Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 March 1875 — A Mardi-Gras Incident. [ARTICLE]

A Mardi-Gras Incident.

The Mardi-gras procession on Tuesday was witnessed by large crowds, and the ludicrous impersonations of character will live long in the memories of the masses, who laughed until their sides ached. Among the motley host who perambulated the streets in ths procession was a long, cadaverous-looking fellow representing a Comanche Indian. His race was painted red, his suit was well made up. Upon his ponderous feet were a pair of new moccasins, and hanging from the beaded girt that encircled his body were half a dozen “ boss pistols” and as many scalps. Inside this belt stuck a cheese-knife and a scythe-blade. His long, black hair was banded with a , brass hoop, from which stuck about a dozen of turkey and geese feathers, and in his right hand he held with an iron grasp a tomahawk, red with some vietim’s blood. Anyone who had read or heard of the- famous Indian warrior, Bloody Nose, would have said he had arisen from the dead and joined that procession. But it was not the bloodthirsty rover of the forest. It was Skinner who personated him, and he did it to/perfection. His appearance was a terror to women and children, while his war-whoop and the revolutions of that bloody tomahawk were certain death to “de culled population.” Everybody saw the wild Indian, but nobody knew it was Skinner.

While the procession moved through the various streets Skinner would get dry and break ranks by dodging into barrooms and taking in his usual dose of “ fire-water.” By the time Skinner had “ war-whooped” ten or fifteen blocks, and hid about half a keg of 44 fire-water” about his person, he was in fine trim to play Comanche, and began to think he was “ Bloody Nose” sure enough, for he tried to “ scalp” no less than a dozen darkies that fell into his hands. The procession passed within a square or two of Skinner’s house. Skinner has a wife, and she is the mother of five little male and four female Skinners. Skinner’s wife does her own work; in fact, she’s “boss” of Skinner’s house, and, instead of her rushing off with a string of little Skinners after her to see the procession, she kept the little ones at home and stayed in the kitchen attending to defining the pots, kettles and pans after dinner.

A new idea struck Skinner. He would go home and scare Mrs. Skinner and all the little Skinners. He cut loose from the procession, took another dose of “ fire-water,” and by the time he reached his front gate he was the most recklesslooking Comanche the world ever beheld. Picking up new courage he rushed into the front room where the little Skinners were “playing circus.” His appearance was accompanied by wild yells and fancy dancing, while he made that tomahawk fly around the room over the children’s heads as if he meant business, the little Skinners shouting. ‘ Oh! Mr.lnjin, don’t!” “ mother!” “ murder!” “fire!” and there were such screams as would have made any “sureenough” Indian run. Skinner was just in the middle of his fun, when the screams of the children and the war-whoops of the Comanche brought Mrs. Skinner to the scene, armed with an iron skillet. She slipped up behind the “ playful Indian,” drew a bead on his nose, and landed that skillet with the force of a sledge-hammer and the rapidity of lightning against it. The hand let go the tomahawk, the feathers flew, the belt bursted, and the scalps, pistols and knives fell to the floor. There was a flesh-and-blood spot in the middle of his face where that nose was a moment before the skillet mashed it. It now looked like a bursted tomato spread all over his face. There was a groan, a fall, a somersault or two, and all was quiet. That Comanche had found the “happy hunting grounds.” Instead of Mrs. Skinner sending for the doctor and bathing his face, she looked down into his mutilated face and, shaking the skillet over him with her right hand, exclaimed: ‘ ‘ I’ll war-whoop you. You thought you’d scare somebody, you blamed old fool; but I know’d you, soon as I seen your feet and smelt your breath.” P. B.—Skinner has an Indian masquerade suit for sale cheap. He won’t be able to be out until he gets done breathing through his ears. The doctor says his nose may grow out again by the time the next Mardi-Gras takes place. We advise Skinner to get a brass nose and “go West.”— Louisville Courier-Journal.

The French Minister of Justice has lately received a report of a very sad and extraordinary affair, which is not unlikely to create some sensation. Thirty years ago a young girl named Marie Guernicwas found poisoned in her bed. She had been betrothed a short time before to a young man with whom her younger sister Madeline was said to be desperately in love. The poor girl was at once arrested, tried and finally condemned to death, which she suffered calmly and valiantly, without uttering a word of complaint or of justification. Everybody felt the greatest sympathy for the poor old father of the two girls, who was giving signs of the most violent grief. He had come into possession of some money which the girls had inherited from their mother, but his grief did not seem to be lessened thereby. A short time ago the old.man died, and before his death confessed to his parish priest, the Rev. Abbe Barreau, that he was himself the murderer of his eldest daughter. He had, moreover, allowed suspicion to rest on the younger in order to inherit the money of both. The poor victim had died innocent without uttering a word in her defense because she knew who was the murderer, and rather chose to die than to denounce him to justice. . “ Happy he who has done nothing to make himself famous,” says the ’ New York Tribune. “In these days of gossip obscurity is actually delicious.” A TOtching obituary: “He knew the value of an editor’s time and never trespassed long upon it.” Peace to his ashes.