Evening Star Newspaper, February 8, 1925, Page 68

THE SUNDAY S S TAR, WASHINGTON, D. C., FEBRUARY 8, 1925—PART 5. Pounded by Sea in Midst of Jagged Reefs, Craft Barely Escapes Order to Lower American Flag Fails to Impress Navigators on Way to Cape Horn. Embarking with one companion in a sloop-rigged and decked-over lifeboat from Punta Arenas, Chile, bound for Cape Horn, Mr. Kent, whose narrative began last week, had scarcely sailed out into the Stralt of Magellan before the little craft began to fill. In spite of desperate baillng, the water reached to thelr waists in the cabin. They were finally able to check it and then to limp ashore at Dawson Island. They had scarcely cast anchor in shel- ter, however, before they were boarded by a Chilean soldler of Port Harris 'and told they were under arrest. At this point the present installment begins. Rockwell Kent is an internation- ally known painter of landscapes and figures. He 1s also the author of “Voyaging Southward From the Straits of Magellan” and “Wilder- ness.” His companion, Ole Ytte- rock, a Norweglan, was the third officer of the steamer in which Mr. Kent had journeyed from New York. Upon hearing of the ar- tist's startling project, Ytterock had volunteered to join him. BY ROCKWELL KENT. ORT HARRIS, on Dawson Is- land, is the only settlement in the archipelago west of Tierra del Fuego. Its romantic history dates from 40 years or more ago; a period when, incidental to the white man’s occupation of the prairie lands of southern Patagonia, there was carried on a ruthless war to ex- terminate the aborigines. Inhabiting the interior of Tierra del Fuego were the Ona Indians, a superb race related to the giant na- tives of the mainland north of the Strait of Magellan. Their warring and predatory habits brought them into immediate conflict with the white invaders of their lands. The war became a loathsome butchery. Deeply moved to pity by this re- volting carnage, the local diocese of the Sileclan order established a mis- sion at Port Harris for the persecuted savages. They fed their wards and clothed and trained them, and when, after a course of vears and In spite of a con- tinued replenishment of healthy sav- ages from the wilderness of Tierra del Fuego, the human material had about all died, the mission was put on the block and sold. Port Harris now became the center of a business enterprise. A sawmill was built and a shipyard; and there on Dawson Island was eventually launched the famous and ill-fated Sara, the largest ship ever built In Chile. * ok ok % T was dark when, escorted by sol- diers and towed by their launch, we entered Harrls Bay. The electric lights of the little town sparkled through the rigging of vessels at the whart, and were reflected wavering in the black water. Then the whistle of the mill announced the dawn; and, as its echoes died, we moved the Kathleen to an anchorage abreast of the slip and waited for the tide for docking her. From her masthead waved the Stars and Stripes. 1 was in the cabin, at work. Sud- denly the mate, who had been ashore, burst in, his face crimson with pas- slon. he carabineros are here” he crled. “They've ordered the flag down. 1 told them to go——. They want your papers.” The Norwegian mate's American- ism was 100 plus; and so flercely raged the flames of outraged loyalty as he stood there before me, that prudently leaving him and his un- governable rage behind, I went ashore. Two carabineros, splendidly ac- coutered, stood there. A crowd was gathering. The faces of the soldiers, stupid and sullen, wore that peculiar expression of ludicrously fierce dig- nity that is affected by inferiors. “What do you want?” I asked the sergeant. He spoke excitedly in Spanish, which 1 didn’t understand. Guessing that he had asked for my passport, I gave it to him Unfolding its mapltke turning it this way and over and back, studying it and comprehending not a folded it up in a complete returned it. “Your dispatch.” I gave him that. Whether he could read or not I do not know; it took him a long time. Finally, seemingly well satisfied, he gave It hack to me. And then, fiercely and in Castilllan that I clearly understood, he thun- dered: “Take that flag down within five minutes.” Argument with one who couldn't understand was useless. 