Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 192, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 August 1911 — VISITING CAPT. COBB [ARTICLE]

VISITING CAPT. COBB

CALLERS MSBu A GOOD TIME WHEN HE WAg THAWED OUT. Only Genuine American Resident of Casablanca on the Moroccan Coast Is a Connecticut Skipper Who Lost His Ship. if an American anywhere along the Moroccan coast announces his intention of visiting Casablanca, somebody will say, declares Mr. Forbes in "The Land of the White Helmet,” “Be sure to see Captain Cobb,” and Mr. Forbes saw him. A dlminctive foROWer of the prophet led us to one of Casablanca’s institutions, a sawmill and a flourmill combined. Here lives the ons genuine American resident of the town, a Connecticut sea captain who lost his ship off Gibraltar some 30 years ago and who has never gone home. The unfinished structure, of Brooklyn bridge is ,his most distinct recollection of New York city as he last saw it ———

Stepping inside the doorway we saw a lean Yankee with white, whiskbroom chin whiskers hammering away on a broken cog wheel. With him was another retired sea dog, Captain Taylor of the Royal Mail. The Connecticut skipper poised his hammer for a moment while we explained that we were two of his fellow countrymen. We expected when he heard the news he would throw his hammer at the Englishman, seize us in his arms and do a war dance. Instead he spat deliberately and resumed his anvil chorus. “Take ’em into the sittin’ room, Taylor; I’ll be along was all he said. Lewis and I looked at each other in a dazed sort of way; then, in silence and without enthusiasm, we followed the Englishman. He led us into a large room; it was plain Nett England from ceiling to floor. I began to feel at home. The old captain sauntered in. Miffed by his air of indifference, we began to reach for our hats, after a few commonplace remarks that Stuck in our throats. To our surprise, Captain/ Cobb would not listen to any talk of falrwell; we were going to stay for dinner. He expressed a vigorous opinion regarding Americans who would think of leaving his house without eating with him. Little by little the old man thawed out He entertained us with reminiscences of the home land, with incidents that he witnessed during the bombardment of Casablanca, and with stories of the sea. Hours passed before we again reached for our hats, and he reached for his also. He insisted upon closing his mill and escorting us all about the town. Standing together on the beach, we Invited the old captain to come home and see the subways and the 40-story buildings and the old New England hills. He shook his head and pointed to the old mill. "I reckon I’ll weather it out here," he answered.—Youth’s Companion.