The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 23, 1896, Page 16

16 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 1896. A FEBRUARY FLITTING. BY MISS RUSSELL: INTER, by the calendar. Winter, bv the newspaper mention of heavy snows and ice-bound shipping in the East. Winter, by the letters from Eastern friends, that teil of cold and bitter weather, of chilblains and frostbite and the high price of coal. But what a winter day it is out. here by the Golden Gate, with the February sunshine | spilling itself out in scripture measure, | S 1 L | her own kind, but since they will ru along at such a mad pace she will give | pressed down, shaken together, running over on the jolly green grass, the rick brown fields, freshly plowed, the baby leaves still playing at peek under their | blankets and the pink-and-white of lhn‘ blossoming orchards covering the hillsand | valleys of this lovely State. ing, we fared forth, three of us, leaving stable and studio and desk behind, | to find the springtime and see mother nature geiting ready her houses of delight | for the tired city folks who will come 1o | her, later, when the calendar tells them | that spring has come. It must be thus| that they think of it, these brothers and | sisters of ours who have not yet remem- | bered what the country looks like; whose | blood has not yet to tingle and | to yvearn for the bregth of spring from the hills. How many of you, reading THE Cavy this morning, know that within a dozen miles of you the world is a mass of fragrant, biossoming beauty ? The almond, begun uch a February day, in the early | P | group. upland against the blue sky. Later wemay turn to them, but for the present we wiil drink at the fountain head of all their love and inspiration. i An electric-car comes whizzing along from Haywards, bearing a few early risers, bound cityward. The road is wide, and Madame, with ears pricked suspiciously forward, gives the witchy thing a wide berth. She does not see the nccessity for such rapid transit. She does not see why folks are not contented to lengthen life by making haste more slowly, with the aid of will rush them plenty of room, and she heaves a sigh of manifest relief as the screeching trolley creates remoteness between her | and itself. A meadow-lark perches upona fence and trills a cheery greeting, and from an electric-wire a long row of black- birds, shining fairly white in the brilliant izht, gaze critically down upon us. We return the gaze with interest, until something in our regard seems to strike them as suspicious, and with a whistle they rise, one by one, and fly slowly away. Down a field, all abreast, come toward us four bay horses, their great heads rising and falling in rhythmic unison, their ner- vous, slender forelezs kecping step like soldiers as with # common impulse, the press against their collars and drag tt heavy barrow across the furrows. freely, so cheertully do they work at they seem doing it of their own volition, the human being who, reins in hand, trudges sturdi v beside them, being rather their companion and assistant than their master. The Painter longs ‘to picture the The Scribbler wishes words were and the bush and establish themselves un- der another sycamore, on the opposite bank, as nearly in imitation of us as their childish imaginations can devise, and we are mutely sociable together. It is warm and still in the canyon. A few juncos flit in and out among the branches, and some- where in the distance we hear the hammer of & woodpecker. An early butterfly is spreading his pale-blue wings in the Feb- ruary sunshine, anG across the road a squirrel runs and pauses, curious as the little human wildlings, to observe us. The small creatures recognize that there is no guile in us, and are in no wise disturbed by our presence. Our luncheon eaten, we bury the aebris deep in the soft sand,“that the place may be none the worse for our having rested here,” the painter says. It is after 2 o’clock when we arise re- freshed and prepare to depart. Madame, too, is evidently the better for her restand her numerous rollings in the grass. She steps out cheerfully, and we are soon trav- eling the highway once more. Is there anything more wonderful than the springtime coloring in California? The very fences take on exquisite grays and greens and browns that smile upon us as we pass. The reddish brown of those fruit trees, yet bare of leaf or blossom, is as exquisite against the sky as the beauti- | ful bloom of their fellows. We pass orange orchards on the hillsides golden with fruit and white with blossoms among their dark-green leaves. As we journey toward the ancient Mission of San Jose miles upon miles of vineyard stretch out in every direction and a broad lagoon smiles in the sun, reflecting the marvelous biue of the fleckless sky. On the descent beyond the Mission we pass long stretches of artichokes growing wild in riotous pro- fusion by the roadside. Poppies begin to ! hail us as we descend into the Santa Clara Valley, and Madame starts in with the in- tention of making time over a road fine as silk and smooth as a floor. We pass Warm Springs and Milpitas, | the celebrated, and presently are driving A FEBRUARY NOONDAY. [Sketched by a “ Call” ar have ‘been for ant bloom. Plums, and cherries are begin deck themselves in beauty, and fields and along woody highways