1 told him, smilingly, that the flag would not be lowered. Then I pushed through the crowd and went aboard and below. And that, until a few days later they flocked around like children, begsing to be photographed, was the expanse, that and at length word, he mess and last we saw of the blood-curdling carabineros. The manager of the Port Har- ris establishment. Senor Marcou, called upon us He was a rotund, red - cheeked, bright - eyed, jovial Frenchman, demonstrative, kind, irascible, and—as he proved to us— a generous and entertaining host. “What can we do about your boat?" he asked at once. We asked for very little—and he gave us everything. “Well, he said finally, “we'll give your boat a thorough overhauling and make it fit to go to the Horn In." “But 1 can’t pay for it!" I ex- claimed. No roatter,” he replied laughingly, “and now come home to dinner.” Three weeks passed llke one: and although the hospitality of Dawson showed no signs of waning. and its simple ways and wonders, rather than wearying us, might have become our habit for as many months, our boat was finished. She was, as it was said, fit for the Horn; and, as if the Horn were that consummation to Wwhich our lives were purposed, it held us by a law stronger than the allure- ments of pleasant ease. Amid farewells of friendships that were real, toasted and blessed and laden with gifts, we salled away. The schooners in the harbor dipped their flags and the sawmill whistle shrieked. Port Harris was a bank of waving hands—then a memory. There was a strong east wind abeam and a choppy sea, and the sky was heavy and threatening. After five hours of tumultuous sailing we en- tered the sheltered waters of Mes- kim Channel, the mountain shores drew close and towered over us, and suddenly it was vastly quiet as if all sound and movement in the world had stopped. We heard only the silver rip- pling of the wavelets on our sides as the soft wind bore us on. Then living creatures came to welcome us. There was a quick, soft, momentary tearing of the water, and another and again; porpoises were all about us, playing like young dogs. They leaped and darted back and forth across our bows, or followed at our side, or dived beneath the keel. Thus gloriously escorted, we found a most peaceful little crescent cove. On the wind's last breath we entered there and anchored. For days we loitered at that anchor- age, unwilling to forsake a spot that one might choose to spend a lifetime in. Then, too, it was dead calm. The faintest breeze bore us up the channel the morning that we sailed. We reached the western point of Wickham Island. But the wind failed us and we yielded to the current of a strong ebb tide and let our boat be borne through the archipelago of lit- tle islands that cluster around the ex- tremity of Wiskham. Southward we proceeded through a maze of these, without a wind, seemingly so mo- tionless on the calm breast of the tide that it appeared as if the land streamed past us to display itself. * % % % QUDDENLY, from the far-off forest of the dark mountain side aeross the water, faintly through the falling shrov4 of rain, alone and clear above the #fence, came the barking of a doy” Staring through the glasses, we dis-wvered two overturned boats on the beach, and above them in the suadows of the trees two huts. Pres- catly, as we drew nearer, there ap- peared against the darkness of the doorways :wo faces peering out, each luminous and round and motionless as a moon. A man came out and strolled down to the boats. To our hail he made no reply. - % While we were tremendously ex- cited at thus encountering cannibals, there was nothing in the appearance of things to warrant any course but that which instinctive courtesy pre- scribed for a chance meeting between human beings in the wilderness. So, putting into my pocket a few cakes of the greatest delicacy that our stores contained, a chocolate emer- gency ration, 1 embarked with the mate for the shore. The silent being there awaited us, and, as we landed, gave us a helping hand to draw the skiff above the water’s reach. He was a man of about 60, of med- jum helght and powerful build, and was clad in flithy, tattered 2nd patched remnants of a miscellaneous assortment of white men's garments. We shook his hard-skinned, pudgy hand and greeted him. Very bad weather,” he remarked in a horrible dialect which he later referred to as Castilian. And from this strikingly familiar opening of conversation he proceeded, as we sauntered down the beach, to ask for gifts—tobacco, flour, sugar. As we approached the dwellings another man, a younger one, came out and leaned against the boats. He nodded to us. He was lame, and his right arm was crippled. He showed it to me. It was so terribly inflamed and swollen from the fingers to the elbow that T could make nothing of the cause. Meanwhile, as we stood conversing “WITH A HOWL OF FURY, THE SQUALL VEERED; WE DRIFTED ONTO THE LEEWARD ROCK.” on the shingle below the huts, the two moon faces, unperturbed, looked at us from the darkness of their doorways. They were of two women, somberly clad, each seated on her threshold, with her knees drawn up | in a posture of patient endurance. | One of the guardians of the door- way appeared to be very old; her face was wrinkled and her hair thin and white. She spoke no “Castilian,” but conversed, from time to time, in rich guttural tones in the native tongue. The other woman was about 40. Her voice, too, was deep and rich, with a mournful monotony of cadence; and the expression of her face was at once impressively sad and kind. This younger