Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1888-06-21

* X
a vacant stare or pitiful moan was the
only answer he could obtain.
At the Cadotte homestead, when
nourishment and a warm bath had some
what restored the failing circulation, the
power of speech returned to the
dying man, and although still deliri
Gus his words and accent showed him to
be English. His constant plant was,
"Water, water, water! For Gods sake
give me a dripk!" uttered in tones weak
and beseeching.
Everything possible TO relieve the suf
ferer was done; but that night, in the lit
tie chamber in the upper story of the log
cabin, surrounded by strange though sym
pathizipg faces, he died-died without
disclosing his name or whence he came.
The family assisted by friendly Indians,
buried him near large rock at the edge
OF the clearing, a short distance from the
shore of the lovely river, ard his identity
is as much a mystery to-day as it was
then.
The young lieutenant was given up for
lost by his relatives and friends, who be-
lieved he had wandered away in the
forest and was devoured by wolves or
bears and sincerely they incurred his I'M
timely end. His uncle soon afterward re-
moved to the more stirring scenes of
military operations in Ohio; new body
of soldiers occupied the post and the lost
officer was nearly forgotten.
The years of the century passed away.
| Strange tales of ghostly scenes and
sounds in the old cottage was noised
about. After the death of the senior Ca
dotte the cabin was unoccupied for many
~ +n hi
down condition. Jean Bapt1ste, Jr., the
elder son, before his own death put it in
repair several times. 1t would be occu-
| pied for a season, then vacated without
apparent reason. Rumor said it was
haunted, and tradition in the mouth of
| the oldest settler told of the dead I'M
known. The house has fallen into dilap-
| idated and uninhabitable condition, but
| is still standing, q landmark o. an early
settlement in solitude where for years
no sound had been heard save the scream
of the hawk or the night cry of the owl.
| The story was unknown to present resi-
dents of the neighborhood.
Early in the summer of 1887 young
| culptor of Chicago, Clifford Baumgrass
| by name, sought the vicinity of the Neeb-
| ish Islands for a season of hunting and
| fishing, for which the region is famed.
| Failing health from overwork made this
rest and recreation necessary. Obtaining
board at g. farm house on the Canadian
| side he settled down to his sport.
| The young artist was an expert with his
rifle and no less an adept with his rod and
| line. Genial, companionable, scholarly,
he became general favorite with the
young men and maidens of the neighbor
hood. Many of the former accompanied
| him on his rambles and gloried with him
| in his success as sportsman. He had
| been in the neighborhood of the Cadotte
| homestead many times, had stood within
the open doorway of the cabin, surveyed
| its falling walls and decayed rafters and
remarked on its appearance of antiquity
| to his companions.
They could only reply: ''It is the Oldest
house in this neighborhood."
The story of its decretion was as much
| unknown co them as to the sculptor
The weeks rolled by. The artists
cheeks had taken on rudy tinge; his
| wavy hair surrounded brow in which
strength and health were fully marked;
his arm was strong, his step elastic. He
| had recovered his youthful vigor and
talked of returning to his home. A few
more rambles and he would depart. The
| day was fixed.
| On lovely morning of one of the days
which marked the last week of October
the youth-for he was barely % years of
age-took his gun and rowed to the OPP
posite ide of the river for shot at the
partridge. Luck seemed to have entirely
deserted him, for not feather did he see.
| After partaking of a lunch which he had
With him he started up the river to renew
| he IT1n of al
the clearing. Here he spent several hours
with good success, and, as his game bag
began to grow heavy, he started to re-
| turn.
| Nearing the deserted cabin he deter
mined to enter it once more for part
ing look at the ancient relic.
| Pausing in the doorway to look out on
the beautiful panorama which nature in
her loneliness spread before him, he fell
into reverie from which he was
aroused by groan from the chamber,
above. Another followed, succeeded by
tones piercing and beseeching
ooh, God; bring me water. I'm dying;
dying for drink"
Startled into speechlessness by the
voice and the request in such place,
Baumgrass at first could not respond
Finally his courage returned and he NUT
tered to himself:
"'Tis some sick or injured hunter who
| has sought shelter in the old howell.
That's all"
A fruitless search for drinking uten-
sill followed. The moans and cries for
water still continued.
| "All right, old fellow, I'll get you a
drink" said Clifford. "I'm looking for
something to get it in. Keep up your
courage"
| "There's pail in the entry, near The
back door," came family from above.
True; there wes the pail, new and bright,
much to the establishment of our hunter
who wonder ed why he had not noticed it
| in his previous search.
The water was quickly procured from
the river and Clifford hasteRed to the re-
| lief of the unknown sufferer.
Climbing the rickety stairway leading
| to the loft above, ne searched in the semi
| darkness for the author of the voice. No
one could be found, and all was silent.
Finally, with his courage fast disappear
ing, he shouted:
Heavens, good fellow, where are your"
I'm the next room. Can't you see the
door," replied hollow voice, followed
by choking, gasping sound.
swell, funny didn't see that door,"
said Baumgrass in an undertone; smiling
at his foolish fears, 'I'H be finding
ghost next" and he hurried to the door
and threw it open.
The rays of the setting sun came through
the western windows, lighting all around.
The eyes of the sculptor took in the entire
interior at a glance and rested on-noth-
ing; absolutely nothing.