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Mules

Thursday, October 6, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Gazette, Waukegan, Illinois on Saturday, May 6, 1882

     A Montana mule standing near a magazine of giant powder when it exploded was hurled end overend seventy-five feet to the bottom of the dump pile on which he stood. When the smoke cleared away he stood quietly picking the bunch grass not in the least disturbed. He had lifted people like that himself and knew how it was done.-Detroit Free Press.

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Fatally Hurt By Mules.

Thursday, October 6, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Friday, February 24, 1905

     William Bullar, 19 years old, son of C. C. Bullar, a prominent stone contractor and builder of Murphysboro, was perhaps fatally injured by a team of young mules. He had gone onto the stable to feed the animals, when he was struck down and viciously attacked. His skull was crushed and his body terribly lacerated.

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Donkeys Figure In History.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Wednesday, September 7, 1921

Merits of Patient Creatures Have Been Sung by Poets and Depicted by Painters.

The “common or garden” donkey is one of the most laughed-at animals, and few of us pause to think what a figure this stubborn but patient creature has made in literature, art, and history. The very first picture the visitor to the London National gallery sees as he enters the building is a beautifully painted ass upon which the Virgin sits with her Infant Son. It is Holman Hunt’s “Triumph of the Innocents.” Balaam’s ass has passed into a proverb of the foolish instructing the wise! There is, too, the Golden ass of Apuleius, a romance of the Second century, Balzac with his Ass’s Skin,” Sancho Panza with his adored donkey, and Sterne with that dead donkey which he has immortalized. Then who can forget Robert Louis Stevenson’s delightful “Travels With a Donkey,” where the donkey is almost as entertaining as the author? There was, too, Halil Bey’s donkey which was shaved of its ears by a British shot, and there was Matanza’s mule killed in Cuba-but that was only half a donkey! King Midas was said to have ass’s ears, and it was upon an ass that Mohammed went to paradise to learn the will of Allah. It was named Al Borak [the lightning], so it must have been the swiftest ass on record.

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Golf Ball Is Driven Into Ear Of Donkey.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Thursday, December 7, 1922

By International News Service

     Cork, Ireland, Dec. 7-Izaak Walton has no modern champion, and so fish stories are giving way to golf stories.

     J. W. McEvoy drove off the third tee at the middleton links and his ball entered the ear of a donkey on the course. The donkey stood still for a time, but when the players were within a few yards the animal took to its heels and tossed its head, and the ball came rolling to the ground.

     It cost McEvoy one stroke when the argument had ended.

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Hen Faithfully Did Duty.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Friday, December 9, 1921

Clever Woman’s Confidence in Her Pet “Biddy” Proved to Be Abundantly Justified.

     There was an old woman who lived not in a shoe but on a farm in New Hampshire. She made a contract to deliver two dozen fresh eggs to an anaemic family from New York who were building up on milk and eggs after a wearing season, and these eggs were to be delivered at a certain hour daily. Although she had to go by buckboard she always fulfiled her contract to the last egg.

     But one day as the old woman was putting on her “bunnit’ preparatory to start an accident broke one on the twenty-four fresh eggs and there was no time to wait for the laying of another. What was she to do? Fail to keep her appointment or deliver the twenty-three eggs with an excuse?

     This clever old woman did neither of these things. She snatched up a squawking hen which had a record as a good layer, cramped it into a coop and started out. On the trip the needed fresh egg arrived, and it was added to the others and made up the quota.

     When the customer was counting the eggs she noticed the warm one and asked the reason. The old woman laughed and told the story of how her favorite dependable hen and had almost literally laid an egg in her hand. The story has been told over and over since then in ever-widening areas until with the return home of the New York family, no longer anaemic, it has reached the metropolis.-New York Herald.

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Saved By A Rabbit.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Thursday, December 14, 1922

Miner Tells Of Miraculous Escape From Death.

As Instrument of Preserving Man From Dreadful End, Animal Was Honored by Community.

