The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 11, 1897, Page 18

THE SAN FRA CI O CALL, SUNDAY If it were not that there is so little cour- age in the world—and none will contra- dict, for “it is held that valor is the chief- est virtue’—tbis story might never have | needed 10 be written. Perhaps it is only because there seem to be no opportunities | lor the use of courage that the most of us | shiver and shrink and are afraid of shad- | ows. But there were plenty of shadows | creeping stealihily after me as I made | my way laboriously toward Leavenworth | street in search of Mirs, Ida B. Hull. “‘She is one of the bravest women 1 ever heard of,” said the gentleman who bhad first spoken of her to me. ‘‘She does things that we men couldn’t do and would be afraid to do.” And considering the fact that he was a man I thought sie must be a wonder in- deed. ne didn’t look it! dle-aged, motherly that shone with kinc bespoke a soul of stre Just a simple; mid- | woman, with a face iliness and eyes that gth. “Yes,” she said, as I seated myself in | the simply furrisbel parlor made attrac- tive e decorations of plant and | “yes, my worx is unusual. Ihave y that it was untady- flower, even heard peop like and imprope: And, having a faint idea of the state of things myself, I sighed with her, and nodded and then laughed. Thera was a touch, after all, of humor | about it. It must be deliciously ridiculous | to hear people say those things. lmagine | it, if you can—*"'improper’ to rescue a hu- | man being from s life of shame, *‘unlady- like”” to take them by the hand and show them a bit of love and kindl and | make their poor minds happy. i For ihat is what she does, and it is no | | | easy ta-k. *I go about my work in a thousand " she said, “but I don’t use much | tact—tact isn’t useiul amcng the Chinese. A hatchet is much more effective.” *It would certainly seem so, but—" “Oh, [ only use it to break down doors with,” she laughed, “not on their heads, | although sometimes if I were a manl | 1d like to. | always go at nighttime,” she went | on; “‘thatis to say, when I am intenton | rescuing a gi Oftentimes I have to go | to a number of § es, and if they will not let me in aiter pleading or coaxing—and they don’t like to—why, I take my hatchet and lei myself in. One cannot always stop for courtesy when one is trying to save a soul. “Then when I once get in it is not all easy. They will not let me get near mel girls if they can helpit. Itisan awful | | crowd, talking as b and as fast as they | can, and all at once they will crowd up between the one that I want to reach and myself. They are all angry always, ex- | cepting those that are too far gone with | opium to know or care ahout what is go- | ing on. And, looking from the prostrate | figures to the evil, menacing faces and | narrow eyes of the highbinders near to my face, I have oftentimes been seized wit ch a panic of disgust and fear that 1 would become weak and my knees would tremble.” Mrs. Hull is an interesting talker and she expresses her ideas with vividness and vigor, and yet it is almost impossible to | imagine her—sweet and gentle as she | looks—standing in the midst of a pack of | woives. To brave the depths of the ocean | is a trifle to the picture she hsd given. To trust one’s self to nature even in her | worst moods is not so herd. The pure air | and the glorious wildness are a sort of in- spiration and men work miracles under their spell, but this is so sorrowfully dif- ferent. “So you see,” she said, laughing, “Iam not so brave.” She did not remember that itis not the fear itself, but the show cf fear that makes | the coward. | The brave man is not he who feels no fear, For that were stupid and irrational, But he whose noble soul the fear subdues And bravely dares the dangers nature shrinks {rom. $2500, and they do not see what right I have to interfere with them. Still, they are afraid of the laws of this country and they dare not touch me.” “And how do you get the girl away?” I asked, as visions of all sorts of wild | plots and schemes hurried through my in- terested brain. “If Ican once get hold of a girl’s hand she is mine,” she declared, “I do not know why it is, but the touch of her hand always brings back my deserting courage, Vs “But, after a while,” she said, *'I gather | myself together and conquer my disgust | and go in. They never attempt to touch me, but there is never one in the whole | crowd who does not show plainly that he | would like to. To them it means $2000 or | and as I find myself leading her out