have wandered by night through
most of the seaports of the world,
knowing well the intricacies and dark
places of Port Said, Melbourne and
Calcutta, but I doubt if even the un-
speakable orient can equal for dirt,
squalor, crime and peril those narrow,
crooked alleyways where sailors most
do congregate against the Valparaiso,,
water-front. Here gather in bestial
rioting the scum of the South seas,
and here flourish their parasites. Any
night a trip alone through those foul
lanes is of the kind to test strong
nerves; but on this special occasion,
the way filled with pandemonium and
drunkenness, the entire city a riot
of noisy violence, the populace aroused
to fierce hate toward all foreigners,
the passage was one of constantly re-
curring danger. The street lights, few
and far between, were mere blotches
of color winking feebly at the sur-
rounding darkness, the rough cobble-
stone pavement underfoot was irregu-
lar and deceitful, while drunken
crowds, either quarrelsome or mau-
dlingly affectionate, surged aimlessly
about, gesticulating and yelling with
Latin fervor. However, I knew the
way well, and kept myself hidden from
observation by hovering close beneath
the protecting shadows of the build-
ings, drawing well back within door-
ways to permit the noiser parties of
revelers to pass, and then hurrying
forward along the deserted streets. I
stumbled over the body of more than
one drunken man, while sounds of
quarreling were borne to me through
the open door of every low taproom I
passed. The scum of Valparaiso had
come to the top, the fires of hell burn-
ing fiercely.
Pedro Rodrigues’ den stood some-
what back from the narrow lane it
fronted, flanked and concealed by
taller buildings on either side. It was
a ramshackle, wooden affair, sagging
sadly at one corner, the half dozen
steps leading to the open door being
only dimly lighted. As it was a well-
known resort, frequented almost en-
tirely by foreign seamen who would
scarcely be safe on the streets such
a night as this, it was no surprise to
discover the taproom densely
crowded with sailor-men, and to dis-
tinguish a voice singing lustily in vig-
orous English, to an accompaniment
of glasses pounding upon the rough
tables. Indeed, a wild, hilarious mob
greeted me loudly as I pressed aside
the heavy curtain and stepped within.
I cast a quick, comprehensive glance
over the faces, upturned through the
enveloping haze—Swedes and Finns
frorq the North sea, Dutchmen of the
Baltic, hairy Englishmen from the
channel, Yankees of the West Atlan-
tic, . beach-combers from out of the
South seas, with here and there a
negro or brown-faced Kanaka to add
to the variety. Faith, it was a choice
collection, as though the wide waters
of the world had been skimmed to
bring together that rare crew of beau-
ties. Perched high upon a table, his
long legs encased in sea boots, seated
astride a chair, sat the singer, his
mop of coarse red hair standing erect,
his jaw that of a bulldog, the scar of
a recent knife wound showing ghasify
across one cheek, his blue shirt open
V
umrnmi> ’nmm/t)
amm/Lc/tscime
/m
Tuttle Wheeled and Stared, His Jaw Working Savagely.
at the throat to reveal a hairy chest;
beneath thatched brows his eyes
glinted and gleamed in a ferocious at-
tempt at good humor.
“Sing, ye bullies!” he roared, after
one inquiring glance toward me, bring-
ing his heavy glass down on the back
of the chair. “Lay it out fer the gent,
whut has just come callin’ on ye. Tune
up, ye sea dogs. I’m no hopera hartist
here to entertain ye. Give qs a swing
to the chorus now, or I’ll shy this mug
into yer bloomin’ faces.' Lift the tune,
my hearties, and show the dagoes out-
side whut ye can do. Now at it:
The captain’s bride was fair to see;
Swing- hard! bend low.!
She mocked at him; she smiled at me;
Swing hard! bend low!
“Oh, to hell wid that sorter love-sick
stuff,” cried a protesting voice, hoarse-
ly. “That’s no good sailor song, Bill.
Give us somethin’ to start our pipes.”
The giant in the chair scowled.
“Ye’re a lot o’ dubs, an’ not fit sail-
or-men,” he retorted, savagely, drain-
ing his glass; “but I’ve got a chorus
ye’ll sing or fight me, an’ dam’ if I
care much which. Now take a grip at
this:
A mighty man was Pat McCann,
Who sailed upon the sea;
Within his hold he hid the gold,
He stole in Barbaree.