     This true story of the almost miraculous rescue of a man imprisoned in the shaft of a lead mine was told to the writer, Cora Cole McCullough, by a member of her family. We quote it from Our Dumb Animals [Boston], says the Literary Digest.

     Many years ago I was living in Montana. A smelter had been built and it created a demand for silver rock. I owned an interest in a lead mine that had been sunk over thirty feet. Thinking the time had come to make it available, I decided to go there and get some ore and have it tested. I did so, and reached the place just in time to take shelter in the mine from a terrible hail storm. I lighted my candle, went to the bottom, and went to work. I had not been there more than five minutes when I heard a noise that sounded like a cannon. The rock over my head shook, and in a moment the shaft caved in. You can imagine my feelings better than I can describe them, when I found myself buried alive.

     I tremble even at this distant day, when I think of that moment. The roof of the shaft was made of rocks, and when they came down they did not pack so tightly, but that the air came through. There was nothing I could do to release myself. I knew that if relief did not come from the outside I must perish. No one knew that I had gone there. A road ran past the mouth of the shaft, but it was not traveled much, and I was not likely to attract attention by calling. Nevertheless, I shouted at intervals all day.

     The following morning I commenced calling again, and all day, whenever I thought I heard a sound, I shouted. When night came again, all hopes of being released were abandoned. I will not dwell on the agonies I endured. The morning of the fourth day of my imprisonment I heard something crawl into my grave.

     I lighted my candle and saw a rabbit. There was only one aperture large enough to admit him; I closed it to prevent his escape. I saw in him food to appease my hunger, and my hand was raised to kill him, when a thought occurred to me that prevented the blow from descending.

     I had two fishing lines. Their united length would reach the road. I took off my shirt, tore it into strips, tied them together, and then to the fish line. I then tied the end made out of my shirt around the rabbit’s neck and let him out. He soon reached the end of the line, and I knew by the way he was pulling that he was making a desperate effort to escape. Soon the tugging ceased, and as I knew that gnawing was one of a rabbit’s accomplishments, I thought he had gnawed himself loose. About three hours afterward I felt the line pull, and someone called. I tried to answer, but the feeble noise I made died away in the cavern. I then pulled the line a little to show that I was still alive. All grew still again, and I knew the person had gone for assistance. Then came the sound of voices. I pulled in the line and it brought me food. It took all the men who worked in the shaft nine hours to reach me.

     A very large pine tree that stood near had been the cause of my misfortune. It had been dead a number of years, and the storm had blown it over. The terrible blow it struck the ground had caused the caving in of the shaft. The rabbit had wound the line around a bush and tied himself so short that he was imprisoned outside as securely as I had been inside. He was taken to town, put in a large cage, and supplied with all rabbit delicacies the market afforded. He, however, did not thrive, and the boys, believing he “pinned in thought,” voted to set him free. He was taken back to his old neighborhood, and liberated. He not only saved my life, but became the benefactor of all the rabbits near, the miners refraining from shooting any, for fear it might be my rabbit.

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Stole Her Chicks.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Thursday, December 29, 1921

How Leghorn Procured a Large Family Without the Formality of Hatching Them.

     The fox is no cleverer than a Leghorn hen. So at least thinks one reader of the companion who has read the numerous stories that it has printed to illustrate the cleverness of foxes. To justify her opinion she tells a story of her own. Here it is;

     In our flock of chickens we had only one brown leghorn, but she was hard to beat. One day she stole her nest, and, though Leghorns do not, as a rule sit, some time later she came marching proudly into the yard followed by a dozen little brown balls. In a week she had following her 25 chicks of all ages and descriptions; she had stolen them from other hens. And besides attending to the needs of that large family she began shortly to have an egg in her coop every morning.

     An interesting incident occurred on a neighboring farm. A persistent little hen that was repeatly prevented from sitting finally disappeared and returned some days later with seven fluffy baby quail. She had evidently driven the mother quail from her nest and hatched the eggs herself. The baby quail obeyed her commands, and she was very proud of them; but , in the words of my small brother, won’t she get the surprise of her life some day when these little quail learn to fly!-Youth’s Companion.

