The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 28, 1898, Page 25

bang tight callco i THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, AUGUST 28, 1898. A OF From a Photograph. g a is the big fc anc yum 1 having his w best d it dir cut in e raging while est fire. red man. Po His high- Fitzsimmons, too, were in the school, I the ground asked a little 1 ced boy if those cutting shells were the children’s right names. i so far to 1t he was going were window- furnitureless, tless. nt silk neckerchief. squaw v who spoke excellent English her name was THE WICKIUP. papoose in a prize basket. AH, Aug. 23.—Tf there Digger Indian “white man’s The from Mount t to Boonville in e Indians in the de- grinning warmth, and a very old squaw got up papooses, are over- in disgust at seeing us enter and went RIS # out grumbling. e e hew In the warmest, least smoky corner had seen before in inity of a life- with the wiles Lo I confess I , but my for he or degrees In the have left t baskets e town gaughter, She got two lose—no picture take!™ et photo- A1l the while other of the little eaded. one hugge er, because, with tographs al] Indi ved that to be pho- he bland- tographed one's life. It was | , pains- for this reason, uspect, that they e to made no objection, when pald, to our ndian: Midwinter aptain Jack ace we found orating prime on a long string. ed potentate, a autifully hide- st words were bluntly, “clear : fools come 1 he would not. red to what use ograph him and ition only to be sticulations: Gimme four e and bye when 1 in »ng the women a pent-house ough to peep under, apper, bare feet and a “Mary CAPTAIN PETE AND HIS PRIME MINISTER From a photograph. These two leading Indians of the tribe are engaged in making and string- . Ing wampum to be used for counters in gambligg games Magdalen Martha Washington,” sat half hidden by a basket which she was making. She slowly worked away, dip- ping the peeled hazel twigs in a cup of water and taking the un- peeled twigs for the brown pat- tern out of a bowl where they were soaking. She knew the value of her photo as well as any English professional beauty. “How long have you been work- ing on that basket?” I asked. “Three months.” At the rate she was then going as many hours would have suf- ficed to finish it. “I would like your picture.” ‘One dollar.” “But that is too much.” “I very flne—everybody want my picture. Heap big fool from the East with his girl gimme two dollars yesterday. I worth much.” Then she said her husband had some fine baskets to sell, but he had gome to the hop fields and had taken the key of the shanty and had locked her out. He would not return till nightfall and perhaps not then, she said. “You don’t have any women's clubs here?” 1 queried. “Women clubs. Oh, yes, he club me.” said his sister had some baskets, so we tollowed him to her home. It was larger and better than the rest. A capacious fireplace without a chimney gave forth more smoke than a young woman crouched with a death- like baby, whose wail she was trying to soothe. She paid no attention to us and only watched her baby. Her mother, who was stretching the skins of some rabbits which she had just dressed, left them and brought out the baskets. There were two of them and on each was pinned a note written in a round, schoolboy hand: THIS BASKET TWENTY DOLLARS. NO UP... v....NO DOWN. The old squaw was jolly and quizzical and wanted to know why we wanted the baskets, but she could not grasp the explanation—and I asked to take (20) pointing to her s photographing their old people, who are useless to them. A smiling, genial Indian gentleman allowed us to photograph cents a shot. ed it orrowed to use We neighbor’s baby he had on us. In front of the last shanty in this rancheria three old women were seated grinding acorns into flour. An old man Iving near by on the ground did not open his eyes to notice us. “Is he asleep?” I asked. “More likely he is drunk,” said the photographer. The old man opened his eves and | grinned and said, “Not so good luck,” and all the women joined in an appre- clative grin. They had no baskets, but allowed us | to photograph them for a consideration. | The next rancheria was seven miles | distant. Just before we reached it a crowd of school children came out of school, They were as wild as birds, but soon forgot their fear scrambling for small coin which we threw to them. One small girl sald her name was Sara Bernhart. A boy told me he was Paderewski, and when Sharkey and e b “Oh, no; he’s Mary and he’s Joseph,” came the answer, and all the names of the apostles followed, for they are named by the priest and the good sis- ters who teach their only school. They had just been arranged for a fine group when a man on horseback appeared, and the youngsters were off like a flash. The man rode after and seemed to threaten as the children dis- appeared in their homes. ™ . When we knocked every door was locked, and one squaw called out: “This Injun don’t want nothing.” The rest seemed all dead. We were just deciding that either we must attack the villlage in old Indian style or else give up baskets and pho- tographs, when an old Indian and his wife drove up in a cart which seemed | to be held together with ropes. We ap- “GET - ODT! plained. “Oh, she very good. She make many, many baskets. I sell and et much, much money. This one,” and he pointed to his companion, ‘she damn no good.” The “other wife” only grinned. The roof of the sweat or club house only was above ground—a low pyra- mid formed of poles about twenty-flve feet long and leaving a four-foot open- ing over the center. The entrance was dug out and descended about three feet to the floor of the inclosure and was so low that I had to lle down and wiggle in after the chief, who had al- ready made the bargain with the In- dians to be photographed. A fire was burning under the open- ing in the roof, which let out some smoke and let in a little air and day- light. Not one of the braves appeared to be conscious of our entrance as they sat on the ground, throwing down the cards and counting of wampum from long strings hanging about their necks. They were gambling and used the wampum as counters, to be afterward redeemed in legal tender. The photographer explained to them clearly that the flashlight would make a little nofse and a little fire and some SAID POOR LO. Wouldn't Sell His Baskets and Wouldn't Be Photographed, Though Cornered by the “White Men's Devil.” light and a bit of smell. The captain nodded patronizingly and they Every Indian came There was no chance to run and roiling out that rat- hole entrance did not appeal to me just I stood as near the wall as I while the Indians tried to kill the hoodoo in the camera by ecir- cling around it and half chanting, half speaking, short sentences in Indian, be- in a sald that would be all right; would not mind. But they did. to life with a whoop. them, could get, ginning very loud and ending whisper. The flashlight affected the captain, too, and he abandoned us to the howl- ing, dancing black flends in that pent up smoky place. his senses and quick.” told us “to “git out ‘We lost no time in wriggling through the low doorway. We drove away as quickly as might a broken be with about four plates, camera and no baskets. In town I bought better baskets than I had seen at the shanties for $3 each, but I was sure the noble red man had least one superstition and one at rite to ward it off. = HELEN GREY. At last he came to T e Tt to oiasts { 6A\/\I NAPOLEON | room the pleasure of an audience in the | a baby as of- | | was a | | MARCH TO MOSCOW Remarkable period which Dr. Floto, a practicing San Francisco physician, can review as his lifetime. He spoke to Napoleon’s brother Joseph, King of Holland, and met many interesting people of the Napoleonic era. HEN I was a boy, begins my entertainer, and I gaze at him with respectful and wondering admiration. Imagine sitting hale and “a very little boy, since I was only five years old, I innocently made my father very uncomfortable for a few moments. He, who was always more than kind, spoke so severely to me on that occa- | slon that the whole affair became in- hearty here in San Francisco, a man delibly stamped upon my mind, and among men still, a doctor among doc- | forms the first memory pleture 6f my tors, with patients awaiting in an ante- | long life. | “Hoxter, our home, is a town situ- efficacy of which they firmly believe, | &ted on the left bank of the Weser, e thinki bak v 1y | @nd is a place of considerable histori- and yet thinking back over nearly | cq] interest. In the days of the ‘thirty ninety long years and telling stories of | years’ war' it was a very flourishing ersonal experiences with Bonapartethe | €Ity of more than forty thousand in- i P parteth® | habitants, but General Tilly, comman- Great, his {ll-fated army that straggled der of the Catholic army, bombarded back so miserably from Moscow, and and destroyed it, together with the B i I} I [ WENT OFF. I WITH @ YELL OF TERROR THE INDIANS DASHED FROM THE SWEAT HOUSE WHEN THE FLASHLIGHT hurrying to catch a train. The people's Joseph hailed him from afar. “Oh,” sald he, “glad T met you. I've a ques- tion to ask you."” “Yes,"” answered the Premier polite- ly, but fidgeting with the money he had ready in his hand for a ticket; “what is it?” ‘“Why Is a goat nearly?’ eaid Mr. Chamberlain. = 7 - = OF HER BEST BASKETS. 7 MAGDALEN MARTHA WASHINGTON WEAVING ONE MARY “BEr—I don't quite—"" “Why is a goat nearly?’ persisted Mr. Chamberlain. ““Excuse me,” said Salisbury, “I must catch this train.!” “Why is a goat nearly?” “Er— d— it” (Salisbury looked at his watch) “T've lost that train!” ‘‘Because it’s ail butt,” replied Cham- berlain. the weak and easily influenced brother Jerome who bartered the wife of his choice for a kingdom of a few years’ pealed to him. “My wife she no good—she too lazy. not make baskets—she only sit s 1 the old Indlan. w ife smiled in a superior sort of and di d not seem to mind what he way, said The man told us he was the captain, as the chief man of the village is cal hat>the men were in the sweat- house and that he would take us in and | we could get a picture if we pald him. | It was agreed and he slowly un- hitched and then brought out snme; beautiful baskets in which to pack the | provisions he had bought. “My odder wife she died,” n he ex- o~ duration. This is the position of Dr. John H. Floto at the present time. Born in Hoxter, Pruseia, ninety-four years ago, the doctor came to this country while ““Old Hickory” was occupying the Presidential chair of our nation,and af- ter graduating from the homeopathic college of Allentown, Pennsylvania, the first establishment of its kind in Amer- ica, studled allopathic methods in the Philadelphia Medical College under the celebrated surgeon George McClellan, and graduated with honor from that institution also. For over sixty years Dr. Floto has been a practicing physician. and for thirty-three of those years he has been practicing here in California, where he bids fair from present appearances to continue his professional labors for some time to come. Although he is undoubtedly the old- est physician still in the professional harness in the United States, the doctor looks as young as the majority of men who came into this world a quarter of a century later than himself. His shoulders are not stooped with the welght of years, nor has his step be- come feeble or uncertain. He carries a cane, it is true, but the cane by no means carries him. His figure Is erect, his manner and movements alert and assured. A slight dullness of hearing. not sufficlent to in any way interfere with the pleasure of conversation with him, is the only mark of advanced age which Father Time has seen fit to lay upon him. He has the® fine, high, slightly aquiline nose which generally tells that {ts fortunate possessor is of aristocratic lineage, a luxuriant crown of beautiful white hair, a“erisply curl- ing white beard, and the sharp but kindly eyes of the true disciple of Es- culapius. Moreover he has the digni- fledly graclous ways of the ‘“old school.” He has shown me a photograph of his father’s brother which was taken a few months before his death at the age of 107, and he has shown me his only pic- ture of his father who “died quite young,” he says, being cut off untinfely after only seventy-five years of life, on account of having contracted rheuma- tism through living three years in a tent during his service in the French army. “He was a brave and good man,” says the doctor, as he carefully puts again under lock and key the bit of paper cherished for so many years, and then he tells me the story for which I From a photograph. have asked. “When I was a little boy,” it begins, great stone bridge across the river, and killed all the inhabitants who had not managed to get away, except a few who hid under the huge clock in a church steeple. In the early days of this century it had a population of about 8000, and was chiefly noted be- cause of the beautiful monastery which was built by Ludovic and Pious, sons of the great Charlemagne; on the river bank close at hand. ‘Jerome, youngest brother of Na- poleon Bonaparte, was enjoying his short-lived kingdom of Westphalia in those days, and his brother, Joseph, King of Holland, having made him a present of a fine vessel, he made a trip with his court up the river from Cassel, the royal residence, which is about thirty miles away, to see this wonderful