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diff --git a/14606-h/14606-h.htm b/14606-h/14606-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba28531 --- /dev/null +++ b/14606-h/14606-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1563 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of And Thus He Came, by Cyrus Townsend Brady</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + + img {border: none;} + + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + hr.full { width: 100%; } + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red} + pre {font-size: 8pt;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14606 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, And Thus He Came, by Cyrus Townsend Brady, +Illustrated by Walter B. Everett</h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="center"> +<a name='fig1' id='fig1'></a> +<img src='images/fig1.jpg' +alt=""No, No," said the woman, "I can't go with you now."" +title=""No, No," said the woman, "I can't go with you now."" /> +<br /> +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">"No, No," said the woman, "I can't go with you now."</p> +</div> + +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h1>And Thus He Came</h1> + +<h2>A Christmas Fantasy</h2> + +<h3>By</h3> + +<h2>Cyrus Townsend Brady</h2> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h3>Pictures by<br /> +Walter B. Everett</h3> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h6>G.P. Putnam's Sons<br /> +New York and London<br /> +The Knickerbocker Press</h6> +<p> </p> +<h4>1916</h4> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p class="center"> +To the Beloved Memory<br /> +of<br /> +Little Betty<br /> +</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> + +<div><br /></div> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<div><br /></div> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<div style="margin-left: 25%; margin-right: 25%;"> + +<a href="#I"><b>I—THE BABY</b></a><br /> + <a href="#II"><b>II—THE CHILD</b></a><br /> + <a href="#III"><b>III—THE FRIEND</b></a><br /> + <a href="#IV"><b>IV—THE WORKMAN</b></a><br /> + <a href="#V"><b>V—THE COMFORTER</b></a><br /> + <a href="#VI"><b>VI—THE BURDEN BEARER</b></a><br /> + <a href="#VII"><b>VII—THE THORN CROWNED</b></a><br /> + <a href="#VIII"><b>VIII—THE BROKEN-HEARTED</b></a><br /> + <a href="#IX"><b>IX—THE FORGIVER OF SINS</b></a><br /> + <a href="#X"><b>X—THE GIVER OF LIFE</b></a><br /> + <a href="#XI"><b>XI—THE STILLER OF THE STORM</b></a><br /> + +</div> + +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> + +<div><br /></div> + +<h2>Illustrations</h2> + +<div style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;"> +<a href="#fig1">"NO, NO," SAID THE WOMAN, "I CAN'T GO WITH YOU NOW."</a><br /> +<a href="#fig2">AFTER A TIME SHE FELL DOWN ON HER KNEES. +SHE PRESSED THEM AGAINST HER FACE</a><br /> +<a href="#fig3">SHE LAID HER HAND UPON THE KNOB OF THE CHURCH DOOR</a><br /> +<a href="#fig4">"IT IS HE," WHISPERED THE PRIEST; "HIS SORROW WAS GREATER THAN MINE"</a><br /> +<a href="#fig5">ABSOLVO TE</a><br /> +<a href="#fig6">THE CRY FOR BREAD</a><br /> +</div> + +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="I" id="I" />I</h2> + +<h2>The Baby</h2> + +<h3>"A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM"</h3> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The heavy perfume of rare blossoms, the wild strains of mad music, the +patter of flying feet, the murmur of speech, the ring of laughter, +filled the great hall. Now and again a pair of dancers, peculiarly +graceful and particularly daring, held the center of the floor for a +moment while the room rang with applause.</p> + +<p>Into alcoves, screened and flower-decked, couples wandered. In the +dancing-space hands were clasped, bosoms rose and fell, hearts throbbed, +pulses beat, and moving bodies kept time to rhythmic sound.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the music stopped, the conversation ceased, the laughter died +away. Almost, as it were, poised in the air, the dancers stood amazed. +One looked to another in surprise. Something stole throughout the room +which was neither music, nor lights, nor fragrance, but which was +life—a presence!</p> + +<p>"Do you see that child?" asked the wildest of the dancers of her escort. +"There," she pointed. "He looks like a very little boy."</p> + +<p>"I see nothing," said the man, who still held her in the clasp of his +arm.</p> + +<p>"He is strangely dressed, although I see him indistinctly, vaguely," +whispered the woman. "He wears a long white robe and there is a kind of +light about his face. See, he is looking at us."</p> + +<p>"I see nothing," repeated the man in low tones. "The heat, the light, +the music, have disturbed you; let me get you—"</p> + +<p>"I want nothing," interposed the woman, waving the man aside and drawing +away from his arm. "Don't you see him, there?"</p> + +<p>She made a step toward the center of the room. She stopped, put her +hand to her head.</p> + +<p>"Why, he is gone," she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Good," said the man, while at that instant the room suddenly rang with +cries: "Go on with the music, the dance is not half over." He extended +his arm to the woman again. "Our dance is not finished."