Rensselaer Democrat, Volume 1, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 July 1898 — WHEN CUBA IS FREE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WHEN CUBA IS FREE.

0N ’ T touch **» TomI ” * I* won id make a ? thundering report!” Mffll J||W “Never mind that—loading that gun was •QF one of the last things father did before he O I /// left home.” fcjlllr *‘l know that,” nodAB' ded Tom Wilson, looksjl Ing pretty sober and tp solemn, “but it would

■take a thundering report!” “You’ve said that twice.” "And I’d love to hear the old musket just once!” “Maybe you will.” “To-morrow—the Fourth?" “Who knows? Says father, when he rammed the last wad home in the old revolutionary refto, ‘We'll fire that off when Cuba is freer’* “She’s just as good as that, isn’t she?” challenged Tom. “Never you mind—we’re going to mind father.” Ned Wilson’s word went, for he was the oldest, and there was no further demur.

Besides that, duty engrossed the two boys the rest of that day. Other fellows had nothing more arduous to do than prepare for “the biggest Fourth since the Centennial.” The Wilson lads, however, were “helping mother,” and, mere novices at labor, they had not learned the ropes yet. Things had gone from bad to worse with honest John Wilson for several years back. He had a glorious civil war record behind him—was one of the gallant Cumberland’s crew, that fated ship that went down in a blaze of patriotic glory that set fire to a nation’s hopes and ardor. A long spell of illness bad caused his getting behind in his payments on the neat cottage home. “Tell you what, Nance,” he had said to his wife along in the early days of May, “I’ve an idea.” “Tell it, John,” encouraged his wife. *Tm going to see my step-brother, Tracy.” ' “Down East?” h i “Down East.” ' ' 0 “Why not write?’ “I’ve done that and it did no good. No, I’ll risk the powers of persuasion. He has thousands. But for a slip of the pen he would have been compelled to share them with me, and he knows it. I’ll try and get him to take up the mortgage here, and ease us along till we can get the boys on their feet, earning and helping.” “And if he refuses, John?" suggested Mrs. Wilson anxiously. “Why, then I suppose I’m sort of Stranded.” “All your money gone, and away from home!” “Well, maybe work is readier there than here. Never fear, Nance, I’ll find a place somewhere.” Mrs. Wilson gave her husband a quick' look. There had come into his eye a certain stern, yet proud, sparkle she used to see, when, fresh from the war, he wns wont to tell how he turned the tide of a naval battle off the Carolinas by “pulling the gun string just at the right minute.* She said nothing, however. She heard nothing more from him after his departure until about the first of June. Then he sent the merest line: *T am looking for work in New York City.” Mrs. Wilson was uneasy. Wars and rumors of wars had set John restless for months before his departure. His last word bad been “Cuba.” The solicitous wife trembled, prayed, waited. Meantime, like deserving scions of a man with a heart of oak, her two sons, Ned and Tom, “pitched in." They found the larder growing slim, and set at work to repair it.

They ran errands, sold garden truck, peddled papers, and this latter was no mean field of commercial venture during the prevailing war excitement in the village. “Better have a quiet Fourth of July, boys,” suggested their mother gently, the day before. “All right,” nodded thoughtful Ned cheerfully. “With father away, I suppose it’s best.” “Yes’m,” assented Tom vaguely, “but what a thundering report that old musket would maker* Ned attended to the morning papers that arrived from the city. Tom took in the “extras” that came in through the day. The former was eating supper with his mother, the latter absorbed in reflections of the absent, almost the missing one, now. Suddenly there was a terrific hullabaloo, comprised of shouts, firecrackers, hurrahings. Ned ran to the window. “For mercy's sake!” he ejaculated. “What is it, Ned?” rather startled, and tremulously inquired Mrs. Wilson, arising mare slowly. “It’s Tom!” “He Isn’t—hurt, or ” “Acts as If he was crazy!” Tom did. In full view, he was coming down the dusty road. Trooping after him were a dozen or more Vociferous youngsters with whom he had ever been a favorite. They were making the welkin ring, and many a lad was burning his fingers in his ardor to help swell the commotion, and was using up the prized ammunition of the morrow. Tom burst Into the room, drenched with perspiration, panting for breath, but with eyes aflame with emotion and vitality. “See here!” challenged Ned. “No—look there!” Tom flung his bundle of extras upon the table. His mother nearly fainted. Even a casual glance showed at the top of the glaring headlines a name familiar. “John Wilson,” —“hero”—“daring deed.” —oh, it was news, from the absent one, but was it news of glory, but also of death? “Father!” she choked. “Is all right!” piped Tom. “Read here,' Ned—read here! Father was ‘looking for work’—say, mother! he found it!” “Where? Where?” faltered the sus-pense-rocked wife and mother. “Battleship—you know what a boss gnnner he is! Met the enemy, pulled another ‘gun string in another nick of time’ and ” Coherent consideration of the news the paper gave proved that Tom had not exaggerated. Skill and opportunity had combined to give John Wilson a chance to “knock out” a Spanish ironclad “at the right minute.” He had concededly turned the tide of favor leading up to the capture' of a richly freighted consort. “ ‘Prize money’—why, he can pay off the mortgage!” cried the exuberant Ned. “Promotion—it will glorify his later days!” murmured Mrs. Wilson thankfully. “Where’s the gun?” demanded irrepressible Tom.

“Hold onl What gun ?” interfered Ned. "Father’s old musket." ••Why ” “We’re going to celebrate!" "No—he left orders —‘fire it off when Cuba is freef ’’ A, “Free!” fairly yelled the sanguine ana ' excited Tom. “With such men as him peppering the foe, she’s practically free already!” “Well, I suppose •” began Ned, in faint demur. Above all other reports that boomed in the morning of July Fourth, 1898, that fired by prou<U patriotic Tom Wilson seemed to him the loudest ever was. "Wonder if they heard that in Cuba?” he gloated. “They’re hearing some other reports from its owner, I reckon,” smiled Ned. “Say!” declared the ardent Tom, “didn’t it make a thundering report?” The Grand Old Fashioned Way. Get ready, boys to make a noise On Independents day. For we’re about tb have It out In grand old fashioned way. At dawq well raise our flag ablaze And witch it proudily fly. Its blue and stars and crimson bars . Reflected oa the sky. * Then while beHs dang and anvils bang And cannon thunders roar We’ll give the cheer that elaves may hen Upon the old world’s shore. We’ll yeH and screech and make a speech About our glorious nation Aed brag that we on land or sea Can wallop all creation.

A FAMILIAR NAME IN THE GLARING HEADLINES.