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THE "MASTER” AND
THE MOUNTAIN SCHOOL.
Seumas MacManus Tells How the Youth of
Ilis Loved Donegal Are Educated.
The School Teacher Is Held & everence by All—llls Accorded Rank Is
Xext to tin* Priest’s —Read* und Write* Letters for His Neighbor*.
Hon They Fifth t for His Fame With the Folk of Other Parishes.
His School House Is Loss and Thatched and Crowded, and His
Pupils Are of All Ages-How Ills I)a>* Are Occupied.
* Hoarding: ’Round” a Port of the Old Time System.
Pay of the *•> tiunal” Teachers.
(Copyright 19<K) by Seumas MneMnnu*.)
The tribute of reverence and respect
which even the totally unlettered amongst
us yield to education gives the school
master to rank next to the priest in im
portance. Every one does him homage,
every one envies him his vast knowledge
and gr* at mind and lofty position, and
every one phase i and proud of the
honor of his friendship—for in his noble
generosity he is on terms of intimate
friendship with every man. woman and
child in all his wide bailiwick.
For Dennis, for Barney, for Nelly and
Maura, whom he meets upon the road at
home, or meets from home, at fair or
market, he has a warm hahdshake and
a kindly inquiry after child or parent.
He asks interestedly, too, .what Shan is
going to do with all the meadow he has
In the Black Bottom this year; how the
■puds are doing in Charlies lea field;
t
Learning Their Tasks.
whether wee Monica's toothache is any
better; and sends word to old Nanny
Gallagher that If she tried three spoon
fuls of buttermilk and baking soda three
times a day it would be big ease to the
heartburn that’s troubling her since
Christmas last.
And when a great man cone rns himself
so with the hopes and troubles of com
mon p cple ''is small wonder he should
b' mad* an Idol.
Eut his kindliness does not stop at this.
He is s ribe for all the countryside dweU
lers writes their letters and draws up
t tyir wills and their agreements, arbi-
Beumas MacManus and His Little Flock (Taken a Few Years Ago When He Was Master of Glen Cough School in Donegal.)
trat s in (heir disputes and advises them
In their perplexities. He cheers the sick
by the honor of his visit, and.by lending
the luster of his presence and the dazzle
of hia discourse at wedding, wake and
spree. he does many another humble
friend proud.
When the American letter comes to
those who were hungering for It at home,
though In turn every old crointaeh in the
neighborhood has attacked It with his
icralched glasses and wrestled the full
meaning from the Inartistic sprawls of
poor Jimmy, who scorns the flnnlcky sub
tleties of punctuation, the missive must
Anally be brought to the masther, who. It
is universally conceded, can take more
out of a letter than all the wisehcads
in the parish put together. Moreover, he
can teil exactly how far back tn the coun
try Jimmy Is, whether he ts tn the neigh
borhood of the Falla of Niagara or the
Rocky Mountulns, and, in terms, of the
distance “between here and Dublin,’’ can
say how far, approximately, Jimmy now
la from Nell Mughan's eldest son John.
His Tusk us a Scribe.
When, again, Jimmy has got to be re
plied to, who so fit—even who so willing—
to write the letter as the masther? Who
knows better than he Just how to put
down in proper language the statement
Df Jimmy’s mother? Who knows so well
not only what to let Jimmy know—for in
our letters to those who are struggling
for us in America, repression and sup
pression call for more and defter art than
expression. Jimmy must be shown a fair
ly accurate picture of how his poor fath
er and mother are faring,—he must get a
hint of the sore circumstances that are
pressing, and of the clouds that are loom
iitv he must get a hint of these or he
would reproach them sorely again; but
the poor boy must not be given to know’
their misfortune in its nakedness— i>oor
Jimmy, God help him, has his own strug
gle ..ll alone amongst the "black,” i. e,
titter strangers, and it would ill become
his father and mother to dampen his cour
age and to make his heart grieve more
than already it does. So, despite all the
ring of the letter must be cheery, and the
coloring of it optimistic. A sunny outlook
must illume it, and the gooff God’s unfor
getfulness of those who Implicitly trust
In His must be emphasized. And right
well can the masthcr be trusted to do all
( that, for when, with a pardonable touch
of oratorical conceit, and a pardonabe
little vanity of diction 1 , be reads aloud
the completed epistle, the eyes of Jimmy’s
mother run over, and often she has to go
away without thanking him in word?.