woman stood to let us enter. She was tall and lithe and had a manner of great dignity. I distributed my gifts of chocolate. The Indians were neither impressed by my generosity nor curious about what the silver-covered packages contained. They thanked me and either pocketed them or laid them aside. The younger woman asked me for soap. Sl e E returned to the Kathleen ac- companied by the old man. while we assembled an assortment of supplies for him, he waited, seated on the deck, looking abjectly for- lorn and filthy amid the trim sur- | roundings of the boat. He thanked | us with quiet politeness, saying, | “Not much but very good.” | It seemed to me when finally I had | | brought this savage back to the shore and stood there with him for a mo- ment at our parting, that there was little evidence of an abyss of cén- | turies between us. Miserably poor in goods, slothful and filthy with neg- lect, he was the type of his ruce; yet among the enlightened races of the earth are individuals, and even clagses, whom circumstances or tem- perament have reduced apparently to that same condition, or who, in re- action to the pace of civilization, to its burdens and responsibilities, | yearn for the freedom of vagabond- age. How thin a veneer upon the deep substratum of humanity must our culture be when, through de- sire or circumstances, men can SO0 easily revert ten’ thousand years! We waved farewell as we sailed off, but there was no response. From thos dark doorways in the shadow of the forest the two moons again looked out, as if eternally. And if they saw us it could only be that by the course we took we crossed their fixed and | far-off seaward vision. So little did | we count: had we been gods we only should have known it. With the fair wind and freshening | after five interminable wind-bound weeks in Brenton Sound, and bright wind clouds streaming up across the sky, we salled down and passed the channel south of Tucker Islands. Before us, due east by the compass, lay the green-blue length of Ad- miralty Sound, white-capped and swept by purple shadows. Eastward of Cape Rowlett the land becomes increasingly abrupt and mountainous. At the head of Alns-| worth Harbor there was visible to us, as we sed the entrance, a glacler huge as a frozen Mississippi. All day we salled with a great wind astern that sometimes mounted to a gale. Those seas to our small boat were mountains high. They followed us as if to overwhelm us; they over- took and lifted us, and left us, foam- ing as they went. * o ok ok ‘Tm:m-: are few harbors along that precipitous shore, and in the miles between them scarcely a beach or sheltered point where one could land. Accordingly, when, with the afternoon not far advanced and the wind still holding strons, we elected to pass by Ainsworth Harbor nd continue up the sound, we put be- fore us a good two hours' sailing to reach the next anchorage, Parry Harbor. And that with a wind so fair and steady we should reach there in broad daylight we had no doubt But wise men do not rely on the wind. With two hours it was calm, dead glassy calm; and we rocked and drifted helplessly about not two miles from the headland at the har- bor's mouth. So on our helplessness the day went out: the shadow of the far-off western mountain sides ex- tinguishing at last the highest flam- ing peaks. And night descended, chill and bleak, and then the wind. As we turned the headland the wind beat down in violent and vari- able squalls. It was impossible to see. We drove on into that darkne: trusting to what the chart obscurely showed of the coast’'s contour. For a few minutes we steered due south; then, estimating that we had come abreast of Stanley Cove, we pro- ceeded to beat in short tacks straight at the abysmal midnight of the mountain sid: Some one had told us of two rocks that we must pass between. With straining eyes we saw them straight before us. Sailing close hauled, it seemed that by a narrow margain we could make the passage. Sud- denly, with a howl of fury, the squall veered. We hung in stays a moment drifting onto the leeward rock. With a swift presence of mind, the mate threw the tiller hard to wind- ward. We slacked the eheet, then, and bore away to clear the danger. By a fathom's clearance we escaped that shipwreck. Somehow, alded by incessant sound- ing, we navigated safely that dark entrance to the cove, and, finding bottom at last, anchored in five fath- oms of water. While the mate set things on board to rights I launched the skiff and rowed out into that night to discover and explore the shore. I skirted the rocks for perhaps a quarter of a mile before encountering a landing place. There on a pebble beach, I drew the skiff ashore, and stood at last after a voyage of nearly 7,000 miles, on grim Tierra del Fuego. Darkly appeared against the starlit sky the tossing silhouette of wind-town trees a mountain towered over me, im- mense and black. Snow was on the slopes