poppies and wild hyacinth are growing. The um Is spreading its beautiful le: 1 is smiling up from the grass. deep canyons the laurels re in blossom, the waving feathers yarrow and the sou pungeat odor, are beginning to stirin the wind,and robin-run-the-nedge is spread- ing his dainty tar evervwhere. The eucalvptus blossoms are waking up and pushing back their pretty nightcaps, and the whole world is full of loveline: Put down your paper and go out in search of it. What a sense of freedom it gives toieave trains and boats and journey forth, con- sulting no timetables, scarcely troubling to decide what road is best where all are full of promise and each leads to beauty somewhere. dame fcels the witchery of the morn- | ing and sniffs the fragrant air, tossi head contentedly as we turn the las corner and strike the coun pony is Madame. come to a real; fore her, and s tion that a journey is be- | press the helpful, pati be quick to come if you would catch & glimpge of these late-winter glories. Mother nature’s wee beginnings of things do grow up so fast. A month hence they will still be beautiful, but no longer the tender, green, trustful baby things they are now, but penciling stalks and branches with tiny touches of color. g . Our little brown neighbors in Japan have set holidays, when all the world goes forth to see the cherry blossoms. If we Caliiornians ever have a real State holiday it should come in mid-February, and cele- brate the advent of the new-born things of woods and fields, orchard and hedgerow, that we may go out for to see. OUR LAST FIGHET WITH ENGLAND. It Was the Most Remarkable Defeat English Troops Ever Sustained. The battle of New Orleans was an epi- tome of the whole war of 1812-1815. In that battle, as throughout the whole war, both on, land and sea, the advantage in numbers of men, weight of metal and ex- perience, both of officers and soldiers, was with the British. The latter had in addi- tion the advantage of almost a surprize of the Americans, but even with all these ad- vantages the 8th of January is a red-letter day in the history of America. On the 23d of December, 1814, at 1:30 o’clock in the a fternoon, the sentry at the door of General Jackson's headquarters, 106 Royal street, New Orleans, was startled by the ringing of the shod feet of galloping horses on the stone pavement of the quaint | ol thoroughfare. Down the street, on foam-flecked steeds, at full speed, came Major-General Villiere, Colonel de la Ronde and Dussan la Croix, three Louisiana creoles, who brought news of the arrival of the British invaders at the Villiere plantation, nine miles below the city. While the Amer- icans had been watching for them along the shores of Mississippi Sound and at the mouth of the Father of Waters the red- coats had effected a landing on the shores o‘i Lake Borgne, and, marching through the arshes on the east bank of the Mis- sissippi, had struck that stream over 100 miles from its mouth. Reining in their horses these Creoles inquired for and were received by “0ld Hickory,” to whom they communicated the foregoing facts. Gen- eral Jackson t been suffering from iil- ness for weeks, but the news of the ap- proach of the enemy and the peril of his country did more than all his army sur- geons and learned physicians had” been ablc to accomplish. In less than thirty minutes military secretaries were rapidly writing out orders and couriers were dash- ing away with them to the various commanders of the raw levies, which | were Jackson’s only hope to turn back the picked veserans of the Napoleonic wars. It is not generally known, but there were really four battles of New Orleans— one on the 234 of December, one on De- cember 28 one on January 1and one on January 8. 1hefirst three were skirmishes, in which the casualiies were only a few slightly wounded, and which Tresulted in the repulse of the Americans. The fourth was the battle, in which less than 6000 raw troops, most of them armed only with the weapons they used {in - the chase, defeated 12,000 of the flower of the British army, veterans who had received their training under the eve of Wellington, and whose prowess had caused to set the star of the great Napo- | leon. Conurary to the general belief, | there was not a single cotton bale in the | | breastwork behind which the handful of | Americans awaited the foe, whose watch- | word for the day was ‘‘Booty and | Beauty.” It was mainly of earth-| | work,” with plank, and extended less | nt strength of that cheerful quartet, but Madame, eying them shilosophic jogs on wagging her small head as in equine self-gratuiation that she is not sweating beside them. Itis to be questioned whether the sight has appealed to Madame’s esthetic sense. The tender, wonderful coloring of the morning has long since given way to the bright beauty of noonday. A glossy bed of young watercress covering face of a tiny wayside spring reminds us of salad and luncheon. Down con knees beside the stream goes the scribbler, and gathers a supply of the crisp, dainty. We have come some twenty-five mil. SSy the sur- camp. Madame, relieved of shafts and harness, promptly proceeds to roil all over the short, crisp herbage before she settles to the discussion of her bag of barley. We find a clean, sandy place, beside the roots of some beantiful sycamores, whose dear | s, innocent of leafage, but| gray