Willie Hannigan Steals Another Horse
[Welland Tribune, 4 January 1895]
Welland, Jan.1. Some months ago when little ten year old Willie Hannigan stole the horse and rig from Morwood’s and escapaded to Chippawa, and was not prosecuted, the TRIBUNE predicted that the result would be bad both for the public, and the boy, who should have been sent to a reformatory. That prediction has very speedily been justified. On Sunday afternoon last, Willie stole another horse and buggy, this time from the shed of the Methodist church, where the rig had been left by Mr. Levi Wilson’s children who were in attendance at Sunday school. Willie took the same route as before, but unfortunately for him in doing so had to pass Mr. H.N. Dell’s residence on the Crowland road-and thereby hangs a tale. Mr. Wilson jr., had been keeping company at Mr. Dell’s, and the horse was so accustomed to going there that when he got opposite the gateway he made a break for in. Willie was unprepared for this and in trying to keep the horse from turning in ran him into a fence corner. It so happened that Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Wilson were visiting at Mr. Dell’s at the time-Mr. Dell being Mrs. Wilson’s father. Mr. Wilson saw and recognized the horse as his father’s, came out and asked the boy whose horse it was and other particulars. The lad said his name was Willie Hannigan, that the horse belonged to his (Hannigan’s) father and that he was going to Chippawa. Mr. Wilson said he guessed not, and took charge of the rig, which had been overturned and the harness broken in the meantime, the young thief decamping.
Surely this last outrage must convince the authorities that they are doing a dangerous and unwise thing in allowing boys guilty of such depredations to go unpunished or unreformed. The thing is spreading and will continue to spread until an example is made of guilty parties.
Written for the Welland Tribune
[Welland Tribune, 1 March 1895]
I was night operator on one of the large roads running out of Detroit, at a little station about 30 miles distant. Let me describe this little place and its surroundings. There is a junction here, and a little to the left of the station is a tower house, where a man is on duty as switchman. To the right of the station and very close is the freight shed.
I started in on to work on this eventful night at 6 o’clock. It was very clear and still and sound could be heard very distinctly. Everything went along as usual during the early part of the evening, and to while away the time, I read some ghost stories. It was just 12.20 and I had received orders for No. 5 going west when I heard some strange unaccountable sounds. During the arrival and departure of No 5 I forgot all about them, and as I had no more trains until 3.06, I decided to take a little nap. I had just got nicely settled in my chair when I heard these same sounds, as if someone were trying to break through a wall or a barred window; then, as if a struggle were going on, accompanied by groans and shrill shrieks. I began to get uneasy, and after I had got my hair pressed down to its original position, I decided to go over and see Burns, the tower man. I didn’t tell him I was frightened or anything, but I felt queer. We sat in the tower house talking and smoking for some time. At last I asked him to come over to the station as something special might be coming. We had just taken our chairs when the same weird sounds were heard.
Burns didn’t say anything for awhile, but the noise grew louder and it appeared as if a horrible struggle were going on somewhere. But where? I procured a lantern and we started to investigate. We looked all around the station, in the waiting room, and at length nothing but the freight shed remained unexplored. I unlocked the door and just then a horrible hoarse groan, as if someone were dying, greeted us. Well, now the question arose-Who shall go in first? The tower man, although a giant and very strong, absolutely refused to enter. I picked up a club, thrust the lantern through the door and looked in-horrible sight! In one corner of the shed, in a slatted box was- a pig, the cause of all our fright.
It had been brought by express to the station that afternoon, taken out of the car and left in the shed. It had become restless and tried to turn in its box, and our excited minds, aided by its grunts and squeaks, had imagined all manner of strange and supernatural things.
FRANK DELMAR
[Welland Tribune, 22 March 1895]
THE TRIBUNE is in receipt of a copy of “The Nursing World,” of Providence, R.I., a monthly magazine devoted to the theory and practices of modern nursing, from Miss Lucetta J. Gross, now of Boston, Mass. It contains a report, made by Miss Gross, of the second annual convention of the American society of superintendents of trainings schools for nurses, held in Boston last month. At least three prominent workers at the convention were from Welland and St. Catharines, viz: Mrs. Hunter-Robb, nee Hampton, formerly of Welland; Miss Sniveley of the Toronto General hospital, formerly of St. Catharines; and Miss Darche of the New York City Tr. school, also of St. Catharines. Other Canadians were Miss Brent of the Homeopathic hospital, Toronto, and Miss Draper of the Royal Victoria hospital, Montreal. Mrs. Hunter-Robb is still interested in her professional work, in which she is a leader. All Canadians should be, and are, proud to see the standing and know the influence of our own Canadian women in this noble work.
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