of the den into the pure air and back to truth and happiness I feel inspired, and the | Chinamen seem to ‘eel it, too, for they | seldom try to stop my way, but stand | back and mutter and glare at us. | lainous. | ful wnen you win their friendship. “But the next day,” she laughed. ‘Why we have a regular siege at the Methodist Mission Home sometimes. We have to lock the girls up and keep a watch on them as though they were prisoners. The wily Chinese wander ail through the house and glide about and are out again beiore you can touch them. It is really aggra vating to see them stroll nbo\lt apparently absolutely uninterested, when every one whbo knows the Chinese can always tell the extent of their ill-doing by the degree ““If they will not let me in after plead- ing and coaxing—and they don’t like to— why, I take my hatchet and let myself in.” of innocence they assume—the most inno- cent-looking always being the most vil- “And yet,” she said, “'they are so faith- They can’t do enough for you nor care enough | for you, and they are as simple as chil- dren. I have been workin: among them this way for years, and I have grown to love them and to love to help them. What risk there is is nothing compared with JULY 11, 1897 what is gained, and really it is nothing, anyway. “You must not think,’’ she said, as we rose and I thanked her for the glimpse she had given me of her life-work—'‘you must not think that I have to do this. Mrs. Culbertson of the Presbyterian mis- sion has been in the work longer than I; <he came here before the Chinese got used to being interfered with or learned to be afraid of the laws, and she opened the way for other workers.” It wasn’t exactly clear fo me just how it altered the fact of her courage, that another woman had courage, too, but then the lines came to me from a well-known poem of Farquhar's: Courage—an independent sport from heaven’s bright throne, By which the soul stands raised, triumphant, high, alone. Great in itself, not praises of the erowd, Above all vice, it stoops not to be proud. It was strange, the amount of poetry that this woman was calling forth, and yet I knew that truth in others calls forth the same in us, and poetry is the soul of truth. And so I was glad when I found thecar full of Christian Endeavorers. What bright, glad faces they had and how their voices rang out with “There is sunshine in my soul!” Even the conductor forget to be impatient and spoke the names of the streets distinctly, thereby makinz me mis- take my street, and the motorman had on a ruminating smile and tforgot and stopped in the middle of a block and waited patiently for a frail, weak woman to bundle her four children into the car. The world seemed new and strange, and I stopped on the side hill to rind that the wind was tossing my hair in a thousand directions, and I was in a par- ticularly steep place, toiling upward, and withal 1 haa been singing, too. Certainly it is a mild ntoxication, and yet one that stimulates heart and brain. «Mrs. Culbertson? She is very poorly to-day, and I think had not better see any . What can I do for you?” onfiln?” 1 said, looking woefully sur- ised, T know. 1 had almost forzotten l.p;:steu;ese courageous spirits were kept in frail bodies. i The young lady rai “She is failing siowly,” very low. ‘“Come in—. oun.” I followed her into the cool, pleasant sitting-room. i “It was of Mrs. Culbertson’s work? Ah! I wish she could tell you herself, but sbe ought not, truly. Every one knows her, though, and loves her. She has saved 80 many Chinese girls and had a great deal of trouble in doing so. The Chinese have hated her and made things as unpleasant as they could. It has been a bard strug- gle, but she has, in the main, conquered, and with so littie help.”” sed her eyes sad_ly. ? she said, speaking I will talk with “Your church helps, doesn’t it?” 1 asked. 2 “Yes,”” she said, *of course. But it's this way. Mrs. Hull, or Mrs. Culbertson, or Mrs. Lake, or Mrs. Vrooman will be requested to speak at a meeting and teli of the work that is being done, and t}le request will be something like this: ‘Piease tell us something of your wonder- ful work, bui—well, don’t say anything about the bed piaces or the slave women, or—well, you understand. There are some in the congregation who are somewhat jastidious and it may not be best for the young people to hear about it.” Just as tuough they wouldn’t hear of it any way and in ways much worse than that.”’ And then we both laughed. Her speech was exactly like some staid, nervous old deacon, bent almost double with the weight of the respectability of his own congregation. **And Mrs. Vrooman ?’ I asked. work does she do?” “Helps everybody,” exclaimed this en- thusiastic young lady. ‘‘She was born in China—is a wee part Chiuese and speaks their language, 8o, of course, she can do much more than those who do not un- derstand tbat tongue. She goes about so quietly, too, that I think most people scarcely realize that'she does anything at all, but with all her quietness she is never idle. She knits or sews when she has to travel anywhere, ana she mnever sees a Chinese girl or woman without going to her and making friends and help- ing her if she needs it. Don’t you think it is wonderful 7 Iconfessed 1did anda pondered over it all the way while I searched for Mrs. Vrooman. I found her at one of the missions, busily in attendance on a weak, fright- ened woman, who had lately been brought in. She was too busy to talk of herself—I think she had forgotten all about her own personality, and she did not know that I stared somewhat. I bad never seen any one do that betore. But another lady kindly told me of her. “She is wonderful,” she said. “She goes day after day into the family houses where the common people live, and into the houses of the merchants, too. Were you to visit the homes of the Cbinese you might trace her footsteps by the change in the ways of living there. Where she visits the living-rooms are cleaner and the in- habitants are neater in dress and person. Not only that, but you will see b.ts of pretty decoration appearing from time to time and plants beginning to bloom in “What | the windows, Then Mrs. Vrooman will | from lack of care and proper food. SAN FRANCISCO HAS THE BRAVEST WOMEN IN THE WORLD: walk into Sunday-schocl with a host of little yellow feces around her, and finally the women will come with ber, and then— not so often, but sometimes—the men wil| wander in. But she does notstop to rest | and ponaer over her success. By the time, and sometimes long before, one fam- ily is successfully brougitin she Las an- other that sue is drawing to ber.”’ Mrs. Vrooman is quiet and retiring in her manner and her face has such « trutk. ful, sanguine expression that it almost makes you doubt even while you adm re. And as I left herand her charge I re- membered ‘Miss Lake, into whose guar- dianship the hali-caste girl, Laura Lee, had been given, and her molf;er, who has charge of the Methodist mission-house. So I climbed the hill again and found the former there, practicing on hercornet. “I play some,” she said. ~It nelps me in my work."” g “How ?"’ I asked wondering. “Why, you know,” she answered, “on Sandays I take my horn and charts, and the Chinese girl here who acts as my i terpreter and go into the alleys of China- town. ThenI find a family house. You know the rooms are divided by only cur- tams—there are no doors nor partitions. After I play awhile you can see the | little yellow faces peeking under the curtains, and after awhile the women with the children in their arms and cling- ing to them will crowd around and listen, for they love music. And then, with the help of the girl who goes with me, I give them a Sunday-school lesson. And they gel interested as I go from house to house. Sometimes I cannot get them to go to the churches, but they will watch for me, and really seem to enjoy it.”’ : W hat surprised you most about them?” I asked. “That they were jut like ourselves,” she 1aughed. Ihad expected a different answer, but that was sufficient. “pear,” said a lady opening the doqr, after tapping lightly, “your little girl wants to see you, she is not feeling so well.” We went into the other part of the mis- sion buiiding, and guided by the murmur of a weak, plaintive voice sought the front room in the south corner. *“You are feeling worse?” Miss Lake bent compassionately over the frail, wasted form of a young Chinese girl who lay stretched wearily in an in- valid’s chair. She shook her head, smiling up into the kindly face above her. Few of us are honored with such looks of gratitude. “Itis hip disease,” said Miss Lake. I found her some months ago slowly dying of course she was of no use to ber parents— they couldn’t sell her and yet they were afraid to rid themselves of her. The doctor gave me scme hope of her re- cuvery, but—"" She stopved and looked earnestly into the fever-flushed face and took botn the wasted handsin one of hers. It isn’t the same world aiter this, is it? Ivisn’t all darkness and doubt and self- ishness? Murier Barny. One section of the fishing laws of