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is," she said as the flying feet once more twinkled across the +polished floor, as everybody took a long breath and a new start +apparently unconscious of the pause.</p> + +<p>"It is over for me. What I saw!"</p> + +<p>"What did you see?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, but I'm going back home to my child. Good-night."</p> + +<hr style='width: 25%;' /> + +<p>Yes, the music had stopped suddenly. The man in the farthest alcove +turned to his companion. They were hidden by a group of palms.</p> + +<p>"I wonder why?" queried the woman. She was deathly pale. Her eyes were +dark with fear, yet alight with passionate determination.</p> + +<p>"When it begins," said the man tenderly, "we will slip away. My car is +outside. Everything is ready."</p> + +<p>"That is my husband over there," said the woman.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the man, "he won't trouble you any more."</p> + +<p>"That woman with him is leaving him," she said. "I wonder why." She +turned suddenly with a great start. "There is somebody here," she +whispered, staring into the back of the alcove.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said the man, throwing a glance around the recess. "There's +nobody here but you and I. We are alone together, as we shall be +hereafter, when we have taken the step."</p> + +<p>"But that child," whispered the woman, "with his strange vesture and +his wonderful face. His eyes look at me so."</p> + +<p>"There is no child there, my dear," urged the man; "you are overwrought, +excited, nervous. The music starts. Let us go."</p> + +<p>He stretched out his hand to the woman, but as he came nearer she shrank +back with her own hand on her heart.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said faintly, "he's gone."</p> + +<p>"Of course he's gone," he answered soothingly. "Now is our time to get +away. Let me—"</p> + +<p>"No, no," said the woman. "I can't go with you now. It wouldn't be +right."</p> + +<p>"But you knew that before," pleaded the man. "Besides—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I can't do it. He was there! His eyes spoke—I—don't touch +me," she said; "I'm going back to my husband. Don't follow."</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="II" id="II" />II</h2> + +<h2>The Child</h2> + +<h3>"SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME UNTO ME"</h3> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The employees had all gone home, carrying with them Christmas checks and +hearty greetings from the great man whose beck and nod they followed. He +sat in his private office absolutely alone. He had some serious matters +to consider and did not want any interruptions. His balance-sheet for +the year had been made up according to the custom of the firm before +Christmas instead of on New Year's Day. He examined it again. It showed +tremendous profit. The mills were turning out quantities of material, +the demand for which was greater and the cost of production less than +ever before.</p> + +<p>"I tell you," said the man to himself, "it was a master-stroke to +displace the men with children in the mills. They have reduced the cost +by four fifths. War has made the prices go up. This is not wealth, it is +riches beyond calculation."</p> + +<p>He picked up a letter, read it over. It was a proposal from the +superintendent to clear more land, to build more buildings, to install +more machines, to employ more children and increase the profits greatly.</p> + +<p>"I'll do it," said the man. "We can crush opposition absolutely. I'll +control the markets of the world. I'll build a fortune upon this +foundation so great that no one can comprehend it."</p> + +<p>He stopped, leaned back in his chair, lifted his eyes up toward the +ceiling of the room and saw beyond it the kingdoms of this world and the +means unlimited to make him lord and master. He gave no thought to the +foundations, only to the structure erected by his fancy. How long he +indulged in dreams he scarcely realized, but presently he put his hands +on the arms of the chair and started to rise, saying,</p> + +<p>"I'll telegraph the superintendent to go ahead."</p> + +<p>He had scarcely formulated the words when right in front of him, seated +on his desk, he saw a young lad regarding him intently. He stopped, +petrified, in the position he had assumed.</p> + +<p>"How did you get in? What are you doing here?" he asked. There was no +answer. "Come," said the man, shrinking back. "I can't imagine how you +got in here. If my people had not all gone I should hold them to strict +account. As it is, you—"</p> + +<p>The room was suddenly filled with people. They came crowding through the +walls from every side and pressed close to him. Such people he had never +seen: wan, worn, stunted, pinched, starved, joyless. They were all +children, meagerly clothed, badly nourished, ill developed. They were +quite silent. They did not cry. They did not protest. They did not +argue. They did not plead. They did not laugh. They just looked at him. +They made no sound of any sort. He had children of his own and he had +known many children. He had never known so many gathered together +without a smile or a laugh.