branch beautiful against the blue sky, stretch pro- tectingly over us. All about us are laurels and oaks, and the blessed pussy willows are just begia- ning to put forth buds and the tiniest of baby leaves. Ten days hence they will be amass of flulfy, feathery fragrance. We are camping in the bed of a dry creek and her | tender | s since our early breakfast, and just | bevond the pleasant little towp of Niles, | famous for its orchards, we turn into a | beautiful canyoo and make our noonday | along the beautiful poplar and sycamore | bordered road that leads into San Jose. | Not here, however, is our destined end and | way, and presently we have left the city's streets behind us and are riding in the softly gathered dust through a wonderful dry creek, where the roots of mighty oaks rise high above our heads and the chilli- | cote makes a blossomy tangle on the | | banks. A remarkable crop of tin cans flourishes along this road. They grow in enormous beds, thousands of ‘them, it would seem, and of all varieties. They lie there, the uncompromising big oil can, its | angles and corners refusing to lend them- | selves to the lines of the landscape, the | humble receptacle for the useful tomato, the traveling case of the Boston baked bean, that, grown 1in this State,must needs travel twice across the continent before Californians will eat it, and the festive it~ tle box that has contained deviled ham, all raising a Macedonian cry to the goats of this glorious State to come over and hélp them cease from desecrating the land- scape. The shades of night are falling fast as Madame enters the winding main street of | Los Gatos and_begins the winding ascent to our journey’s end. cination of February was upon us all; the fifty miles and more have slipped unnoted by only to be remembered in an impres- sion of marvelous color aud fragrance; of beautiful outlooks from rounding emi- 'WE FOUND TWO BRILLIANT SCARLET TOADSTOOLS. [Sketched by a “Call™ artist.] put many a mile behind us ere the heat and the burden of the day arrive, Our friends in the East are probably soasting their toes over their costly coals as we loosen our wraps a little, the morn- ing air being milder than we had antici- pated. Our luggage is snugly stowed In the roomy phaeton. We have left behind the memory of care, and we are two happy women as we reflect that we are driving on through the delicious February morn- ing with no further thought of detail in our journey than that we are following Madame’s lead, and shall stop when her inclination or onr own or the falling shades of night prompt. Comfortably journeyin, in the bottom of a bag are a volume Browning and a copy of Marcus Aurelius, but neither sage nor poet can reveal to us a tithe of the beauty and wisdom ex- pressed in yonder plowed field :m'eepmg1 on the bank above us is a cabin before which play two small Indian children. They suspend activities and settle to watch us in open-eyed surprise. So may their ancestors have watched the adventof the first whites in their peaceful haunts. The little girl is, perhaps, 3 years old and she makes a pretty picture established under a_straggling bush, the first spring foliage of which is not yet sufficiently grown to afford her any concealment. The boy is a year or two her senior and is a brave. He sits boldly in a swing hung from the branch of a tall sycamore and surveys us fearlessly, digging ™ his bare toes in the sandy soil the while. Perhaps’tis this close contact with mother earth that gives him couraze. To run barefooted through California’s radiant February weather is enough to give one courage and happiness. Presently the litle pair leave the swing nences; of enchanting vistas along bend- ing roads and cool, blessed woodsy things found in the wild byways. It was along | one of these on this trip that the scribbler found, nestled amid a mass of lichen- starred moss, two brilliant, scarlet toad- stools, and, kneeling beside them, called | the painter to conie and see. *‘I haveread Iof them,” she said, incredulously. The | other bent over them. - *'I have seen them in pictures,”” and there was a hushed won- der in herpoice, ‘‘but I have never really known thdt they do grow.” All about them was a wonder of maiden- hair, rock fern and delicate growing babies of the spring, such as can only be seen, thus, in _California’s February, and a dainty, silvery stream made 'a pretty tumult over the rocks as it dashed along, eager to tell the lowlands of the treasures hidden away in the woods. You must We bhad not really | meant to drive so far this day, but the fas- | thun a mile in length along the brink of an old sawmill of the old breastwo. rce, or coulee. The line 1s now the southern | boundary of the Chalmette National Cem- | etery. The ground so gallantiy held that | day’is now the last bivouac of thousands of American soldiers, and appropriately, both to its present use and its former h tory, upon entering it to-day the eye is first greeted by an iron tablet bearing the | immortal rhymes of Theodore O’ Hara: | On fame’s eternal camping-ground Their lowly tents are spread, - While glory guards, with solemn round, The Bivouac of the Dead. The American army that day consisted of sixty-six marines; twenty-two artiller- ists, manning two six-pounders; Poiere's regiment, 46i,; Baker's Forty-fourth, 331; | Plauch’s eighty-six