In Barbaree, in Barbaree
The men lie mute,
He has the loot,
He found in Barbaree.
They were still at it, the motley,
mongrel crew, their hoarse, drink-
thickened voices roaring out lines full
of the fierce swing of the deep sea,
their glasses pounding in unison on
the tables, as I pushed my way
through them up to the sloppy bar
and faced the fellow standing behind.
“Is there a Yankee whaleman here
by the name of Tuttle?” I asked.
He stared at me, his eyes squinting,
while the wild chorus began to die
away like a clock run down.
“Bill, whar’s Cap’ Tut’?” he called
out finally. “Here’s a cove wants
him.”
The red-headed giant, perched aloft
on the chair, flung one hand indiffer-
ently across his shoulder toward the
rear of the room.
“Come on again, mates,” he roared.
“Another drink, and another song.
Spit it out this time—‘Swing hard!
Bend low!’ ”
“He’s yonder in the back room;
through that door, mate,” said the
bartender, shortly. “Better not tread
on any of the lads’ feet goin’ in, unless
maybe ye’re here to-night huntin’
trouble. They’re just ’bout drunk
enough now to be ready to start a
row.”
I picked my way with caution, the
fierce lilt of that devils’ chorus stun-
ning my ears, the hairy faces con-
fronting me scowlingly suggestive of
any crime. Saint Andrew! I thought
soberly, if this was still the day of
pirates here was a brood ready for
hatching. With a feeling of positive
relief I pressed open the heavy wood-
en door, stepped within and closed it
carefully behind me. So tightly fitting
and solid the wood it Instantly shut
out completely the mad jiot of the
barroom. It was like coming into a
new world. Two men sat alone at a
small, round table smoking, between
them a short-necked black bottle with
glasses, and a scattered deck of greasy
cards. The one nearest where I stood,
tall, long-limbed, angular, his face thin
and made to appear more so from a
sandy chin-whisker, had his knees
swung over the arm of his chair, a
bald spot on the top of his head shin-
ing conspicuously beneath the rays of
the lamp. His companion was consid-
erably younger, somewhat trim of
build, with black, curling hair, and
small mustaches curled upward at
the tips. He was of a complexion to
make me think him either a creole or
quadroon, but with smiling lips and a
light in his merry eyes bespeaking a
temperament of good humor.
“Capt. Eli Tuttle?” I questioned,
doubtfully.
The older man slowly deposited his
feet on the floor and stood up. He
was a trifle round-shouldered, attired
in a black frock coat which dangled
to the knees, and his eyes of cold gray
narrowed into mere slits as he in-
spected me with undisguised sus-
picion.
“The spirit which for 70 years hath
made answer to that earthly name
still abideth within this fleshly body,
he responded solemnly, in a voice
seemingly from the very pit of his
stomach. “I am still permitted to
sail the seas, thus known to the chil-
dren of men, awaiting in patience the
hour of translation.”
To be greeted thus in such a spot
stunned me for the instant, my cheeks
flushing as I read undisguised amuse-
ment in the upturned face of the cre-
ole. My teeth shut together hard.
You are Eli Tuttle, then, formerly
master of the whaling bark Betsy?”
“Even so, young man,” his lean face
perfectly emotionless, his long fingers
outspread flat on the, table. “Eli Tut-
tle of New Bedford, once the chief of
sinners, but now communing with the
higher life of the spirit world. As-
sociate me not with yonder ungodly
crew, blind to the truth of the be-
yond,” and he snapped his fingers soft-
ly toward the closed door. “In this
world saints and sinners must indeed
mingle bodily, yet not in any com-
munion of spirit. It was for peaceful
meditation that friend De Nova and I
deserted yonder scene of revelry and
sought this secluded spot. Truly the
good book saith that where one or
two are gathered together in his name
there is he also in the midst of them.”
The creole laughed outright, smiting
the table smartly with his palm.
Sit down, mate!” he exclaimed,
genially,-kicking up a chair. “After
you know zis ol’ hypocrite as well as
I do, his communion viz spirits won’t
bozzer you much. Help yourself to
drink, an’ wash the taste out you’
mouth.”
Tuttle wheeled about and stared at
his companion, his thin jaw working
savagely; but the creole went on roll-
ing a cigarette indifferently between
his brown fingers, his white teeth
gleaming. I remained standing, my
hand on the back of the chair, intently
studying the pair.