</p> + +<p>His eye wandered around the room. They were very close to him and yet +they did not touch him. He turned to the desk where the lad had sat, but +he was no longer there and yet he well remembered his face. He knew +exactly how he looked. He turned to the nearest child and in some +strange way, although the poor, wretched face had not changed, his look +suggested the lad who had been his first visitor. He turned to another +and another. They all looked back at him in the same way with the same +eyes.</p> + +<p>He threw his head up again and saw the castle of success of which he had +dreamed. He looked down again. This was the foundation. Slowly his hand +went to the desk. The little crowding figures drew back to give him +freedom of movement as he stretched his hand out for a telegraph-blank. +He drew it to him. He seized a pen and wrote rapidly:</p> + +<p>"Build no more mills, take the children out of those already in +operation, put men in their places. We will be content with less profit +in the future."</p> + +<p>He read over the telegram. The telephone was close at hand. He called up +the telegraph-office, dictated it and directed it to be sent +immediately. He had been so engrossed in this task that he had noticed +nothing else. Now he looked up. The room was still filled with children, +but they were all laughing. It was a soundless laugh, and yet he heard +it. And then the room was empty save for the child he had seen first and +vaguely. He had just time to catch a smile from his lips and then he, +too, was gone as silently and as strangely as he had appeared.</p> + +<p>Was it a dream? No, there was the telegram in his hand! Had he sent it? +Again he called up the office on the telephone.</p> + +<p>"Did you get a message from me just a minute ago?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, do you want to recall it?"</p> + +<p>The man thought a second.</p> + +<p>"No," he said quietly—was it to himself or to his vanished +visitors?—"let it go. Merry Christmas."</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> + +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="III" id="III" />III</h2> + +<h2>The Friend</h2> + +<h3>"INASMUCH AS YE HAVE DONE IT UNTO ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE, MY +BRETHREN"</h3> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>"Is the story of the Christ Child true, Mommy?" quivered one little, +thin voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, they told us it was over at the mission Sunday-school," said the +littlest child.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it," answered the mother. "God ain't never done much +for me."</p> + +<p>"It's Christmas eve, ain't it?" asked the boy, climbing up on the thin +knees of the threadbare woman and nestling his thin face against a +thinner breast which the rags scarcely covered decently.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's Christmas eve."</p> + +<p>"And that's the day He came, ain't it?" urged the oldest girl.</p> + +<p>"They say so."</p> + +<p>"Don't you believe it, Mommy?"</p> + +<p>"I used to believe it when I was a girl. I believed it before your +father died, but now—"</p> + +<p>"Don't you believe it now?" repeated the first child.</p> + +<p>"How can I believe it? You're old enough to understand. That's the last +scuttle of coal we got. We ate the last bit of bread for supper +to-night."</p> + +<p>"They say," put in the little boy, "that if you hang up your stockings, +Santa Claus'll fill 'em, 'cause of the Christ Child."</p> + +<p>"Don't you believe it, Sonny," said the mother desperately.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to hang up mine and see," said the littlest girl.</p> + +<p>"He's got too many other children to look after," said the woman, "to +care for the likes of us, I'm afraid, and—"</p> + +<p>"But my Sunday-school teacher said He came to poor people special. He +was awful poor Himself. Why, He was born in a stable. That's awful poor, +ain't it?" asked the boy.</p> + +<p>"When I was a girl," answered the mother, "I lived on a farm and we had +a stable there that was a palace to this hole we live in now. No, you'd +better not hang up your stockings, none of you."</p> + +<p>"And you don't believe in Him, Mommy?"</p> + +<p>"No. What would be the use if you hung 'em up and didn't find anything +in 'em in the morning?"</p> + +<p>"It'd be awful, but I believe in Him," said the littlest girl. "I don't +think God has forgot us, really. I'm going to try."</p> + +<p>"I tell you 'tain't no use."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it is."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it ain't. But have it your own way," said the woman. "If +someone would fill your stockings with milk and bread and—"</p> + +<p>"I want a turkey," said the oldest girl.</p> + +<p>"And cranberry sauce," added the boy.</p> + +<p>"I want a doll-baby in mine," said the littlest girl.</p> + +<p>The mother hid her face and groaned aloud.</p> + +<p>"You ain't sick, are you, Mommy?"</p> + +<p>"I guess so. Come, you'd better say your prayers and go to bed. We don't +have to keep the fire going so hard when you're all covered up."</p> + +<p>It did not take long for the three little youngsters to divest +themselves of the rags of clothing they wore. They slept in what passed +for their underclothes, so there was no donning of white gowns for the +night.