not far away. It was cold, and the wind roared through the forest tops. * K K X ITH a strong, falr wind we salled next morning for the head of Admiralty Sound. The day was over- cast and sullen. It was a heartless, bleak - coast; a tragic coast under that day's dark threat of storm. The land at the head of Admiralty Sound is split by two valleys. Between them, extending into the sound, stands Mount Hope, the western end of a rocky range that terminates where the two valleys dip and join again to make the bed of the great inland lake, - Forgnano. The southern bay lies open to the full fury of the west wind and the sea. A little treeless island two miles from the head, and near the shore, affords the only an- chorage. Although the wind was strong, to save maneuvering we jibbed to come about behind the island. And her through my land-lubberly awkward- ness in the handling of the con- gested intricacies of tiller and sheet at the cramped stern of our double ender, the adventures of me nearly came to an untimely and inglorfous end. The hurtling main-boom struck me with terrific force, hurling me backwards over the combing. I clutched and held to God knows what and hung, half in the water, a little more ashamed than scared, and far more scared than hurt. However, we had come about, and continuing a little further. on that tack we shot up into the wind and anchored in the calmer water of the island’s lee. On the shore of the bay, half a mile from where we lay, stood the buildings and inclosures of a sheep farm. Between its northern border and the range of Mount Hope flows a deep, swift stream, broadening near its outlet so as to afford a roomy anchorage for a boat of the tonnage shifting the Kathleen to that berth that we went to reconnoiter it. It was high tide when we reached the river bank, and the sea having entered the lower reaches of the stream had deepened and broadened |it-and assimilated its current, so that |we beheld a most inviting, almost landlocked, little harbor. ‘Absolutely perfect!” ried; and | BY J NIE MOOR! | HE great hearts of the world leave behind them when they g0 many an unwritten and untold tale of generosity, kindliness and compassion. The half-forgotten anecdotes which are dropped here and there, giving a glimpse of their true largesse, are seldom gathered and made Into a whole take, finished and complete upon the page. More often they are left in the twilight memories of those who speak them and so pass into the ether. But when such a chance brings the name of “Lincol into the conver- sation, a pause is necessary, a ques- tion follows, and eventually the whole comes clear out of the past, another bit added to the volume marked “Lincolnana,” in which so many of his countrymen have had the opportunity to write a sentence or a paragraph. Generals have written therein cita- tions for the Martyr President's bravery; bishops have praised his spiritual vision; poets have eulogized his compassion for the race of men. But all that brilliant company have left a small unwritten space for a short but happy story of his tolerance and sympathy for young lovers and the quick pain which separation brings them During the days of the Civil War, romance walked the by-ways of Washington in lace and crinolines, in ragged Confederate uniforms, in worn and muddy blue, in red feathers set on white poke bonnets for the heartening of Southern captives in Union prisons. Threading the figures which wore this motley of silks and homespuns ran the orderlies who carried on the network of what now appears a provincial Government, the carriages and pairs of lobbyists intent upon their selfish errands, and the wob- bling wagon ambulances transferring sick and wounded soldiers from the depots to the temporary hospitals of such structure as the Government could afford. While vacant houses were occupied by staffs and patients wherever pos- sible, the number of wounded coming into the city during the year of cam- paigning around Washington was so great that board shacks with rows of rude cots in them were thrown up with great speed and little considera- tion for beauty or comfort. Into such a building at the corner of Thirteenth and Monroe streets, called the Carver Hospital rather by virtue of its purpose than its equip- ment, a young soldier by the name of John McGee was carried one day early in the Spring of 1864. That he was a gallant and enticing young gentleman before he Jjoined the Pennsylvania regiment of which he was a member is proved by the fact that soon after his arrival he was visited by Miss Anna Carson, a beautiful and charming girl of 17. With a physical bravery which matched that of her soldier lover, she had escaped from the select school for young ladies in Carbondale, Pa., at which she was a student, and had traveled alone to Washington. While the fascination of the blue uniform is acknowledged (and I have been told that it was as bewitching as the Marines’ olive drab during the late war), such an escapade in the 603 certainly entailed a large proportion of the qualities which our writers of best sellers today consider necessary in their heroes. Only determination and purpose, inspired by deep affec- tion, could have manipulated the hoops of *6¢ out from under a vigilant schoolmarm’s eye, along miles of railroad and carriage travel, and eventually rested them beside a hos- pital cot. * ok k¥ NCE in Washington, arrived at the Carver Hospital, consoled and calmed by the sight of this most fas- cinating young man, Miss Carson was a little bewildered at her own bravery and undetermined as to what her next step would be, although she was of the full decision that never more would she leave the vicinity of the blue-eyed John McGee. Her youthful independence a little shaken, she looked with tear-filled eyes at the strawberry beds across the road from the hospital, turning over in her mind whether she should ask the mistress of the homelike old farmhouse If she might come in for the night. At this moment of indecision a lady 1 of ours; and ft was with a view to we hurried down to inspect the en- trance. This was not so good. It nar- rowed abruptly when it entered the seg to a passage not more than 30 feet in width, with a cliff on one side f it and a steep sand bank on the hand were long the |o other. Outside, on one reefs and on the other curved beach of the bay ea thundering along it the with To all s e T . THE VISIT. pearances, at that hour of high tide, with the surface of the water torn by the wind, thers was depth enough outside for a straight approach. It was worth chancing in preference to continuing at the wind-raked anchor- age where wez lay. * K K ok (O our return we found the tenant of the farm at home. And now, lest these lines come to glow with that too kindly spirit of undiscrimi- nating love for.man, I permit myself the happiness of presenting this| mealy-mouthed hypocrite as the per- nicfous scoundrel that he was “Enter,” sald Gomez with a gri- mace of hospitality, when I had pre- sented to him a warm letter of intro- duction from his employer, Senor Marcou. ‘We questioned him about the an- chorage in the river, telling him that we intended moving our boat to it He laughed and, with obscure sig- nificance, shrugged his shoulders, avoiding a direct reply. “Tomorrow,” he said in obedience to a command in the letter I had pre- sented, “I take you to the lake.” Both because of the tide’s effect upon the river current and that it might favor us in the event of our running aground, we hoped to post- pone the attempt to enter the river until the flood tide had set in. The day was, however, so overcast that at 5 o'clock, with darkness threaten- ing, we hove anchor. The strong wind bore us with what seemed in- credible speed toward the land, who: long, low = revealing nothing of the en extent, river's mouth save the cliff that marked it It had been high tide when we in- spected the seaward approach, and the water had appeared to be of even and sufficlent depth. Now, however, as we drew nearer to the land we ob- served breakers as far from shore as half a mile. Nevertheless, from what had been told us of the river, and particularly from Gomez's having men- tioned no dangers, it seemed reason- able to continue; 80, with white seas everywhere to starboard of us and reefs and a converging rocky shore to port, we held on straight for the narrow river mouth. Suddenly the water under us showed a pallid green. The mate leaped forward to observe the depth; it was too late. A long sea broke across our bows There was no room to turn, nor time; we struck. A foaming sea swept by us, grind- ing us along.” Another followed, lift- ed us, and hurled us forward, clear. We gained new headway from the wind and shot ahead through a caul- dron of white surf. We struck again, were lifted by a MRS. MARY K. KIMMEL, AS MRS. WIDOW, WHEN SHE TALKED WITH LINCOL GRAPH, A DAGUERREOTYPE, WAS MADE SHORTLY BEFORE hore appeared of unbrok- | its crest—and dropped so viclously that every fiber of the boat was strained. The stern swung round and we lay grounded, broadside to ‘the wind and sea. A squall struck, our beam ends. In the wild tumult of the sea and wind we managed to lower sail and anchor. throwing us on * X Kk x WE 1av a quarter of a mile from shore. Tt was almost dark, and the falling tide soon left us in the very midst of breaking seas. It was the work of some minutes to get the spare anchor out of the hold and bolt its uncouth. parts together The mate in this emergency became again a miracle of energy and strength and prompt obedience. With the white seas curling over the skiff's gunwale, he rowed the heavy anchor with its dragging weight of chain to windward, and at the chain's lengt dropped it. Then, taking advantage of every 1ift of the larger seas, we stralned to draw the bow Into the wind Time and again without avail we pulled