Bismarck weekly tribune. [volume] (Bismarck, Dakota [N.D.]) 1884-1943, 1891-01-02
How Eighteen Ninety Died,

IL dled nara. There were but few
mourners at the death. bed.
1t having been rumored yesterday that
old Eighteen Ninety was on the verge of
the yawning grave, a TRIBUNE reporter
started off to investigate the why and
wherefore of the source of the rumor. He
found it was only too true. lie also dis
covered the fact that a select party of NOR
tails would be present to witness the last
expiring wiggle of the twelfth month.
The reporter was invited to take part in
the funeral ceremonies, which were so
gruesome, weird and uncanny, that he
hopes cruel fate will never again direct his
faltering steps to such a strange, ghostly
meeting place.
The night was dark; the hands of the
family clock were slowly creeping on to
the hour when a new regime of Father
Time bursts forth upon the wicked world.
Great black clouds, ever and anon pierced
by flakes of glittering, crystalized snow,
floated grimly over the slumbering city.
All was as quiet as the sepulchre itself.
Even the warning howl of the faithful
watchdog or the plaintive wall of the
night-prowling feline was hushed-noth-
ing disturbed the peaceful silence. The
nocturnal rounder had gazed into the
depths Of his last original package and
had long since returned to the bosom of
his family, or bachelordom, as the case
might have been.
AS we said before, the night was lark
and still. The darkness was so dense that
it could have been hacked into charcoal
with a cross-cut saw and palmed off onto
the unsuspecting citizens of Fargo or
jamestown as the original, bOna-fide fuel.
But we are wandering from our subject.
Bismarck was sleeping the sleep of the
just. The gay capital city of North Da-
kota mad thrown trials aud cares to the
winds and was dreaming of the many in
cidents of the old year that gained it an
almost national reputation. The citizens
had fallen into q Ound slumber with but
one question Juggling at their heart
strings. how would the new year pan out ?
They had gone to sleep with the firm con-
viction that Bismarck was known
throughout the land of saints and s%irroas,
but felt some apprehension for the .ncom-
ing twelve months. Time will tell.
1t was just a quarter past IL O'Clock
when all preparations were made and the
ghoulish little party went shivering
through the crisp wintry wind to the
burylng ground where Old Eighteen.
Ninety was to be Inferred with %appropri-
ate services. The spot selected was a most
cheerless and lonely one, like any other
graveyard. 1t was at Pier No. 8 on the
great Northern Pacific bridge which spans
the mighty Missouri between Bismarck
and Mandan. The party made remarkably
fast time to the bridge, a strong blast Of
Of %'Na S Shiifdfy'n asss shsm ff!hS s with dsiiI t1c s g{ad
soughed %mournfully through the
imaginary whiskers of the reporter
as he vainly attempted to lot
jot down a word or two about the grandeur
of the scenery as viewed by midnight. His
tapering fingers were benumbed and stiff
sned. Again and again he blew his warm,
them, but they refused to loosen and stuck
out in bold relief, like Ajax defylng the
lightning with a stuffed club. That is the
main reason why this sketch isn't replete
with dashes like 1.-THE swaying OF the
ridge" "the murky atmosphere" "the
stove l left behind me-" ETC., etc.
The reporter looked at his watch. 1t
lacked but a few minutes before the mid
night hour. We fastened to the bedside of
the dying patriot. He looked so white and
ghostly with the pail of death lowering
overhead. We could see that he wasn't long
for this world. There was an ominous
rattle in his throat. He breathed with
Really we didn't know how, but the solemn
little gathering went through the motions
of prayer amid the sIeet and shrieks of the
blizzard, and the patient today, wherever
h. may be, will probably never know tie
difference. The sOlemnity of the occasion
so keenly affected the scribe that tears
act, ally trickled from his eyes, but as the
said tears rHfNS91 IN 0rOn hut romoino1
frozen and hung down like dudes walking
sticks, the reporter Gained his emotions
sufficiently that the practice wasn't re-
peated. "a
Old Eighteen Ninety was dying. He
struggled hard TO fan the fleeting spark
into life. He felt that the time had not
yet come to give up life. Some statistician
year 1890 should have been a few days
longer. Eighteen Ninety did not want to
die. His death contortiOns were horrible
to behold. At last he raised his clammy,
heavy eyelids and feebly asked the time of
night.
piled the reporter.
"Tis we'll. It's WELL" he muttered. The
minute quickly passed. We looked upon
the form OF old Eighteen Ninety. 1t was
cold and inanimate. The spirit had fled,
never again to return.
Hark! The church bells OF the distant
city were ringing out the hour of midnight.
Far away at Fort Lincoln there was a puff
Of white smoke followed by the boom of a
butteS and caverns for miles around. The
new year OF 1891 is ushered in with a blaze
OF glory. We turned for a last look at old
Eighteen Ninety's form. 1t had disap-
peared! 15.5
S. -