</p> + +<p>"Here are our stockings, Mommy," said the oldest, handing three ragged, +almost footless, black stockings to the woman.</p> + +<p>"It's no use, I tell you. I can't do it."</p> + +<p>"It won't do any harm, Mommy," urged the girl.</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in it, too?" asked the mother, and the girl shook her +head. "You won't be disappointed in the morning if there's nothing in +'em?"</p> + +<p>"No, I suppose it will be because Santa Claus was too busy."</p> + +<p>With nervous fingers the woman hung the three stockings near the window. +She was hungry, she was cold, she was broken, she was a mother. She +could scarcely keep from crying.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you'll be glad you did it," said the littlest girl drowsily.</p> + +<p>"Ain't you comin' to bed, too, Mommy?" asked the oldest, beneath the +covers over the mattress on the floor.</p> + +<p>"In a little while."</p> + +<p>"And you won't forget to say your prayers?"</p> + +<p>"I ain't said 'em for months, ever since your father was killed, and we +got so poor."</p> + +<p>"But you'll say 'em to-night 'cause it's Christmas eve?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, to-night," said the mother; "now you go to sleep."</p> + +<p>"Are you waitin' for him to come, Mommy?" asked the littlest girl, who +was very sleepy.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the mother.</p> + +<p>Presently, as she sat in the dark, having turned out the light, the deep +breathing of the children told her they were asleep. She rose quietly, +stepped to the window, and stood looking at the three shapeless, +tattered stockings. She was high up in the tenement and the moonlight +came softly over the house roofs of the city into the bare, cold, +cheerless room. She stared at the stockings and tears streamed down her +wasted cheeks. She had hung them low at the suggestion of the littlest +girl so the children could easily get at them in the morning.</p> + +<div><br /></div> + +<div class="center"> +<a name='fig2' id='fig2'></a> +<img src="images/fig2.jpg" +alt="She pressed them against her face." +title="She pressed them against her face." /> +<br /> +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">She pressed them against her face.</p> +</div> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>After a time she fell down on her knees. She pressed them against her +face. She did not say anything. She could scarcely think anything. She +just knelt there until something gently drew her head around. She +dropped the stockings. She put her right hand on the window-ledge to +steady herself and looked backward.</p> + +<p>No sound save the breathing of the children and her own stifled sobs had +broken the silence; the door was shut, but a man was there, a man of +strange vesture seen dimly in the moon's radiance, yet there was a kind +of light about his face. She could see his features. They were those of +a man in middle years. They were lined with care. He had seen life on +its seamy side. The woman felt that he had known poverty and loneliness. +She stared up at him.</p> + +<p>"I didn't believe," she whispered; "it cannot be. I thought we were +forgotten."</p> + +<p>The man slowly raised his hand. The moonlight struck fair upon it. She +saw that it was calloused, the hand of a man who toiled. It was extended +over her head. There was no bodily touch, but her head bent low down +until she rested it upon her hands upon the floor. When she looked up, +the room was empty. There was no sound save the breathing of the +children and the throb of her own heart which beat wildly in the fearful +hollow of her ear.</p> + +<p>She heard a sound of strange footsteps outside the door. There was a +crackle as of paper, the soft sound of things laid upon the floor, a +gentle rapping on the panels, a light laugh, a rustle of draperies, +footsteps moving away. As in a dream she got to her feet, she knew not +how. She opened the door.</p> + +<p>The hall was dimly illuminated. Her feet struck a little heap of +joy-bringing parcels. She leaned back against the door-jamb, her hand +to her heart, trembling. What could it mean?</p> + +<p>A tiny voice broke the silence. It was the littlest girl turning over in +her sleep, murmuring incoherently and then clearly:</p> + +<p>"If you only believe, that's enough; if you only believe."</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + + +<hr /> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV" />IV</h2> + +<h2>The Workman</h2> + +<h3>"IS NOT THIS THE CARPENTER?"</h3> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>In the mean squalid room back of the saloon half a score of men were +assembled. They were all young in years, in other things not youthful. +Some of them lounged against the wall. Some sat at tables. All were +drinking. The air was foul with smoke and reeked with the odor of vile +liquor.</p> + +<p>"We've got two jobs on hand to-night," said the leader of the gang. +"There's a crib to be cracked an' a guy to be croaked. Red, you an' +Gypsie an' the Gunney will crack the crib. It's dead easy. Only an old +man an' his wife. The servants are out except one an' he's fixed. I'll +give you the layout presently. The other job's harder. Kid, I'll put you +in charge, an' as it's got to be done early to-night I'll give you the +orders now. He'll be at The Montmorency at ten o'clock. Someone will +call him out to the street."