old building and its beauti- ful grounds. “Great preparations were made for his coming; steps were built up from the river and all the population turned out to see the show. My father and the Bishop were to personally receive and. escort the King, and as they stood together at the top of the steps I ran away from my mother and the rest and went up beside my father. “The King was advancing up the steps, so father was obliged to ignore me and carry out his part of the pro- gramme. Jerome was most affable and stood for some minutes talking with the two gentlemen, while the richly dressed ladies and gentlemen of his court waited at a little distance listen- ing, with amusement doubtless, to the queer mixture of French and German with which they endeavored to make themselves understood. ““As for me, I grew tired of standing there and being taken no notice of by any one, and being a petted child I announced my presence by suddenly and decidedly pulling the King’s coat tail. I shall never forget the expres- sion of my father's face as he looked at me, nor the tone of his voice, but the King, who was as kindly as he was weak and vacillating, put his hand on my head and bade my father not to chide me, and after that I was taken on board the beautiful boat. which was fitted up like a palace, and then walked through the convent gardens and had altogether such a delightful time as to make that the happlest day that I had ever known. “That bishop, by the way, was the famous Bishop Loening, and Jerome took such a fancy to him that he had him remove to the palace and become his religious adviser. He died a year later and his portrait, queerly enough, since he was the last bishop ever cre- ated in that diocese, just completed the line of portraits of his predecessors, occurred when Lord Salisbury was which, headed by those of Charlemagne and Ludovic, extended along and fitted into the length of the great convent gallery. ‘‘About two years later, in the spring of 1812 I think it was, Napoleon him- self was driven through the town in a carriage. I remember well how he looked sitting up very ,straight with his arms folded and his hat pulled a little down over his eyes. There was a great crowd out to look at him, but there was no cheering, and no pleas- ant excitement. No one there either loved or admired him, I can assure you, and he went along as quickly and quietly as possible. ‘“‘After that the troops began to march through the place night and day on their way to Moscow, and every- body was frightened and anxious, for there seemed no real safety for any one. The rattle of the artillery car- riages, the tramp of the infantry and the noise of the cavalry made the whole town a place of confusion. Our houses were made hotels against our wills and all peaceful avocations were at a standstill until the great body of the army had passed by. Some of our own townspeople of course went with them—Dbecause they must—and that fall and winter some of them came back again. One of our neighbors came with both legs frozen off, and he was glad to get back with the stumps. “It seems like a nightmare, the mem- ory of the tattered, starving, crippled creatures that I saw in those dreadful days, while I was yet too young to un- derstand the reason of their misery and who was to blame for the death of the 90,000 men who were lost in that awful retreat from Moscow. ‘“After the French were beaten at Leipsic the people of Hoxter had a fine festival and one of the amusements was a shooting contest open to all rifle- men. The target was a life-size effigy of Napoleon Bonaparte ar? to the first man who put a bullet where his heart ought to have been was promised a valuable prize. “l was eight years old then and had begun to understand things a littie bet- ter than formerly. and I watched the marksmen shoot with the greatest in- terest. Everybody rejoiced when the figure was hit at all and rejoiced louder the nearer a shot came to plercing a vital part. A printer whom we knew well was the first one to send a bullet through the tiny spot over the heart, and he was the king of.the festival from that raoment.” —_—— The differences between Lord Salls- bury and the Right Mon. Joseph Cham- berlain are now underitood. They are directly traceable to an Incideat that ;‘ ) \ DR. JOHN H. FLOTO. Dr. Floto is 94 years old, and is still practicing his cisco. He began sixty years ago, and remembers seeing the historical men of that period. lfio‘tessmn in San Fran- ‘Napoleon and many of a