Fiorida provides that “whoever fishe s for shad between sundown on Saturday after- noon and sunrise on Monday morning of every week shall be punished by a fine not exceeding $40 and by confiscation of boat and fishing tackle used in such unlawful acts.” A DISTINGUISHED ACTOR Who Has Been Leading Man to Lillian Langtry, Ada Rehan, Olga Nethersole, Sarah Thorne and Other F There is now playing at one of the lead- | ing theaters in San Francisco an actor who hes prabably been *‘leading man’’ to | more of the famous actresses of the world | within the past six years than hasany other member of his profession. Lillian Langtry, Oliga Nethersole, Mrs. Pat camp- As Charles Surface, With Mrs. Langtry bell, Ada Rehan, Sarah Thorne, these are among the best known of the ladies to whom he has been a Romeo, a Charles Surface, a Lord Clancarthy, an Orlando, or a Claude. Combined with the strong and charming element of interest which these distinguished associations confer, are a personal attractiveness and a popu- larity which no associations, however charming or distinguished, could enhance, but which they might and do adorn with a touch of romance and a flavor of rich past experience. The gentleman is Frank Worthing, now leading man of i1he Frawley Company, at present playing a ten weeks’ engagement in this City. Few of these who have seen him in any of that company’s more im- portant leading roles will be disposed to admit that his past achievements could add anything to their admiration for him as an acior or a distingnished and charm- ing gentleman. His personality risesabove everything else. Indeed, it may be said that his '‘stage presence,’”’ or that mysterious quality of appearance which, reqairing no absoiuteingredient of beauty or regularity of feature, still commands tiie closest at- tention and most serious consideration, is matched by tbat of no other actor in this country. With his back to the footlights and without saying a word Worthing can hoid his audience enrapt. By a mere ypause, prolonged to any length of time, be can inspire the liveliest anticipation and afford the gentiest satisfaction by simply his own attitude as the sequence of the pause, withoutreference to the play at all. Tue other evening, while the company was ‘presenting “Tne Social Highway- man” and while Hanby, the servant, was in the act of lighting his master’s cigar. ette with a taper, the light accidentally | | matches, separaiing one from the others, amous Stars. went out ere the cigarelte had ignited. “Ah!” said Mr. Worthing calmiy, ss be | leaned back in his chair, “Get me a match, | Hanby.” Hanby had to cross the stage with the deliberate tread befitting his station, and in the entire operation of going and ccming, picking up the striking it and holding it while his master languidly drew in the flame to his cigaf- ette he consumed an amount of time that would have been extremely aggravating at that interesting stage of the proceed- ings bad not the attention of the audience been arrested and held by Mr. Worthing as he sat silently in his chair and gazed As Mr. Barnes, in His Own Company. abstractedly at nothing in particular. That was but one of innumerable in- stances wherein his extraordinary per- sonal magnetism more than anything else has carried him through situations which in other hands would have turned out an- successiully and in many cases absurdly. “When Iwas in New York Jooking for an addition to my company,”’ said Mr. Frawley, in a recent conversation, “some gentlemen at one of the clubs advised me to go-and see Worthing, who, according to report, was not entirely satisfied witn his engagement with Daly. They thought it possible that I might be able to secure bim. I went to the theater that night and saw him on the stage. He struck me as a careless, awkward sort of man, with little or no pretensions to stage style. It| took three acts for me to see wherein his peculiar charm lay, but having once come under its effect 1 became more and more attracted by it every time he came upon the stage. Anc after I had soivea the problem of his appearance, his wonderful versatility and expression as an actor im- pressed we. I engaged him on a ten weeks’ contrect, and we came to San Francisco, where his first appearance was a tremendous success. At the end ot ten weeks I thought him the best leading man in this country, and I think him that to-day—a conviction whichis coming to be shared by a good many of the man- agers, from a number of whom he has lately received some very tempting offers.” Not the least