At the wake, and the ceilidh, and in the
‘ chapel yard before mass all disputed ques
tions, political, historical, astronomical, or
, sociological, are finally referred 10 him -
: not, however* till all parties to the dispute
! have exhausted their argumentative elo
! quence on the one side and on the other,
j lie gravely listens to the summary ma *e
| out by both; he reviews ir with a lofty ab
sence of partiality that raises him f r
: above the mortals who look and listen an l
' wait; and he gives his decision with a ju
dicial calm and an assure! preo -e< mss
that place the matter beyond question or
' cavil in that parish for evermore.
The master would not be human if he
denied lurnstHf vanity, fio he has vanity—
i but vanity of such an innocent and pardon
able kind that its chief effect is to mellow
! bis nature and make him more kindly and
more loving toward humanity at large
and more loved and more reverenced by
his circle of worshipers.
And. as with us, ’tis in his own country
a prophet gets most honor, beyond the
bounds of his own parish the master’s
fame is eclipsed by that of him who wilds
the rule, and whose word is law* in the
next parish. Consequently, when the men
of different parishes meet at a wake, not
infrequently do they wage a wordy war in
assertion of the claims of their respective
tnasthers to signal pre-eminence among his
fellows.
Where the Master Is Kiiift.
But, after all, it is in his own little castle
that he is truly and undisputedly king—
in his own little low thatched school
house; a house fitter in size for twenty
pupils than for the hundred which often
crowd it. A motley hundred of all sizes,
from the babbling infant sent to school
to keep it out of the way, to the mustach
ed young man who has come in the idle
days of winter to brush up his much neg
lected literary requirements before sail
ing for the state—where he is ambitious of
being able to write his own letter home.
They are of both sexes and of all descrip
tions, wear every variety of dress, and
are alike in one thing only—the amount
of noise they make. For into the little
house each carries the pitch of voice Ije
used on the hills. Every one shouts for
himself and tries to outshout his neigh
bor. The only thing 1 have met with
elsewhere to remind roe of a little na
tional school in the hills is the New York
Stock Exchange on a day of panic. The
most extraordinary thing is that the mas
ter can know that every one of his hun
dred pupils is saying—what lesson this one
Is committing to memory (for each treats
his memory as if it were hard of hearing)
what request that one r ls hurling at him,
what nicknames the next two are swap
ping and what problem u fifth is confus
ing.
His young Oonfuclans, as he sty’os
them, collect at 10 o’clock, each with
piece of turf, hie tribute to the school
tire, under his arm. Some of them. In
deed. are at the school house and hav*
successfully brought off a few pugilistic
encounters before the teacher himself ar
rives at 9:30, but these are they who live
four or six miles off. and got up before
the screek o’ day and had their breakfast
by the light of the fire. Others do not
arrive till Just oefore roll call at 11
o’clock; these are pupils, of course, who
live within call of the school bouse and
can easily afford to take their leisure in
the morning. Most of them are bare
footed. unless there is much snow on the
ground but when the weather is good few
burden their feet with unnecessary cover
ing.
The first duty of the day is the punish
ment of the schemers who remained from
school on yesterday, and. for Instance,
bulk up Qwn a-Dunnlon’s, filling every
door and window’ of the cottage with
snow, and then added Insult to injury by
getting on the roof top and satirizing
THE MORNING NEWS, SUNDAY, MAY 27, 1900.
A TEXAS WONDER.
Hall'* Great Dltcorery.
One small bottle of Hall’s Great Dis
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women, regulates bladder troubles in chil
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be sent by mall on receipt of SI. One
small bottle is two months’ treatment,
and will cure any case above mentioned.
Dr. E. W. Hall, sole manufacturer, P. O.
Box 629, St. Louis, Mu. Send for testi
monials. Sold by all druggist and Solo
mons Cos., Savannah. Ga.
Bend tills.
Vicksburg, Miss., Jan. 8, 1900
I have used Hall's Great Discovery for
bladder and kidney trouble, and would
not take a thousand dollars for the bene
fit received from using one bottle.’ I feel
that lam premanently cured. I make
this statement from a sense of duty that
I owe to those likewise afflicted, and trust
that they will take advantage of the in
formation and realize the truth of my
assertion. G. H. Foster.