“I come directly from Don Castillo,”
I said, quietly, facing the Yankee, and
determined to get down to business,
“and desire to speak with you alone.”
His glinting eyes narrowed per-
ceptibly, and his jaws crunched down
upon the tobacco in his cheek.
“ ’Tis safe enough with him,” he ac-
knowledged rather ungraciously, his
voice becoming nasal as he pointed his
chin-beard toward the other. “De
Nova is second officer.”
I drew back the chair and sat down,
realizing that I now possessed the at-
tention of both.
“I have been appointed to assume
Capt. Castelar’s duties,” I announced
quietly. “Do either of you care to ex-
amine my papers?”
Tuttle spat silently into the saw-
dust, while De Nova exhibited his
white teeth in a grin. The eyes of the
two men met.
“I rather guess your papers won’t
cut much ice in this yere affair,” re-
turned the former with deliberate in-
solence, “being as how we don’t either
of us give a tinker’s dam’ fer Peru, if
if you’ll pardon my sayin’ so plainly.”
His mask had disappeared as by
magic, and I realized instantly the
real nature of the man.
‘You mean no enlistment has been
made, either by you, or the men under
you?”
‘That’s just about the size of It,
mister,” his tone full of unconcealed
contempt, his leg flung once again
over the arm of the chair. “We agreed
to do this one particular job fer a cer-
tain consideration, but we’re none of
us Peruvian sailor-men, and conse-
quently don’t give a hang for your
papers. Ain’t that about it, De Nova?”
The creole nodded, still smiling
pleasantly, the blue smoke curling
lazily up from the end of his cigarette.
Evidently the two were actively en-
gaged in taking my measure, and this
was to be a case of man against man,
rather than the exercise of any dele-
gated authority. I might as well throw
my commission into the fire for any
real value it possessed here. All
right; I had met and attended to their
kind before.
_ “! am delighted to understand the
situation so clearly and quickly,” I
said, sharply, throwing a note of au-
thority into my voice and manner. “It
simplifies my task. Now listen to
me, Mr. Tuttle,” giving him his formal
title, “and you likewise, De Nova. I
probably care as little for those pa-
pers as either of you, but, neverthe-
less, P am in command. Do you both
clearly comprehend that?—I am in
command! It will be just as well for
you not to attempt any horse-play. I
am no dago sea-officer, but a North
Ameiican sailor, and I didn’t come
crawling into my first ship through a
cabin window. I’ve tamed mutinous
crews before now, and when I’m up
against sea-scum I can hit as ffiard as
the next fellow. If either of you de-
siie to test my qualities as a bucko-
mate, I’m here to accommodate you.”
Neither answered, but I read their
conclusion in their eyes.
That s all I need to say now,” I
went on. “It’s up to you to fish or cut
bait. You fellows have nothing to
gain by opposing me, and I hope you
possess sense enough to know it. De
Nova, where have I ever met you be-
fore?”
The creole’s face instantly bright-
ened again, his white teeth gleaming
under the black mustache.
“So monsieur remember,” he lisped
gently, leaning forward on the table.
I thought maybe you forget altogeth-
er bout zat time. But I know you at.
once w’en you come in. It make me
laugh to see zis Yankee try bait you
like you was a dago steamboater. Bah,
I know you all right for sailor-man;
I know you do business.”
^ But I am unable to place you.”
No, not yet; maybe you will w’em
I say more.” He spoke rapidly, ges-
ticulating with excitement. “It was a
little ship off Hatteras; ze storm five
days, an’ all wreck. It was a steamer,
w’ite, wiss red stacks, zat took off ze
crew, an’ it was hell of a job. Zat was
ze story, monsieur; I was mate of ze
Cymbeline.”
I knew him then instantly, my mem-
ory picturing anew the cold, gray
dawn, the green, angry seas, the help-
less, sodden hulk heaving sickeningly
to its death, and those water-drenched
forms we hauled over the sinking rail
into our tossing boat. I held forth
my hand, and his brown fingers, hard
as iron, closed over it in a grip to be
felt.
“Sure, it’s come back, mate,” I said.
“I rather guess I can count on you.”
His dark eyes met mine in frank
honesty.
“Running arms for the Cuban revo-
lutionists then, weren’t you?” I asked,
indifferently. “What since?”
He shrugged his shoulders, glancing
across at Tuttle, and fingering his
mustache.
/
Tommy—Say, auntie, what did Uncle
John marry you for?
