The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 9, 1897, Page 27

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, MAY 9, 1897. DEAF MUTES TAKE PART IN A LIVELY DEBATE | se Y. M. 0. A. parlors were filled with gayly dressed ladies and well-mannered | more than they really were. Or was it not what he transferred to us after all, but 10 sound. It was & meeting of deaf-mutes! The institution at Berkeley and the deal-mute branch of the Y. M. C. A. have had a se of three debates, and this was the occasion of the third and last. smiles? They sat easily by onc another and laughed and nodded, but they gave forth | the tire of his being that filled the room and warmed the hearts into sending forth For they did smile and laugh heartily, too, with no hidden meaning under the smile. masked—its secret thoughts are not kept And thereMare no immobile faces among them. The soul in each is not within itself, Lo feed on that which cannot From the back portion of the room I watched them as in animated conversation | be known to its fellow-beings. I fancy they must be an honester 1olk than we whose hey swayed back and lorward. There was a bewildering waving of arms, a graceful | faces are trained to hide emotion for the benefit of the worid to show what we feel not. “What a pity they cannot talk,” I said.” twirling of fingers, and each motion so deftly and q t impossible for an uatrained eye to Good-evening;” some one said, and it “You have come to hear, or rather see, seated himseif and handed me hiscard. * kly accomplished that it was | follow. | seemed strange to hear a voice again. i the debate?” asked the young man as he | “This is expected to be doubly interesting | My informant shook his head. *“They are best as they are. Why would you have them change?” +But they miss o much.” “‘They have much that they would lose in any other condition. No,” he said, “T cause each side has won. Their question to-night ie, ‘Js higher education neces- | think they would not be willing to change if they could. I think they are happier sary for the learning of a trade from a de: Berkeley McCarty and Heckman. “How strange it seems,” I murmured. “But they are happy,” he said. Just then, strangely enough, there W 8 YO lem explained : sound—or any sound at all. It c y of deaths among deaf-mutes are d then the debate began, and the w: was ended more completely than sound is from a usual audience. h a pleasant manner, opened tie debate, and was quickly followed by silence I heagd the half-articulate moan. It no longer held any pathos. It tempered the rest. a blonde wi ch, Locecito and Hartman. “They have a world to themselves, hose who are deaf-mutes from birth do not know how to breathe. af-mute’s standpoint.’ The debaters from Those from the Y. M. C. A. are Selig, The Berkeley men have the negative.” The young man smiled. than we. “‘Signs are the natural languege,” he went on. “We had an Indian here from the South who knew nothing of English, but when I talked with him by signs he | understood me instantly. Shou!d you go to China or any country where the langnage with no | was utterly foreign to you, it would be necessary to resort to signs. For all the good | your langnage would do, you might as well be a deaf-mute.” So he reasoned, while I watched the bright faces around me. There seemed to be came from a portion of the room a plaintive | e the last sob of a passionate outburst. I looked in the direction it came | DO irl, her bright face wreathed in smiles. cmes from their incarrect way of breathing. In fact the from pulmonary diseases.” o aving of hands and arms ceased and motion | A tall young man, one from the opposite side; butneither of these held my attention as did the young | fellow of average height and swarthy complexion who followed. It needed no voice at my side to tell me the land of his b | The warmth, the | ns the beauty of his native land had left an impress in him—the fire and pas- | ly flashed from his eyes and co he foot of Eina,” is argument.” I waited meanwhile, watching the g eyes! Surely conld he have spoken. his nk sou nspiring viol There was hpmor in his speech. I ead, and feel it from the motion of b scemed to sweep over them like a breath of warm air. L ] Education fills the head,’ ” said my interpreter, watching the debater, ** ‘but not the stomach. Which is the better off, nut-vender? »* Alas for romance! its way behind it. and wholly postical. His arguments, too, might have been I fancied from tha said the gentleman at my side.”’ ears ago and is now the brightest student at Berkeley. Wait, I will translate some | g but passionless music of the mandolin; it would have equaled in depth the :nowledge and Lis smooth white hands and no way to earn a living, or a Dago pea- lored his lips and cheeks. ‘'A peasant born | fe came here only seven | raceful fellow. What a face he had! What voige would have rivaled in sweetness the could see it in his eyes and the turns cf his is hands. And the others felt it, too, and it “What is he saying?” the Italian nobleman, with his head full t face that no common thought ever found Thet humor, if it could be so called, wonld be humor half pathetic | sounder and yet they pleased; they seemed discontent, no troubled guestionings, no malice or hatred. After the debaters had finished and the judges decided in the affirmative they all arose silently ana passed from one to another, giving a pleasant greeting. 