Owen down the chimney. A moral dis
course from the master, italicized by two
.heavy slap,s of a rat ton cane on each hand
of each criminal, disposes of this.
Then six classes are formed. The mas
ter takes charge of one and leaves the
others under the guidance of forward pu
pils from the higher ranks. Half the
classes sit and half of them stand; and at
the end of each half hour they exchange
positions. The school work goes on, un
interrupted by piay, till 3 o’clock. But
though there is no officially recognized
play hour, the young rascals indulge in
many lessons not specifically provided for
in the school time table. The bunch of
huddling heads which the master, good
man, believes to he racking and wrestling
with the intricacies of fractions only in
dicate an eager audience to a fascinating
Fenian tale, and that other group that he
thinks are gathering grammatical crumbs
nt the of Phelimy Owen MoGragh,
are harkening, in awed astonishment to
Phelimy’s recital of how the big eel of
Loch Peiste chased his father for five
miles over the hills. Phelimy’s father, in
deed, had at first faced it with the scythe
and cut it quite through, but since it
united again as fast as he cut it he finally
ran for self preservation, rather than cow
ardice; and other schemers are engaged
in the bloodless, but exciting war of fox
and-geese, in crpssy-crowny, in playing
pins, or in the gamble of mammy-and
d add y-c hi ld-or-bobby.
The Old Hedfte School Bays.
In the old Hedge School * days, which
enefed half a century ago, (and, indeed,
in still later, times), the master followed
the individual system of teaching; that is.
whilst the other pupils sat around the
walls assaulting their “tasks,” the master
called each in turn to his rostrum, ex
amined his lessons and appointing new
“tasks” to be absorbed before the mor
row, sent him to his place. He began with
number one at 10 o’clock and finished
with the last pupil at 3. Then he went
home, with one of his students—for he was
entertained a week by each. “Where do
you stop?” a s ranger asked one of these
peregrinating masters. “Sir,” h* replied,
“I have as many stops as a Universal”—
(a “Universal Spelling Book.’’)
In those days spelling (which was
taught according to the syllabic method)
was the test of the scholar—and he was
classified according to the statute meas
ure of he words he could tackle and suc
cessfully negotiate. The child who start
ed with a. b, ah, graduated upon Phila
delphia and Antitrinitarian.
It is something more than sixty year*
since our beneficent rulers vouchsafed us a
system of public school education, called
national because our language, our litera
ture and our history were strictly barred
from its curriculum. But, thank God, in a
few years more our Gaelic will after stren
uous efforts, get its place in our schools.
Every one of the rising generation is bein?
educated—by a fine siaff of able and under
paid teachers. £)ur enforced ignorance
with which our rulers used chlvaliously io
twit us is disappearing—hi disappeared;
and the children of Ireland will scon pet
the p?ace they deserve amongst enlightened
people.
Half a century ago the teacher's salary
was S9O a year, and two or three cent*
per week in school fees form each pupil.
To-day about $275 is the average yearly
salary, and in addition, (1) half a do lar
for each seperate subject in* which each
pupil answers satisfactorily at the annual
examination; and (2) a fee from the treas
ury (in lieu of recently abolished school
fees) of two dollars for each child in year
ly average attendance. The total average
salary of a teacher in a school of sixty pu
pils amounts to about S4OO. Bach school
is in charge of a patron and manager (al
most always a clergyman), and the teicher
is appointed and may be removed by him.
Seumas MacManuj.
The Growth of Ncwspaperii.
From the St. Louis Globe Democrat.
The growth in the number of newspapers
of the* Uni led States has been far greater
than that in population. Tn the year 1800
there were seventeen daily newspapers
and 200 weeklies published in the United
States, while at the beginning of 19X) there
were 2.300 dailies and 15,081 weeklies, with
many semi-weeklies and tri-weeklie*. A
large proportion of these newspapers are
published in the Western states. The
ratio of newspapers to inhabitants is
larger in the West tfian it is in the East
or the South. Some of the most widely
circulated and’ influential Journals in he
country ore found in the Mississippi Val
ley. One or two Ameri ins in California
started a newspaper in that locality before
It became United States territory, and, of
course, as soon as the locality was an
nexed the number increased rapidly. This
civilizing and educating agency, the news
paper, has marched In the front line of the
American advance in its conquest of the
continent.