remarkable feature of Mr. Worthing’s career is the circumstance that ne bezan it not more than seven or eight years ago. After serving a few months as assistant prompter in an ob- scure stock company in an Enelish province he was one night given a minor partto play on the stage. Irom that he drifted into other and more important parts, finally assuming leading roies. Quite by chance the attention of Sarah Thorne, whose stock company in those days was famous in high theatrical cir- cles, was attracted to him, with the result that he was induced to join her company. Beginning at the bottom of this list of stage celebrities he gradually rose to the top as he had donein the company of lesser lights. He remained with Sarah Thorne eighteen months, playing leading man for several months preceding his re- tirement from the company, which oc- currea in 1890. He left Sarah”Thorne to go with Pat Campbell, with whom te played the open- ing matinee of hisengagement as Orlanao, in “As You Like It.”” It was at this mati- nee that Mrs. Pat Campbell made her first appearance. Mr. Worthing ieft Camp- bell’s company to take the place of Charles Coghlan as Mrs. Langtry’s leading man, in which pos:tion he appeared successively as Anthony, Lord Ciancarty, Charles Sur- face, Claude Melnotte and Orlando. After playving with Mrs. Langtry six months in Encland, ke -igned a contract to play in an American tour of the same length of time, but a sudden iliness con- tracted by Mrs. Langtry changed their pians, and he accepted an offer from Charles Windom, which he had received prior to his last offer from Mrs. Langtry. He Went to the Criterion Theater in Lon- don, where he played leading roles for two years, closing in Windom's own part in *An Aristocratic Alliance.” He then signed with Daly to come to America as leading man to Olga Nethersols, who was then in Europe, and with whom he ap- peared in a brief engagement on that side of the water. After arriving in New York, however, Mr. Worthing was taken by Daly into the latter's own company and played leading | roles with Ada Rehan instead. He re- mained under Daly’s direction until his engagement with Mr. Frawley, early last year, with the exception of a few weeks with the Rosenfeldts in “A House of Cards'’ at the Fifth-avenue Theater. In addition to these various connections and during the briei intermissions here | and there, Mr. Worthing has appeared in | England in “Mr. Barnes of New York,” | in George Moore’'s ““The Minister’s Call” and in “The Idler” under the direction of been secured by Mr. Frawlev for presenta- tion in San Francisco, and Mr. Worthing will p ay the same bart in it here that he played in London in the original “idler’ company. Local theater-goers have seen and ap- preciated Mr. Worthingin “The Senator,” “The Great Unknown,” *The Two Es- cutcheons,” *The Question,” ‘The So- cial Highwayman” and several other drawing-room plays, in which line he particularly exceis. Next week he will appear in “Caristopher Junior,” and it is the opinion of theatrical folk who have witnessed the rebea:sal that he plays it so much better than John Drew played it here last year as to leave no room for comparison between the two. ‘‘He has the youth and the wholesomeness for the vart which John Drew, polished actor as he is, does not possess,” remarked a mem- ber of Frohman’s company, who had been to one of the rehearsals, a few days ago. *There is an artificiality about Drew which Worthing, in his exqnisite natural- ness and unaffectedness, does not aisplay. Worthing is always Worth:ng, on or off ihe siaze. He never could be anything else than the charming, well-bred and Charles Cartwright. This latter play has aistinguished fellow that he is.” C. D. A tall, dignified gentleman of tne old school, who always wears a white vest and a button-hole bouquet 1n the lapel of his long Prince Albert coat. Buch is *‘Joe” Gardener, the house and sign painter of Pescadero. Joe is living rather an obscure life these days, but there was a time when he shone bright in the eyes of the public, drew a big salary ana traveled all over the coun- try on a special train. That was a long time ago, though. Bo longago infact that Joe had forgotten a good deal apbout those ~good oid days”; but the influence they made upon him will last as long as he lives. He will never forget the great P. T. Bar- num of circus fame, nor the davs he spent in bis employ painting the scenery for sideshows, etc. Nor does he ever tire of talking about the great showman, and of the amount of good he did in