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Sparrow-Hawks Got Snake.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Monday, December 11, 1922

Reptile Seemed to Have Small Chance Against the Little though Fierce Birds.

     We soon found that there were two sparrow-hawks about, and by the 7th of March it seemed evident that they were mated and were considering the locality as a summer residence.

     We now saw them almost daily, and the perfect domestic harmony, indeed I should say affection, shown between them, and the tender care and gallantry on the part of the male, would seem to suggest a high plane of evolution, and reminds one again that all the world is kin. Indeed, what have we of altruism which may not have its beginning in the humblest creature?

     In accord with history and tradition the male was chief hunter, but very often shared the game with his mate after “killing.” Rushing to the back window, attracted by a loud call of killee, killee, killee, killee, we would frequently see him returning from the hunt with a rat, a mouse, or an English sparrow, and it must be confessed that even small song-birds were not strickly prohibited under his liberal interpretation of the law. In a moment the female would light on a perch nearby, whereupon the male would immediately remove the mouse from his talons, with which the prey is almost always carried, and politely deliver it to his mate from his beak.

     One bright, sunny afternoon there was an unusually excited call heard. It seemed that a garter-snake had glided forth from its hiding place to enjoy the early spring warmth, a circumstance which proved more fortunate for the “early bird” than for the early snake. It was most picturesque and exciting even to a spectator to see this fierce little bird, slightly smaller than a flicker, flying about from tree to tree as if to search of a more favorable stand, struggling with his writhing prey. When the snake had been decapitated and several inches of its length devoured, it seemed sufficiently subdued to be offered to the mate, although it was still wriggling when she accepted the offering. She ate it with evident relish, holding it firmly on the branch under her foot while she pulled off small pieces. When the tail was reached it became very difficult to hold this slender, tapering morsel.-S. Harmsted Chubb in Scibner’s.

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The Condor.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Gazette, Waukegan, Illinois on Saturday, May 30, 1874

     We can tell you an anecdote about the condor’s power of life. A miner in Chili, a very strong man, once saw a condor enjoying his feast on the mountains. He had eaten so much that he could not fly, and the man attacked and tried to kill him. The battle lasted a long time, and the man was nearly exhaused. But in the end he thought he was the victor, and he left the condor dead, as he imagined, on the field. Some of the feathers he carried off in triumph to show his companions and told them he had never fought so fierce a battle. The other miners went to look at the condor, when, to their surprise, he was standing erect, flapping his wings in order to fly away. A bird with such powers of life continues to exist years and years. Indeed, the condor is said to live for a century. The Indian tries to catch the condor by stratagem. He employs him to fight in a ring at those cruel bull fights which are the favorite amusements in that part of the world. He does not attempt to attack the condor openly, for he knows how strong he is, and he wishes, besides, to take him alive. He procures the skin of a cow, and he hides himself beneath it. Some pieces of flesh are left hanging to the skin, and are sure to attract the condor. He comes pouncing on his prey, and while he is feeding with his usual greediness the Indian contrives to fasten his legs to the skin. When this is done, he comes out of his concealment, and the bird sees him for the first time. He flaps his wings and would fly but his feet are entangled; and more than this, a number of other Indians come running up and throw their mantles over him.-Stories About Birds.

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Bantam In The Army.

Sunday, October 2, 2011
Published in the Lake County Independent, Libertyville, Illinois on Friday, November 5, 1897

Only Rooster in Georgia That Has a Tombstone Over His Grave.

Enlisting at Culperer, Va., He Served Under Major Williams In Many Battles.

A sentinel In a Tree-How He Betrayed Jim Nessmith.

     “While we were camped near Culpeper Court House in the fall of 1862,” said Major Tom Williams, “I became acquainted with a family named Dowdy. Just before the battle of Culpeper I paid a visit to the farm and found the ladies in a panic, preparing to flee. They set before me such scant fare as they had left, and after I had eaten a hasty luncheon Miss Dowdy called to me and led the way to the back yard.