carabineers; St. Geme’s dismounted dragoons, 78; White's blues, 31; Hudry’s thirty-three Francs; Guibert's chasseurs, 59; Coffee’s Ten- nesseeans, ; Beale's sixty-two rifle- | men; Hind’s Mississippians, 107; Adair’s | Kentuckians, 700; eighteen Choctaw | Indians under Captain Pierre Jugeaut, and two battalions of negroes (free) under Major d’Aquin and Major Lacoste. This | last is also, perhaps, news to many, for | | few people "know that Indians and | | negroes took part i the repulse of | the British invaders. The story of| the battle proper is found in every | school history. It began with the hreakK | of day, and by 8 o’clock the invaders | had been repulsed with a loss of nearly | 3000 in killed, wounded and missing, or | more than one for each of the Americans | engaged. The casualties in.the American | forces were only thirteen killed, thirty- nine wounded and nineteen missing. The losses in this battle were more dispropor- tioned than in any other battle in the his- tory of the world. One incident connected with the battle is of peculiar interest, as showing the character of Andrew Jackson. Itcoming to his knowledge that certain Americans, some of them prominent, were strongly suspected of disaffection and an inclina- tion to communicate the weakness of his force to the British, he caused them to be arrested and put under guard, although they were civilians. Theirfriends procured writs of habeas corpus from Judge Dont- inick Hall commanding General Jackson to produce his prisoners before him. Knowing that to do so meant their re- lease (for he hud no warrant to detain them), the general deliberately disobeyed the writ. The day after the battle, when the general was in the full tide of his popularity, a bailiff bearing a war- rant for his arrest for contempt of court appeared- at headquarters, and the sword before which invading thou- sands had rolled back was ahqnhafin the presence of that bit of paper, and the gen- eral whom the captors of Napoleon could not subdue yielded himself a prisoner to an humble tipstaff. When brought before him, despite the threatening attitudes of the crowd which thronged the courtroom, and of public sentiment which unanimously justified Jackson’s conduct, and in ac- cordance with “Old Hickory’s” exhorta- tion, “I have ‘done my duty, now you do yours,” Judge Hall imposed a fine of $1000 on General Jackson, which fine was paid, the old soldier refusing to allow it to be paid for him. . As stated, the battle-field of Chalmette isnow occupied as a National cemetery. In 1865 the ground was donated by the city to che National Government, and in it rest 6913 “known’’ dead and 5279 ‘‘un- known.” In the center is a beautiful monument of cut stone and gun metal, erected by Joseph A. Mower Post No. 1, G. A’ R. Just above the bat- tle-field, on the site of the old plan- tation-house, which was Jackson’s head- quarters during the battle, stands an in- complete “Battle Monument.” It is a four-sided stone shaft, about 20 feet square at the base, and has been carried up to the height of about 50 feet; butthere the work has stopped. Its base is surroungded by rank vegetation, while from the crevices in its sides and from its unfinished top grow weeds and grasses, whose seeds kave been dropped by passing birds or waited by vagrant winds. ILis to be hoped that among the’ other things which the present war cloud may accomplish it may remind the Americans of to-day of the deeds of their countrymen when Britain mustered 18,000,000 souls and ,America counted only 7,240,000, and urge the 70,000,000 people of this country to-day to remind the 38,000,000 Britons who are again threatening these shores that the bistory of 1812-15 can be re-enacted, if necessary.—New Orleans correspondent of the Louisyille Courier-Journal. TWO VENERAB LE PHYSICIANS Although Approaching the Century Mark They Still Pratice Medicine. San Francisco can safely lay claim to having the oldest practicing physician in the United States, and also to one who, although past fourscore years and five, is still in the full possession of his faculties and attends to his patients regulariy. The older man is Dr. Floto. He is 94 years of age and has been in the State for thirty- two years, Dr. Smith, while nine years younger, has had a more interesting career, because he was one of the first physicians here and his life has been closely identified with the history of San Francisco. Dr. Floto is a man who would not be taken to be more than 80 years of age at the most, and yet be has seen only six years less than a century of life. His eyes are clear and bright and he talks with vivacity. His greatest interest is his prq- fession, which he continues to practice | daily and seems in a fair way to continue | to do so for several years to come. Dr. Floto’s memory of his early life is some- what dim, but he says, *‘It is hard to re- member things that happened seventy- five or eignty years ago.” “I was born in 1802 in Pennsylvania somewhere,” saild the doctor, “but I don’t good pay. There was alarge amount of surgical work that was difficult to accom- plish on account of the impossibility of etting properappliances and instruments. ft was also a difficult matter to obtain drugs, but the men who needed attention in those days had hardy constitutions, and there were few deaths from sickness. Dr. Smith says he believes