1t must have warmed their souls, it are there to do their bidding. luntary,” he said. *‘They are not aware that they are making any | must have made the world glad, 16r the eyes and the heart will not lie unless the lips They were in another world from ours, I felt, and so did they, instinctively, as they presced my hand. But more eloguent than many a word was the hearty soul- look that flashed from their eyes. And again, as I turned away from the lighted room and the lighted faces and the Rk 3 == - MURIEL BAILY. : prejudiced against criptions, since I d much at their small hands; me sbout that I went one even- in popular theater, and:was atively taken captive, ““horse, d marine,” by a foot 8 little local | celebrity calied Baby Lewis. Of course know Baby Lewis Waen ail appeared I gazed at her critically gly and smothered a yawn. egan to speak [ became sud- to wnderstand and feel her lin: eof her dark eyes and the poise d swing of ber lithe and graceful litue old of a spirit that had never been cowed into tame submission by the will of others. She bad evidently been led and Il feet were treading so cheerfuily, d the leading, because of the ialent within her, had been an easy task. + was not, however, until I saw her dance that I became complerely subju- gated. If it were not for the twinkling feet executing with perfect ease and precis- ion some of the most difficult steps known to our coast dancers, she would seem like nothing so miich as a bit of thistle- | down biown about by the breath of the music to which her slender little figure sways and bends and turns as lightly and gracefuliy and responsively as does the delicate windflower of the New England hitls to the summer breeze. After that I saw my tiny charmer in | several parts and many gpeciaities, and | then I determined to see what kind of & child this winsome sprite of the magic and behind the footlights reaily is amid ihe prosaic surroundings of everyday life. I found her playing with a group of children in her own yard—the merriest and noisiest of them all. They were “jumping French” and “double Dutch,” she told me, and doing all the other as- tonishing things thet little girls do with skippine-ropes, and “Baby” was jumping longerand higherand langhing and shout- ine louder than any of them. There was evidently nothing of the “cotton rosebud’’ about her, for a more . ', bonnie blinkin’, hilty-skilty *? it was never my lot to meet. The suany curls were tumbled and the Tam o' Shanter was awry when she came {0 see me, but her cheeks were as pink &< mountain azaleas and hereyes shining with the happy excitement of her play. In iwo minates we were exXcellent friends and, curled up on the sofa beside me, she told me of berself and ber Iifs. Does she like to appearin public? *Oh, ves,” and her face glows with the earnest- ness of her affirmation, she “dearly loves” 10 act and sing and play the banjo. For ode thing, people areall *'so good” to her and she has “‘such a nice time”; and for another, “there is mamma and the rest, and we have no pspa,” and it is 8| with,” not driven along the path which her | { matter of childish pride to her to “earn .y and help along.” e has played three years now, she | m. | tells me, ever since she was 5 vears old, and she has been in so many plays that | she cannot remember them all. | “Sister teaches them to me,’” she says, | slipping a loving little hand into that of | the gentle “big sister,” whose special charge she has been from babyhood. | “She reads it all over to me and explains it, and then I study it ont by myseif.”’ What kind of piays does she like best? | Those “‘with lots of fun in them,” most certainly; but still, of all the parts that she has played, that of the blind girl in “Out in the Street” and that of Little Lord Fauntleroy please her best. | “Perhaps, though,”’ she says, naively, | “that is becanse I made such hits in those characters,” 1 And then she tells me of her late tri- | umphal tour with a stock company and of the flowers and candy and more sub- | stantial presents that fell to her lot. H “I had fourteen bouauets in one even- | ing,” she says, “‘and the children gave me | candy enough for the whole company ail the time, and made afternoon parties for me; and it was all perfertly lovely!"’ But does not all this excitement and late hours and hard work tire her? She shakes her curly head emphatically. | Sne “'sieeps late mornings,” she says, and wakes up “bright as a dollar,” and then | she studies a little daily, and often goes to the park, and every day she has ‘‘the jolliest kind of a time with the ‘neighbor- caildren.” | Her plans for the future are all made. | | In two years she is to retire for a while | and go to school, and then sne will take | up her work again and be “the very best | kind of asoubrette,” and ‘‘get the biggest | kind of a salary”—for ‘‘mamms and the | rest,”” of course. | Meaawhile she. wants to make a trip | East, and she confides that she would like | to go in a play of her own, but although | there is & play written for her it wonld | “take so much money to stageit” that she cannot quite hope for that. However, | | that does not make her unhappy, for | | “some dsy”"—dear little optimist—*every- thing wili come around all pight,” and there wiil be *‘plenty of money” anda | general “‘good time” for “‘mother and the | rest.” And no matter where she goes she | will “never forge” that she is a “native | daughter” and that the California people | have been her “good friends always.” Then she shows me her dolls—Flossy and Pearl, and the tiny twins, Pansy and Violgt—and her wonderful silver doll- | buggy, which she can change into a beau- | tiful crib st will. Other toys, 100, in vari- | ous stages ot demolition, she brings out for my inspection, and her unscciable parrot, who “doesn’t want to be intro- duced to any one he isn’t acquainted Throughout my long eall, “Baby Lewis,” peit of the theatrical public though she is, is just a natural, simple, | sunny-hearted little girl, with no taint of ‘“‘staginess’” in voice or look or mannar-—-l‘ healthy, happy, loving child, who is| cheerity ‘doing the work nearest her | band.” And when I kiss her good-by I | A NOTED LITTLE ACTRESS ACTS AT HOME incident of last session which never ap- peared in the Record. Mr. Brosius of Pennsylvania was making a speech and Mr. Pickler was asking some questions which annoyed the gentleman from Penn- sylvania very much, as his time was lim- ited. Finally when Mr. Pickler extended his question into alittle speech of his BABY LEWIS AT HOME. do so hoping with all my heart that she may realize her unselfish ambitions, and that the way may be made smooth for her to make the best of herself and her to **Baby Lewis,” who so dearly loyes “mamma and the rest.” FLoRENCE PERCY MATHESON. ———— It Was Not in the Record. Representative Pickler's success in curing the Republican caucus nomination for United States Senator recalled to a member of the House yesterday a little own Mr. Brosius became very nettled and declined to vield further. ‘‘The gentieman from South Dakota,” said Brosius, ‘‘re. minds me of a verdant youth in my own | talents, 8o that merited success may come | town who was heard pacing up and down in his room repeating these lin “I1love my automatic mouth, iove i:s gidd gurgle, 1Tove its ceaseless flow, 1 love to wind my mouth ap, Tlove to hear it g0.” Mr. Pickler did not like to have this pear in the Record and some of his lrlang; went to Mr. Brosius about it wish the re- sult that it was expunged that very day.— ‘Washington Post The Old Cuartel at Monterey, Which Was Once Used as a Garrison by Fremont’s Troops, but Later Served as a Schoolhouse and Became the Scene of an Ironical Incident of Fate. THIS INDUBITABLY WAS THE IRONY OF FATE It is not often that a man innocent of a capital crime is hanged by a mob to a schoolhouse balcony until he dies from strangulation in sight of ths horrified pupils. Equally rare 1s it for three brothers whose strong that they lead a party of lynchers, all to become convicted murderers, one escaping the gallows only to be shot dead in his tracks. Yet these things have hap- pened, and are part of the criminai his- tory of California, though perhaps not before related in their natural sequence. Thirty years ago there was no more peaceful town in. this State or elsewhere than Monterey. Itis quiet now, save in the sumimer sepson, but it is not the same. The place seems to have lost the subtile charm of those restiul days before the advent of the railroad. True, there was an occasional bullfight, but it was usually a tame =affair and moved the apathetic inhabitants scarcely more than did the arrival of a steamer from ‘‘the city,” as San Francisco was vaguely desig- nated One day, however, a startling event oc- curred, thoroughly arousing the people and causing a sensation, which for many years was the talk of the community. John Martin, a prominent rancher and member of a well-known family, while on his way 10 town from the Carmel Valley, was shot by an Indian called “Chaps Gre- gorio.” The crime was withont provoca- tion, and though the wound inflicted did not prove fatal, the local physicians de- clared that the victim could not recover, The story of the supposed tragedy spread like wildfire and in a short time love of justice is so | the entire community was aroused as| seldom before. The guilty mun was found, frenzied with liquor, and brought to town by a posse of cilizens. Aiter being fully identified he was quickly committed to jail by a Justice of the Peace; but he never reached the quaint little granite structure erected by Alcalde Walter Col- ton. Swift vengeance was demanded and a niob, including the Bushton boys, hot~ headed youths, who up to then had never been in any serious trouble, congregated to lynch the prisoner. He was taken from the officers and without ceremony hustled to the.eastern end of the famous Cuartel on California street. This_long two-story adobe building, erected during the Spanish occupation as barracks or quarters for the troops, was aftezward used for the same purpose by the army of General Fremont. Later it was made available for eaucational pur- poses, and here at