Aunt—Why, for love, of coursa.
Tommy (meditatively)—H’m! Love
will make a paan do almost anything,
won’t it, auntie ?
Harvard Scored.
It was the morning of the Yale-Har*
vard game at Cambridge, and two of
the New Haven collegians were wan-
dering through the Harvard yard,
looking at the university buildings.
Down a walk toward them came a
youth of serious aspect, but palpably
an undergraduate.
“I beg your pardon,” said the Yale
man, who is a bit of a wag, to the
stranger, “can you tell me where I
can find Harvard university?”
“I’m very sorry,” said the serious
one, with never a smile. “They’ve
locked it up. You see, there are so
many Yale men in town.”
Deafness Cannot Be Cured
pplications, as they
on o £
by local a
eased portion o£ the ear.
cure dealness, and that is by constitutional remedies.
Dealness • is caused by an inflamed condition ol the
mucous lining ol the Eustachian Tube. When this
tube is inflamed you have a rumbling sound er im-
perfect hearing, and when it is entirely closed, Deal-
ness is the result, and unless the inflammation can be
taken out and this tube restored to its normal condi-
tion, hearing will be destroyed forever; nine cases
out ol ten are caused by Catarrh, which is nothing
but an inflamed condition ol the mucous surlaces.
We will give One Hundred Dollars for any case oi
Deafness (caused by catarrh) that cannot be cured
by Hall’s Catarrh Cure. Send for circulars, free.
„ , _. _ F. J. CHENEY & CO., Toledo. Q,
Sold by Druggists, 75c.
Take Hail's Family Pills for constipation.
Read Art.
“Smith’s a born liar.”
“Jones has him skinned,
his lying at college, and
crude, natural methods.
He learned
scorns the
-Exchange.
c,roKs.M
refund money if it faffs to
LliOVES signature is on each box. 25
Tablet^
- cure. E. W.
box. 25c.
Sometimes a man’s wisdom is due to
the possession of a clever wife.
ir-coated, easy to
3 stomach,
Don’t blame the phonograph if it has
a bad record.
Don’t Persecute
your Bowels
Cut put cathartics and purgativet. They are brutal
—harsh—unnecessary’, lry
CARTER’S LITTLE
OVER PILLS
Purely vegetable,
gently on the Ei
eliminate bile, ai
soothe the dcticate
membrane of
of the bowel.
Care Cen-
stipation,
Eihoiu-
ness,
Sick Hfitjadso ft&cS Injigsibon, as millions know*
JSSfe Small Dose. Small Price
GLNUINE must bear signature .
Stops Lameness
Much of the chronic lameness
in horses is due to neglect.
See that your horse is not al-
lowed to go lame. Keep Sloan’s
Liniment on hand and apply at
the first sign of stiffness. It’s
wonderfully penetrating — goes
right to the spot — relieves the
soreness — limbers up the joints
and makes the muscles elastic
and pliant.
Here’s the Proof.
Mr. G. T. Roberts of Resaca, Ga.,
R.F.D.No. i, Box43,writes: — “Ihava
used your Liniment on a horse for swee-
ny and effected a thorough cure. I al-
so removed a spavin on a mule. This
spavin was as large as a guinea egg. In
my estimation the best remedy for Iam&-
ness and soreness is
Sloan’s
Liniment
Mr. H. M. Gibbs, of Lawrence, Kans.,
R.F.D. No. 3, writes: —“Your Lini-
ment is the best that I have ever used.
I had a mare with an abscess on her neck
ana one 50C* bottle of Sloan’s Liniment
entirely cured her. I keep it around ail
the time for galls and small swellings
and for everything about the stock.”
Sloan’s Liniment
will kill a spavin,
curb or splint, re-
duce wind puffs and
swollen joints, and
is a sure and speedy
remedy for fistula,
sweeney, founder
and thrush.
Price 50c. and $1.00
Sloan’s book
horses,
and n<
1 pool
B. Add
» boots on
attic, sheep
try sent
Iress
Dr. Earl S. Sloan,
Boston, Mass,, U. S. A.
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Boehmer, Joseph O. Eagle Pass News-Guide. (Eagle Pass, Tex.), Vol. 22, No. 26, Ed. 1 Saturday, January 15, 1910, newspaper, January 15, 1910; Eagle Pass, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1098017/m1/6/: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting UNT Libraries Special Collections.