—Mark TwMin la hard at work upon
another book. He does all his writing
before noon; gives the rest of the day
to what he is pleased to call "loafing,”
and corrects proofs in the evening.
THE CONTRITE
COWARD.
A Story of D?coration Day
BY P. Y. BLACK. *
“Abel went to war one day.
Dropped his gun and ran away!”
The children cried after him the jingling
doggerel.-Abel Tutt went on his road and
would not look at them, nor seem to hear
them. The insult was a very old one to
his ears. These were r>ot the first children
to Tiiolest him in the village street, a- the
schools were dismissed. The parens of
some of ttjem had yelled at him years ago,
parents who were the first concoctors of
the rhyme. The elder brothers and sis
ters of present babes had ehmted
it in their turn, and still the mocking wtrds
A
v r *L '
$
'* 1
“Abe! Went to War One Day, Dropped His
Gun and Ran Away.”
were relished by the urchin mob. For
nearly thirty-four years the now gray
bearded and solitary man had been the
butt of his native township No girl had
in that time w.rked with him oi danced
with him. ahhough he had been a straight
and handsome joufh. nor had he te en n
sharer In the sports of the young men. As
he grew older he was allowed no part In
the councils of the village. If he desired
to vote at a presidential election he did It
only by runlnng the gauntlet of a thous
and sneers. Manifestly, it seemed absurd
that a man who had deserted In the face
of his countryH should have a say
In the choice of Ills country's chief. He
was tabooed; he was ostracized; he was
outside the camp.
As the lonely years passed by and
many of the soldiers who had fought
while he ran dropped out of life, his pun
ishment became softened to a great ex
tent. He lived so consistently apart, and
was so long suffering under torture, and,
also so many new and interesting events
happened, that people began to forget if
they never forgave. For a large part of
the year, therefore, Abel Tutt could now
come into the market place from his patch
of a farm and be contemptuously Ignored.
Hut one day of each year, even of those
years when anew generation was spring
ing up. his humiliation was freshened and
complete, his agony of shame peculiarly
acme. This always happened on Decora
tion Day. When the schools were closed
end flags were displayed; when war scarr
ed veterans limped to rife and drum, and
rosy cadets claimed their fathers’ cheers;
when wreaths of laurel and the best loved
flowers were piled on heroes' graves, and
the modest monument on the green was
surrounded by the swaying crowd, who
list ned to the orators—then Abel hid him
self away. May and springtime were to
h m no season for rejoicing, hut a period
of penance and remorse. Then the story
of hlB shame was certain to be retold and
if he dared to go abroad, his ears must
hear the old refrain:
Abel went to war one day,
Dropped his gun and ran away!”
He was young when first he had been
called ‘‘coward”—a lad of eighteen. Now
he was stooped and grayer than some men
older than he, but his hard-w’orking life
in the open and almost necessitated ab
stentation from all revels had kept him
strong and active. He had suffered in soul,
but not in body. Now, when he was over
fifty, an old, familiar call came to *his
solitude, a call unheard for many years,
a call which rang out until every citizen
from the Atlantic to the Pacific heard it—
the bugle call to arms. Abel heard in the
store and saw in the paper what had oc
curred, and he fell on his knees in his
lonely house and sobbed and prayed.
•'lf I am permitted another trial,” he
cried, “give me strength, oh Lord, give
me courage!”
There was a recruiting station in a
large town not far from the village, and
there gathered many of the region who
desired to enlist for the war against
Spain. Thither went Abel Tutt, telling no
man of his mission. A sergeant, selected
for the service because of his’ smart and
prosperous figure, stood at the door of the
offices, and to him Abel applied. Many
young fellows were hanging about, and
when the gray-beard arrived his presence
occasioned curiosity and smiles. The ser
geant, however, was sufficiently cordial
in his maun.
"I've come to ’list,” said Abel, straight
ening up.
”1 guess,” said the sergeant, not un
kindly, “this war can be fixed without
calling on the veterans. The doctor’s only
passing young men and hearty. How old
are you?”