     There is the last  of our stock of poultry, said she, pointing to a little bantam cock that was strutting about the yard. ‘I haven’t the heart to kill him because he is a pet. If you want him, you can take him and do as you like with him.

     “During the campaign of 1863 he often sat on my shoulder through the long, weary marches and hurried retreats, and I shared my rations with him. One night we had reached the flank of the enemy’s camp by a forced march and lay down to sleep on our arms, expecting to be roused at the break of day for a sudden charge. I had started off with General perched upon my musket barrel, and a sudden change in the order of march had separated us from the wagons, so I placed the rooster on the limb of a sapling above my head, while I lay down to snatch a few minutes sleep.

     “General did not utter a single cluck in protest, although he must have been very hungry from long fasting, but quietly squatted on the branch while I flung myself on the grass and leaves and was soon fast asleep. I was so weary that I slept profoundly until I was suddenly aroused by an unearthly screech in my ear. Raising my head, I took in the whole situation at a glance.

     “General had dropped down from his perch and uttered a shrill crow right in my ear which had awakened me, and as I opened my eyes I saw the flash of guns as our pickets fired and in an instant fell back upon us where we lay. The Yankees had turned the tables on us, and, discovering our presence, the surprising force became surprised, and in ten minutes there was an unearthly racket going on in that pine thicket.

     “Right and left of my position the boys came out of cover and advanced with yells and cheers, moving cautiously and firing as they moved. It had become sufficiently light for me to find my few belongings, and I soon recovered my hat and haversack, which I had forgotten to pick up in the hurry of the first surprise, and just at that time I was saluted with a loud crow just above my head, and looking up I saw General perched upon his limb, he having flown back there when the firing began, and with his head on one side he was sidling along the swaying branch, crowing and clucking.

     “In spite of the banging of the guns and whistling of bullets General struck bravely to his perch and never fluttered during the entire engagement. When I told the story in camp that night, General was the toast of the evening, and he was treated to all sorts of tidbits in recognition of his gallantry on the field of action.

     “One morning, however, General played the camp detective in a most alarming manner, which came near proving disastrous to a fellow soldier of another mess. All foraging had been strickly forbidden, and no man was allowed to leave the ranks under the heaviest penalty of military discipline. There was a fellow by the name of Jim Nessmith, who occupied a tent not far from that of the captain of our company. About 4 o’clock the order was passed along the lines for us to prepare to march.

     “General was perched on the limb of a bush near me while I sat munching my hard tack, and all of a sudden he raised himself on his perch and crowed lustily. Of course no cock in hearing could resist replying to such a challenge, and from within the tent occupied by Jim Nessmith came the muffled crow of an old rooster. Jim made a grab at the bag and succeeded in choking him off, but the noise had reached the ears of some of the others, and the captain became apprised of the fact that Jim had been foraging. A hasty examination of his tent disclosed the body of the big rooster, choked to death by Jim in his anxiety to put a stop to his untimely crowing.

     ‘Jim was ordered under arrest pending an investigation, but just about that time the order came to advance, and we moved forward, and by sunrise we were fighting, and the unfortunate officer who had ordered Jim to be placed under arrest was borne from the field a corpse after the fight was over. The affair was forgotten amid the stirring scenes that followed.

     “Seeing that the end was near, I found an opportunity to send General to the rear, and placing him in a cage started him on the long journey to the home of a nephew in Georgia. He had not been long on the farm before he began to pine and droop, and the family thought that he was disconsolate on account of being separated from his comrades. This might have been all fancy, but he lived only a short time, and when he died my nephew and the boys of the neighborhood gave him a regular military funeral.

     “I suppose that his is the only grave of a rooster in Georgia. The tiny stones that mark his last resting place can be seen on the old homestead near Dalton today. On the headstone is rudely carved the name “General,” with the date of his death and the names of some of the most important engagements through which he passed during our comradeship among the battlefields of Virginia.”-Atlanta Cor. New York Sun.

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