the anchor through the yleld- ing, sandy bottom, hove it aboard, re- placeq it in the skiff, and the mate carried it to sea again. The bow stuck fast. Finally, after an hour of exhausting labor, we worked the boat's stern into the wind and, with both anchors at their chain's and ca ble's lengths to windward, held her so, and went below to awalt the tide | or dissolution. No sound of nature could he more gruesomely harassing than that | termittent grinding, gnashing, thump ing, creaking, groaning of our forlorr ship as she rolled and pounded in that sea. So I got out my beautiful beloved silver flute and played upor it; and if it had never before imposed a mood of peace upon one huma spirit—and that 1is possible—that day, by the incongruousness of i plaintive notes amid those sounds of wreck, it did. Then, lo! as if the forces of de- struction had grown discouraged i the face of our impressive noncha- lance, the tides of the sea and of for tune turned to favor us. Instead of 1ifting on the crests of waves we floated free, and only pounded in the hollows. With new energy and strength we went to work to improve our posi- tion, and in an hour's time, by pull- | ing the vessel out to the anchors and carrying the anchors alternately out to a, we reached a safe depth to lie in. It was an extremely rough and uncomfortable berth, but in the total darkness of that night it was out of the question to hoist canvaa and look for another. Utterly exhausted, we turned in. rried two fathoms on DAVID McFAUL, A YOUNG THIS PHOTO- dressed in the stiff black mourning silks of the perfod passed her, and was moved by some strange sympathy which draws kindred beings to one another to ask if she could help her. Then quickly Miss Carson told her tale to the young widow, Mrs. David McFaul. It was the latter's sugges- Ition that perhaps her cousin, Mrs. Mary Holmead, who owned and su- perintended the big farm across the road, could find a place for her trunks of schoolgirl finery and an extra plate for her at table. A few other persons visiting rela- tives at the hospital had stopped at Mrs. Holmead's house, but they had been for the most part mothers or near relatives of the soldier inmates. Knowing Mrs. Holmead's strict views concerning what young girls should and should not do, Mrs. McFaul, only a little less of a girl than her com- panicn, told her new friend of them. The immediate solution of the prob- lem seemed to be to make of John McGee a brother instead of a lover. So the black magic of youth effected the chance for the sake of old Mrs. Holmead's moral precepts. But since the imagination of youth 1s matched often by the keen percep- tion of age, Mrs. Holmead early sus- pected that John McGee, whose wounds healed so quickly that soon he was calling in the evening twilight upon his “sister,” showed something more than- brotherly affection for Anna “McGee.” And when on & sum- mer day, late in August, a quartet composed of the “brother” and ter and her own young cousin and a uniformed soldler started off for a drive, she knew as well as they that it was a wedding drive. After the good old pastor at St. Peter's had made Anna into a true “McGee,” the little party returned home to find the farmhouse lighted from roof to cellar and filled with the neighbors from roundabout. On the long tables in the dining room was spread a supper for all to which the best man added his donation of a great cake and some bottles of wine he had bought on the way home. The new Mrs. McGee, however, planned to celebrate her marriage by showing the new independence her wifely position gave her. Her John, oven more fascinating to her than when she ram away from school to vieit Mm, bos to prove hi charm to the officers in charge of fur- loughs and such matters, and was due soon to return to the front. But Mrs. McGee considered that he was not strong enough to undertake the hard- ships of a campaign again, and since he now belonged to her she sought a means of protecting him. Both she and her friend, Mary McFaul, had heard of the kindness of Mr. Lincoln, and they determined to see him and present the case to him. * * k% | A BOUT noon on a hot day in late August, the two young women, one a bride of a few days, the other a widow of a few months, dressed in their most becoming gowns, their lac- iest shawls and most irresistible bon- nets, and began their journey to the White House. As the wheels of the carriage ground through the dust of the country roads which lead there, the two of them rehearsed the points which they should present to Mr. Lin- coln. By the time they had actually arrived at the portico entrance, Mrs. Anna McGee was nervously eager to be in the presence of the man whom she already considered her benefac- tor, for her mind had run forward in anticipation, and her John was almost free. And now let Mrs. Mary L. Kimmel, formerly Mrs. Mary McFaul, tell the story of how Abraham Lincoln im- pressed her on