"Fifty-odd.*'
"Grand Army?"
"No, sir.”
“Thought maybe you'd been In the Civil
War.”
“I- I was in the army.”
"Well, It’s great to see the way you
veterans are eager to fight again!” the
sergeant said, with an approving smile.
"You shame lots of the young chnpt*. But
you old hinds at the trnde have had your
fill of glory, so don’t grudge the new boys
their chance.”
"Glory!” cried a voice in the little
crowd, and a youngster from Abel's town
ship pushed forward with a loud laugh.
“Glory! Him! Great Scott, but that’s
good. It’s Abel Tutt, the deserter, who
would have been shot for running away if
President Lincoln hadn’t pardoned him
when his mother went to him crying.
Him warn to enlist! That’e good. You
ain't as spry on your feet as you used
to be, Abel. You couldn’t run fast
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enough now to get away safe. Best stay
at home.”
“Abel went to war one day.
Dropped his gun and ran away!”
“Is that true?” he sergeant asked cold
ly, looking up and down the man's lank
form with a sneer.
“That’s why I want to Join,” said Abel
with pathetic appeal. “I want a chance
to wipe It out. Can I see the officer?”
“No good.” the soldier answered, turn
ing sharply. “The Captain wouldn’t
speak to you. He never lets up on a
deserter.”
Abel, with a white face and down-look
ing, shamed eyes, slipped away through
the jeering crowd and went back to his
farm. He sat there, silent and sorrow
ing, until long after dark, and then
sprang to his feet.
“I must go!” he cried. ”1 can bear it
no longer. It is my only chance—l must
go.”
11.
From many trasports the American sol
diers poured Into Cuba. The regulars and
volunteers, white and black, paused but a
little while and then plunged Into the inte
rior to do speedy battle. But besides there
were others to be landed. With shouts and
He Guided the Stampeding Pack Mule, H<* Charged Through the Hell in Front
. of Him.
yells, the neighing of horses and the clam
oroi’3 brays of mules, the four-feeted fol
lowers of the army were forced overboard
and guided ashore, swimming. Wtih tii6m
were their immediate masters and attend
ants. the necessary but far from ornamen
tal muleteers. These wore no smart uni
form, nor did they march on shore 10 sound
of band or bugle. They were, to the cas
ual man of notes, a disfiguring blot on the
picture. They were rough and undisci
plined and shaggy-hearded and rude of
tongue. The trained battalions drew out
in orderly columns as though leaving the
familiar home parade. The mules follow
ed. a tumultuous herd, ready to stampede,
and In front of and behind them, and
watching their Hanks, rode the whackers,
every man garbed and equipped as ho
thought best. The Inexperienced observer
would have regretted their unwarltke ard
vagabond looks, but the passing offleprs,
who knew their value, watched them anx
iously and with as lively an Interest as
they did the troops, for each mule was
laden down with ammunition, and upon
these coarse looking, coarse tongued mule
whackers depended perhaps the fate of
the army, should that ammunition not be
on hand at a critical moment. These, also,
therefore, took their lives in hand. Not all
heroes ore dressed for the part.
Among them, doing his hard work sil
ently and without complaint under a glar
ing sun rode the coward. Abel Tu’tt. All
his efforts to enlist tn the ranks had been
absolutely vain Despa'rng of carrying
a rifle then, but doterm'ned to wipe out
his disgrace by some means, he had gone
down to Florida, and there at Tampa he
had at last found means to follow the
army he had once deserted. He knew lit
tle of the tpeclal work of a mule packer,
hut he was accustomed to horses and
mules, and his p rsistency gained him a
place as assistant.
No one knew the misery the man was
In. No one knew of the fear which op
pressed him. The village boys were quite
right In their Judgment of him. Abel was
a coward, as people Judge cowardice. His
flesh shivered at the mere thought of a
wound. He shrank and cowered instinct-
Ivily at the crack of a rifle or 'he distant
roar of heavy guns. Tn his boyhood ha
had not realized the peril, and, carried
away by the contagious enthusiasm of
comrades, had enlisted, only to run, pan
ic-stricken. at the first gleam of the ene
my’s bayonets. Now he was walking up
to death’s domain with his eyes open,
knowing and understanding the imminent
danger, and h was afraid, ho-r bly afraid
Yet. he followed on, and closed his teeth
and prayed. The soul of the man had
at last succeeded in ruling the body.