this time was conducted the only public school in Monterey. It was just before 1 o’clock when the vigilantes reached the schooihouse. The children had returned from luncheon and thronged about the doors. Seeing that something unusual was about to occur they ru<hed pell-mell to the scene of action, nor did the vigorous ringing of the bell prevent any but the timid ones from witnessing the unceremonious hanging of a man, who wore no cap to conceal his distorted features, and who died with curses on his lips after taking a great drink of raw whisky, The rope was thrown over the balcony rail, Gregorio was hauled up band over haand, and tae other end of the fatal cord given a few turns arourd the corner post. Just across the street was the home of the Bushtons, who helped to swing this drunken Indian aloft. Tne tiniest tots who viewed the horrid spectacle will not forget it to theirdying days, but it seemed to imbue these Bushton lads with a thirst for human blood, as their futare records will attest. Dauring the winter of 1871 Monterey was startled by another tragedy—the stabbing to death of Martin Hedges on Pear! street just outside the saloon of Dionicio Ruez, within & stone’s throw of the old Cuartel. It was learned that the murdered man had frequently quarreled with George Bushton regarding a band of caitle the former haa in charge. George confided his troubles to his brother Jim, generally known as “Jim Allen,” and the slaying of Hedges was the sequel of his story. Both were held for trial and in March, | 1872, James was convioted of murder in the first degree and sentenced to be hanged on May 17of that year. His mother, a hard-working, earnest woman, immedi- ately began the labor in his behalf, which she never relaxed, and in which she was measurably successful. A respite was ob- tained on June 7, 1872, Governor Booth commuting the sentence to life imprison- ment, and five days later “Jim’’ was regis- tered at San Quentin. His faithful mother continued io plead for her son, and on October 2, 1886, Governor Stoneman com- mauted his sentence to twenty-four years. He was a good prisoner, and un February 12, 1887, having many crecits due, he was discharged. But better for him had he remained within the sheltering walls of the peni- tentiary which monopolizes one. of the pleasantest points on the bsy. On ob- taining his freedom he went to San Luis Obispo County, where, on August 10, 1839, after only two and a half years of liberty, he was shot dead by W. S. Hum- phries, an aged citizen of good repute. The ex-convict tried to force his way through Humphries’ premises, threaten- ing the life of the ¢ld man, who promptiy used his shotgun with fatal effect. Hum- phries surrendered himself to the Sberiff and was immediately released on giving $25,000 bail. The preliminary examination resulted in his discharge, the killing being consid- ered justifiable. He died seve-al years ago, never having lost the esteem of his neighbors. The part that George Bushton took in the slaying of Hedges was not that of principzal, and on May 18, 1872, be was sent by Judge Belden to Ban Quentin for ten years, having been convicted of mur- der in the second degree. He was dis- charged and restored to citizenship on November 18, 1878. After that, for a long term of years, he was a familiar figure on Market street. But very, very few of the thousands who daily saw the tall, black-bearded tamale- vender at the Mason-street gore ever knew or suspected his criminal career, for, though broken in spirit, he had thor- oughly reformed. When he died, litlie more than a year ago, there ware soma sincere mourners at his humble funeral. The third of these ill-fated brothers was William. He, too, while not naturally vicious, was unable to control his violent temper, and in the summer of 1888 killed Luis Cupis, an old Spaniard residing nesr Cayucos, San Luis Obispo County. For this he was sent to San Quentin for six years. Unfortunately for him, he was granted a new trial by the Supreme Court, for the result was another conviction, and this time he was given nine yearsin Fol- som. Like his brothers, he earned the good will of those in authority. He hes been released, and is now a respected member of the community whers he is earning ah honest livelihood. Maybe he sometimes thinks of the brutal executlon of little Gregorio to the schoolhouse porch ~ opposite his early home. It is unlikely, however, that he considers, as a psychological problem, whether, if the law had then been allowed to take its course, he and his dead broth- ers had not led bappier lives. E. E. CurTtis. SWEEPS FOR FUN. Russian -~ Hill Woman's * Queer Way - of . Obtaining Pleasure. Fancy getting pleasare out of the occu- pation of street-sweeping. It does not seem congruous, because street-sweeping is labor, and labor is said to be akin to bardship. But street-sweeping is to Mrs. Frank tue one pleasure of her life. Of course, there are many women in San Francisco named Mrs. Frank, but the one reforred to lives on the ‘*‘artistic heights” of Russian Hill. Her residence is a small cottage midway of the one block of Florence street. Now, Florence street isnot a highly improved thoroughlare, In fact, the