educating the American people to au appreciation of amusements. Joe’s shop in Pescadero is just on the edge of town. It is a modest sort of a vlace, but he aoes some fine work there, as can be seen by a glance at the stage- coaches that run from the little city by the Pebble Beach to San Mateo. But the way Joe works is *‘a caution,” as many of his neighbors are wont to say. No matter how busy Joe may be, he has always time to talk to visitors and re- ceives them with a courtesy it would be ditticult o auplicate 1n the drawing-rooms of to-day. His bow is the most elaborate and gracelul, and his “Pleased to see you, sir,”” is uttered in that slow, calculating but withai sincere manner so rare these times. Itisa most incongruous sight to see a man attired in the garments of the draw- ing-rooms working in a paint shop, but Joe does jt, and, strange to_say, keeps his clothes clean. -No need to put paint on your clothes,” he savs; “put it on what you are painting.” All of which is very true, but Joe works very slowly. i No matter who may call on Joe, he is sure to turn the conversation so as to give 'He Once Painted Scenesfor Barnum thirty years ago,” is Joe’s stereotyed way of starting out to tell his experience. “I across the Atlantic to look for a job. I was not long geiting it, for as soon as Barnum saw what I coula do he put me right to work. It was in New York that we made the contract, and I stayed with him until he died and the show was all broken up. I had chargs of all his paint- ing. All of those fine chariots, decorated in red and gold, and the beautiful animal cages were my work. Then I painted the scenes for the sideshow, and did all other kinds of work as it was needed. “*Oh, but those were the good times. People were not afraid to spend money in those days. We had very few millionaires then and no begzars. There was work for everybody and every man was independ- ent. Nou man was so poor that he could not let his children go to the circus and see the wonders of the world all spread outin a tremendous aggrezation. How they used to flock to us when we went through Ohio and Illinois! Talk about atiractions these days; they can’t touch the drawing powers of the greatest show that was ever szen on top of the earth. Many times there have been 20,000 people standing outside the tent while the show was going on, waiting for us to give an- other performance. Some of these people had driven forty miles just to see the show. And I teil you the old man seldom disappointed tiem. And no matter how good business was he seldom forgot the orphans, but always sent a punch of tick- ets to the nearest asylum., ° *‘He was also very lenient with the small boy. Hisorders were not to fasten the canvas down too tight. In all my reccol- leciions he never had a youngster pun- ished for ‘snesking under-the tent.’ Of course the boys had to be watched, and when they were caught, we used to nrake a kick at them; but it w: lways toward the ring. “Most of my work was done during the winter, but I had to go along with the show B8O as to be on hand in case of acci- dent. Once in Texas we got struck by a Bim an opportunity to talk of his old days with the great “P. T.” As Lord Cancarthy, With Ada Rehan. “You see, I worked for Barnum over | were all blown away. Then I had to set torm, and the pictures for the sideshow was born on the other side, and came | to work and paint them all over again. I had to make a fat woman, a snake charmer and a glass eater. Ana TUthink I aiso had to make a two-headed calf, but I am not sure. “ldon’t know what has come over the world since then. Our people will not spend their money. Consequently times are hard. Everybody hoards and is look- ing out for a chance to get some that somebody else is hoarding. It is spend- ing money that makes good times—not saving it. A thousand dollars in circula- tion in Pescadero is a good aeal better for | the town than $10,000 in the bank. JOE GARDENER, ONE OF P. T. BARNUM’S OLD SCENE PAINTERS, ‘‘People scem to me to have become cowards. They are afraid. They will get hard up, and so put by all the money they can get. Pretty svon they find theme selves without the chance to make any more, and in a little while more we have an army of nnemployed, and I might also say an army of slaves. Atany rate these men have not the independence of men in the old days when P. T. and I traveled all over the country. People are sfraid to spend money, and I actually believe that if the greatest show on earth were to start out again to.morrow we would not pay expenses,”