111.
The aide de camp spurred his horse and
rode at a wild gallcp down the forest
road. There the shells were falling and
burs'lng among the trees, w-hen they had
finished their shrieking flight from the
guns on the hill. As the staff officer rode
on his life was momentarily threatened
by Spanish sharpshooters In bushy tree
tops.
The battle had stubbornly raged all
the morning, and now, when the tropical
sun was at height, the weary, perspiring
invaders of the isle were praying for night
or else the command to rush the trenches.
As It was they were only grimly holding
their own, scattered In long lines of skir
mishers, hugging shelter, rained on by
bullets and shocked by shattering shell.
The aide de camp broke out of the
Jungle strip again and gained the open.
Here he found himself several hundred
yards from his objective—a battalion of
regular Infantry, who were slowly advanc
ing up a hill, pouring in a hot Are on the
Spaniards, who held the entrenched ridge.
Their fire was heavy, but the Spanish tire,
backed by artillery, was a deadly one, and
here ami there lay many blue-. Gated sol
diers stiffening in the long grass. The aide
charged through the hall and drew up be
side the major in command.
. “The brigade general's compliments, sir.”
he panted. “It is vital that you keep the
enemy busy at this point for at least an
other hour, when the reinforcements com
ing up will permit a general advance. The
general desires to know if you can do this
with your present force. He can ill spare
the men, but If necessary you can have an
other company. What shall I tell him?"
“Tell him,” said the major coolly, "that
a company will make no difference. I've
men enough, I guess, but wait a moment
please.” ’
He walked along the rear of the skirmish
line as calmly as if drilling on the taiget
range, and asked questions of a number
of non-commissioned officers and men
while bullets spattered round him.
"Please ask the General to not mind
sending men,” he told the aide, "but, for
heavens sake, to send me ammuniton.
We don’t everage twenty rounds left pe •
man. If he can't, why—l mu.-t la 1 back ”
“I can promise It in half an hour,” said
the aide. "The pack mules have arrive!.”
* The battalion continued Its dogged as
sault, creeping tip by inches, the men
throwing aside one by one everything they
dared, to lighten them and make the heat
less Intolerable. The nilnutt s passed tin 1
ten, fifteen, twenty had gone, and at eat
the half hour. The Major chafed.
"Easy, hoys, easy!” he cried. "Don’t
throw away a shot. What’s wrong, cotpl-
Eads?”
’’•Not a cartridge left, sir.”
The Major fumed.
"If I fall back,” he groaned, "those beg
gars will charge us and—ah! Is that them?
Yes—go It, boys, here come* more am
munition! Non-commissioned officers, fall
out and make ready to distribute ammuni
tion.”
At the edge of the Jungle strip appeared
two pack mules. Two men, mounted on
other mules, drove them forward. The
Americans cheered, but the sharp ,ve I
Spanlahds also saw the newcomer- • a
at once realized cn what errand they, ni,L
The fire of three guns on the hill was di
rected instantaneously upon the mu , -
who were at once crazed by the shell and
shrapnel which screamed at them w i
every rifle in the trench seemed to be alin
ed at the devoted mule whackers.
One of. the muleteers, a gray-bearded
round-shouldered man, was white nuii
the agony of fear, but the other, a dark
cannon-ball-headed young fellow of tie
bulldog type, was aroused by his din
ger to passionate wrath and utterly un
thinking recklessness. As the tornado
of iron and lead broke upon him he yelled
to his comrade with a clatter of crowded
oaths to come on.
’’You white-faced dummy!” cried he.
"What are you shaking about? Round
up that mule—get a move on you— them
cartridges have got to get to 'the Majo
see? They've got to. Ram your heels
ihto that brute of yours and follow me.
or by the saints, I'll plug you so full
of holes folks ’ll take you for an open
door! Come on!"