roadbed is the natural clay of the hill, smoothed and graded. But there is where Mrs. Frank gets her pleasure. At slmost any hour between daylight and dark she can be seen sweeping vigor- ously at the patch of earth in the middle of the sireet before her house. She always uses a brand-new broom and has been known to wear out a dozen in a week. She has even been known to go out in the night and sweep. It is all the same to Mer. ' Dayiight or dark, weekdays or Sun- days. Mrs. Frank has had the peculiar sweep- ing habit for years, and her continual brushing wears a hollow place in the dtreets every few months. A pile ofearth and rubbish accumulates on the opposite side -of the street and causes much pro- fanity: on the part of the workmen who keep the road in order. But still the old woman sweevs. Daring the recent bad weather she used to go out ana brush the mud. Now thatthe weather is fine, she is in her glory.. “Mother” Frank, as the children csll Her, 1s about 60 years old, but handles her broom with i of mueb younger woman. little gate and sweeps everything to tbe apposite side of the street. Her broom sweeps ravidly, and whatever is before it has to move. Brush, brush, eep, sweep, from right to left and back again, aimost. smothered in a cloud of dust, is the way she works. “The reason I sweep the street,” said the old woman when asked about her queer occupation, *‘is because I' like it. I like to get rid of dirt. See:that epot there? I little harder than the rest, but I'll make him get.’ Then the broom went at it as if it was a little enemy of the old woman’s. Panch, pound and rub, and in a few minutes the ohdurate bit of clay was on top of the vile. “People don’t know what pleasure there is in sweeping the street,” continued the old woman afier she had removed the last offensive bit of clay. “It puts life 1nto me, and it makes me feel good to get out and go to vork. Sometimes when 1 am tired and 'worn I take my broom and go out and sweep. 1 tell you it is just like a drink of cool water when you are hotand thirsty! If more people would swesp the earth there would be less sick- ness,” The neighbors have grown used to Mrs Frank’s manner, and pay little attention to her, although she is constantiy atiempt- ing to impress on tbeir minds ihe many benefits ol the occupation. i good thing the boys get around and fix the street every few months,” said one of the neighbors, ‘‘or 1 belicve the old woman would soon sweep a hole through the earth to China.” ————— In some of the Eastern countries, nota- bly Arabia and, Persia, a manna answer- ing closely that mentioned in the Scriptures is still naturally produced in considerable quantity. It comes from the tender branches of the tamarisk, and is known to the Persians by the name of “tamarisk honey,”” 1t consisis of tear- like drops which exude in consequence of .:l insect during the months of June and ¥ NO' USE FOK HAY. A Horse That Prefers Meat to Any Other Kind of Diet. The most extraordinary appetite known ina horse belongs to Billy, a handsome bay owned by A. Decourtienx & Son, the butchers of the Pacific Fruit Market. Horses are frequently known to show a liking for sugar and instances are related where they would arink beer, but who ever saw a horse that was fond of meat and hsh? Billy’s duties are to draw the firm’s de- livery wagon and his stand is on Mer- chant street in front of the shop. Here he is often on exhibition, eating with an apparent relish steak, liver, tripe and in stort almost any variety of meat handed him. Sometimes, after baving bad his fill of oats and hay he refuses to munch meat, but this seldom occurs. Billy’s appetite developed several months ago. No one knew of it until one day he was seen to reach into a butcher cart that was tiea just ahead of him and calmly begin eating a steak. After that e was fed often with the firm’s wares, and many a bet has been won and lost on his appetite. The horse formerly varied his carnal meais by purloining fish, but he was cured in a manner that was ludicrous to the spectators, but very painful jor the equine phenomenon. v He reached into a fish-wagon one day when his olfactories detected the odor ot his favorite smelt, but an active and bel- ligerent crab took offense at the intrusion and promptly fastened to his lower lip. Billy shook his head frantically and whinnied 1n pain, but the crustacean held on until he was crushed by being bangea against the side of the wagon. Since then the horse has kept clear of fish. Billy is the favorite of the market, and astrange teamster who had the temerity to lay his whip across his back one morn- ing to make him give room was nearly mobbed by indignant butchers end fish. mongers. He isalso the pezof his own- er's family. and his sleek hide and gen- eral evidence of good care show that he does not lack for attention. ~ e Missouri promises to be a powerfal rival to the Hudson River, Western New York, and Eastern Canada in apple-raising. The Ozark region is said to especially yi 1d bountiful returns. Representative Bland has planted seventy acres of one kind of apple, which orchard is expected to make even greater returns than even the silver dollar could. — Meehan's Monthly. BT RN et son