himself the only living physician who came here in 1849. **After I arrived,” said the doctor, “I had an office down near the water front, but moved around all the time as the town kept growing. For a number of years I was on Kearny street, and while there did the best business I ever did while in the | City.” Dr. Smith then went on to explain that doctors were scarce in those days and that he was often called to go miles in the country to attend some’ wealthy person who had been taken sick. But it was only necessary to make out a bill and it would be paid at once. *Times have changed since then,” said the doctor. About fifteen years ago Dr. 8mith moved out on Stevenson street near Seventh and | haslived thereever since. He had made con- siderable money at his old practice, but deyoted himself to the poor people in the neighborhood, and took as his pay only what they could give. Hundredsof them e A d SN s 2 4 = V2 = DR. [Szelohed F! LOTO. Jrom life.] recall at this moment the name of the town. Later in life I went to college in Philadelphia, and practiced in several towns in the East. Fora while I lived in | New York, and 1n 1846 decided to come to California. There was a party of us, and we got as far as New Orleans, but some people there scared us with stories of the cholera. We all returned to New York, but I never got over the desire to come to California. 1 don’t remember the year that I started, but I do know that the day my ship sailed was the day that Lincoln’s body was brought to New York. Since I have been here my life hias been unevent- ful. I have had my share of patients, and made a good living. ‘‘Ever since 1 have been here,” contin- ued the doctor, after a long pause, *‘I have | occupied these same offices, and I hope the march of improvement will not come this way as long as I am alive. 1 am so much attached to these rooms that I be- lieve it would kill me to move. 1t makes me feel young to be here, and it seems as if I had just moved in yesterday.” In appearance Dr. Floto is a typical phy- sician of the old school. His hair and beard are as white as snow and always kept trimmed close and neat. His figure is stooped a little, but he walks with a firm step and can write a prescription without the use of glasses. The doctor does not consider himself too old to learn, | could pay nothing, but that made no dif- | ference, they were attended as carefully as | if they paid $10 a visit. To-day everybody in the neighborhood almost worships Dr. Smith. He never re- fuses to goout, no matter how bad the weather, and the people say his powers are wonderful. Every mother for blocks around has something to say of how the doctor helped one of her children. ‘““And when I was W¥ick,” said one, ‘‘he just | looked at me and told me what was the matter.” The rooms occupied by Dr. Smith are dingy in the extreme, but poor sick people are always welcome. Some years ago the doctor’s” wife died, and the neighbors feared he was going to follow her. They had been husband and wife for over half a century and her death just about pros- trated him. After he was able to be about he gave orders that her room should always remain just as she left it. Nothing was ever tyuched. Even some balf-fin- ished knitting was allowed to remain on the edge of the table where she left it the last day she was up. The appearance of Dr. Smith certainly does not coincide with his years. He is 85 and does not look more than 70. His figure is straight and he walks like a young man. Long white hair falls down to his shoulders and his beard is like snow. He always wears a close-fitting black Prince DR. E. [Sketched D. SMITH. Jrom life.] and makes a practice of reading all the | medical journals that he thinks are worth studying. ‘““‘But business isn’t what i; used to be,” he says. ‘‘People use too much gaunt medicine,” and he thirks the ealth of the country has suffered in con- sequence. r. Floto believes himself to be the old- est living practitioner in the country. If there are any older men he don’t know who they are. Dr. E. D. Smith is a native of New York State, and attended several of the best medical schools in the metropolis. After graduating he made his home in Wiscon- sin for a number of years and worked up a good practice. Buf the desire to see the w“m?’i grew on him, and in 1848 he o) starte r California, reaching here in '49, Dr. Smith’s career in this State has been alively and interesting one. He arrived in the height of the go?d excitement, and from the start found plenty of work at Albert coat and the rest of his attire is neat and diznified. Dr. Smith has become & necessity to the neighborhood in which he lives, and the prayer of hundreds whom he has saved mnni hours of pain is that be will remain with them for many years to come. & The fact that there are two men in Con- freu of the name of Perkins frequently leads to minor complications. One is Sen- ator George C. Perkins of California, and the other Representative George D. Per- kins of lowa. Owing to the similarity of their Christian names, mail addressed to each is constantly (®ing astray. - A dog owned by a man in Addison Mich., walked back home a distance of forty miles recently. Its owner gave it away, but the dog did not like its new home and quietly trotted back to its old kennel. NEW TO-DAY. 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