that summer afternoon in 1864. Backward from 1925 to 1864 is a long stretch for even an active memory to take, but, as vivid experi- ences stand out brightly in the mind, this visit to the war-time President of her youth is stamped clearly upon Mrs. Kimmel's memory. ‘We waited just a few moments when we entered the hallway, for we were told that Mr. Lincoln was busy. As I remember there were not a great many people waiting there to see him. Possibly the heat of the day had kept them away. I did not speculate upon that at the time, nor did my friend. Now that we had made the long drive and actually gotten near our goal, Mrs. McGee's nervousness had in- creased, and she was a little over- awed by her own audacity. The at- tendant soon told us that the Presi- dent was disengaged and would see us now. “He showed us into the office where Mr. Lincoln was seated behind his desk. Rising as we came in at the door, the President came forward to l (Copyright, 1925.) Washington Woman Tells Story Of Cupid’s Plea Made to Lincoln shake hands with us. I had, of course, seen him before, for I had lived in ‘Washington during most of the*time he had been in the White House. Bu my friend had never, and I think h height overawed her—that and the fact that he was President. He was so very plain, though you could ap- proach him without any difficulty whatever. His face was dark and serious as he invited us to be sest returned to his desk, then asked what he could do for us “Mrs. McGee was YVery mervous when she began her story of running away from school to see her John But when she saw the little twinkle which came Into the President's eye she quickened her story, telling final 1y of the marriage and of the fur- lough from active campaigning whic she desired for her husband. “I saw the twinkle in the Presi- dent's eyes deepening, and when she got to the story of how she and John were afraid of being separated if it was found out that they were mot brother and sister and had therefore determined to marry, Mr. Linceln laughed out loud. “He started to tease her, asking her if she thought it a nice thing to run away from people who were car- ing for her, and pretending to old her for doing it. His attitude was so like that of any fatherly man t she was entirely at her ease and answered him quite pertly. And he, still smiling, -said he supposed it was no more than could be expected of young people. “Asking her husband's full name and the number of his regiment, he wrote them down upon a plece of paper on his desk and said he would see what could be done about the de- sired furlough. “He asked if we would call again upon a certain day about a week later. and this, of course, we gladly agreed to do. He was a man of few words. not at all lavish in his talk, but he smiled as he bade us ‘good-day’ and rose and walked with us to the door of the office. The heavy, serious 100k seemed to have lifted from his face, and he had proved to us that he could laugh and make a joke as well as the next. “Anna and T were shaky with ex- | citement when we came out into the |late afternoon sunlight. It seemed |a little cooler, and I think we both felt that we would get what we want- ed now that we had told Mr. Lincold about it. “When we returned to keep our ap-. pointment a week later, the President remembered us and was very courte- ous to us. He had the furlough ready, just as we had expected, and handed it to Anna in the kind way he had She blushed and tried to tell him how happy he had made her. And it seems to me I can almost hear him =ay: ‘T am very glad that it was in my power to make you happy. I have often heard men use that phrase, but I never heard a man say it who seemed to mean it as much as Mr. Lincoln did that day. * X x % HAT furlough which the President handed to Mrs. McGee enabled her husband to have a long rest, and when he was re-examined the doctors determined that he was unfitted for further service. Her intuition for her loved one had told her truly that he was not strong enough for more cam- palgning. So another story of the kindliness of a great heart is written. A strange and gaunt Cupid this—with a twinkle in his eye and a philosophic lurn of mind with the thought that Romance is “only what may be expected of young people” A beneficent and gal- lant Cupld, too, bending his six feet and more of height over a little lady’s hand and saying, “I am very glad that it was in my power to make you happy.” T is reported that some time ago there was held in a certain sec- tion of England a Roman celebration, wherein a number of soldiers were requisitioned and dressed up to rep- resent Roman warriors. It was a chilly day and the men were far from comfortable. Now an old lady was walking along looking at the soldiers and finally ap- proached one of them and said: “Are you Appius Claudius? After a moment's hesitation the soldier replied, with deep feeling: “No, mum, I'm un'appy as hany- thinkt™