The coward’s weaker part was nearly
the conqueror. Every nerve in his body
every instinct, prompted him to turn aiid
run to shelter. He was in exactly the
same deplorable physical condition as he
was when years agone, he slipped away
from the ranks, unnerved by the roar
of guns. His face was wet with cold
perspiration; his hands were shaking; his
knees gripped his mount’s flanks convul
sively. In another moment he would
have abandoned his trust and added
greater disgrace to his name, when a good
angel whispered to him. H< saw, by the
light of one clear flash of memory his
village street. He saw himself pas-in*,
through more than thirty years ,‘ , S ’
honored life. He felt again the siow tor’.
ture of shame. He heard the mocking
voices of the children: mocking
‘Abel went to war one day
Dropped his gun and ran away!" 1
Abel Tutt cried out aloud
" Anything but that! So oner death’
Give me strength, oh, Lord! Give ml
courage!” rae
The incident passed in less than a min
ute. Then the two muleteers lashed on
the pack mules. The distance to the bat
talion was but a few hundred yards but
these yards were each black with the
shadow of grinning death. The pack
mules also were so mad with the noise
and the clouds of earth shot up bv shells
that they ran here and there and made
the distance twice as long. The younger
muleteer was aflame with rage and ex
citement. He rode like a horsebreaker He
circled like an Indian. He kept his pack
mule pretty straight, shouting, cursing,
cheering with every breath. Abel follow
ed silently, but he was no expert. His
charge broke hither and thither, and eveiy
moment the bull ts seemed to fall faster.
At last the young man rose iq his stirrups
with a triumphant yell, and- waved hte
hat at the Spanish with a gesture of con
tempt. Too soon he crowed. He was hut
seventy or eighty yards from a bluff which
would shelter him, where the soldiers were
eagerly waiting and cheering him on. The
pack mule was immediately in from of
him. and Abel many yards behind. The
ordained shell arrived. It crashed fairly
into the boxes of ammunition packed on
the mule. A rock-rending explosion fol
lowed. When the earth cloud vanished the
mule and the muleteer lay In a ghastly
heap, and the ammunition was scattered
far, and most of it had taken part in the
explosion. Then the major and the men
were aghast with horror and disappoint
ment, and a moan of sorrow' swept the
ranks. They turned their eyes to Abel,
their only hope. The coward had seen aid
his pulses almost ceased to beat. Round
him the missels were falling thick. In
another minute ho would be like that un
happy fellow of his— torn, bloody, muti
lated. He turned faint, and his impulse
was to drop from his saddle and creep
away in the long grass and hide, and shel
ter his poor eow’ard flesh. Roaring noises
were in his ears; things swam before hi*
eyes. With a mighty effort he broke away
and cried again with a martyr’s cry:
“Give me strength, oh, Lord! Give me
courage!”
He received It. He spurred his mule; he
guided the stampeding pack mule. He
charged through the hell in front of him.
He saw the cheering soldiers in front of
him and very near. Then something
shrieked In the air, fell and burst, and, as
the pack mule was caught by the soldiers
and the all needful cartridges were torn
front Its back, Abel sank, grievously torn
by a piece of the bursting shell, into the
arms of the major.
“Thank you, thank you, my man!” cffled
the jubilant officer. "You’ve saved the po
sition. That last dash was grand, mag
nlflcent. You're a hero, and the folks at
home shall know of It, I promise you.”
Abel tried to speak.
“Please, sir,” he gasped. “Will you—will
you tell the children?"
He lived awhile and was sent home, and
in the village which had mocked him dted
of his wound. There was no mocking then,
but much honor was paid the Coward, for
the major made good his word, and the
newspapers spoke much of the obscure
muleteer's timely bravery.
Decoration day came after Abel was laid
In his grave. For long, long lonely years
the day had been the unhappiest day t®
him of all. Now the veterans of the Civil
War and the returned volunteers of the
Spanish war stopped remorsefully at his
headstone and sorrowed that they had
jeered at him. And the children came In
Utile crowds, silent and tearful, and the
scornful rhyme wan forever banished from
their lips, and Abel Tutl's mound was
hidden by very many best loved flowers.
Thus he, too, was permitted at last to
lake part In the solemn celebration.
There are divers sorts of bravery, but
he who is bravest of all Is the coward who
conquers his cowardice.
—Mrs. Platt, wife of the New York
senator, Is fond of old china, and during
her extensive travels abroad and at
home has gathered together one of the
finest collections In Washington, where
It has many rivals but few equal*.