</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind who. You'll be there in the car."</p> + +<p>"Whose car?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind whose. Why're you askin' so many questions? It'll take you +an' the four to The Montmorency at ten o'clock. When he comes out every +one of you let go, the whole bunch, understand. If they don't find five +bullets in him there'll be trouble to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"What do we get out of it?"</p> + +<p>"A hundred apiece fer you an' a hundred an' fifty fer me fer engineerin' +the job. Christmas money! You get me?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. How'll we know who we've got to shoot?"</p> + +<p>"I'll be there myself on the sidewalk. I'll point him out to you."</p> + +<p>"The police?"</p> + +<p>"They're fixed."</p> + +<p>"Easy enough," said the Kid, the youngest of the gang.</p> + +<p>"Well, you guys," said the leader pointing out four of the men, "will go +with the Kid. The car'll be at the door in half an hour."</p> + +<p>"Now, gimme my orders," said Red.</p> + +<p>The gang leader scribbled something on a bit of paper.</p> + +<p>"You go to that number with these two guys between midnight an' two in +the mornin'. You'll find a back winder open. Here's the combination of +the safe. The silver'll be in that."</p> + +<p>"Jewels?"</p> + +<p>"In a wall cabinet upstairs. It'll be unlocked."</p> + +<p>"An' if they make any noise?"</p> + +<p>"Croak 'em, of course. But don't make no noise doin' it. Better use a +blackjack. We're not sure about the cop on that beat."</p> + +<p>"I understand."</p> + +<p>"Well, git your gats and make ready. Before we go, the drinks'll be on +me. Fill up, men," he added, first pouring himself a liberal glassful, +"an' here's to bringin' it off easy."</p> + +<p>With deep relish the toast was drunk by all save Red and the Kid. Red +set his glass down on the table. The Kid dropped his to the floor.</p> + +<p>"There's somebody else in the room," whispered Red.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yonder by the door," said the Kid. "You c'n jest see him."</p> + +<p>"Don't be a fool," said the gang leader. "There's nobody here but us."</p> + +<p>"He's wearin' strange clothes," said Red.</p> + +<p>"He looks like a carpenter by his kit o' tools," said the Kid.</p> + +<p>"Here, pull yourselves together, men," said the gang leader; "you're +dippy, there's nobody here. Where's your nerve?"</p> + +<p>But Red made no move to obey. He thrust his glass from him and rose and +leaned over the table staring. The other men shrank back glancing at the +two figures, for the Kid had also dashed the proffered glass aside.</p> + +<p>"I see him," he said, "he's lookin' at me, he's lookin' through me."</p> + +<p>In his excitement he took a step forward and the table went over with a +crash. The two men passed their hands over their eyes in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"Why, there ain't nobody here," said the Kid.</p> + +<p>"But I seen him I tell you," persisted Red.</p> + +<p>"And so did I."</p> + +<p>"Well, he's gone, whoever he was, accordin' to your own showin'," said +the gang leader contemptuously. "Now brace up. Take your liquor. Get a +move on youse."</p> + +<p>"Not me," exclaimed Red suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Nor me," said the Kid.</p> + +<p>"What d'ye mean?"</p> + +<p>"I won't do it."</p> + +<p>"Neither will I."</p> + +<p>Both men moved to the door. The gang leader sprang to intercept them, +his arms upraised, his hands clenched.</p> + +<p>"Lemme pass," said Red.</p> + +<p>"Are you goin' to give us away?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered Red. "But you don't rob no house, an' you don't kill no +man to-night."</p> + +<p>"You all know what that means," cried the leader. "Here you men grab +'em."</p> + +<p>But the rest of the gang hung back.</p> + +<p>"Mebbe they did see somethin'," said one.</p> + +<p>"You cowardly dogs," cried the leader.</p> + +<p>"We won't mention no names to nobody," said the Kid, "but you can't +pull them jobs off. We'll jest warn 'em."</p> + +<p>"You swore you'd be true to the gang, that you'd obey orders an' follow +directions."</p> + +<p>"We won't give ye away but I'm goin' to quit the gang an' go to work," +said Red.</p> + +<p>"Me too," said the Kid.</p> + +<p>"Work! Hell!" exclaimed the gang leader, but they shoved him out of the +way and went out of the door.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + + +<hr /> + +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="V" id="V" />V</h2> + +<h2>Comforter</h2> + +<h3>"NEITHER DO I CONDEMN THEE"</h3> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>She was a daughter of shame. Even inexperience could see that as she +wandered up and down the streets of the town, desperate, impelled to go +on by a force too strong for her to resist. She trod the pavement, yet +loathed the necessity and hated herself for her compliance. She had only +to look forward to the jail or the hospital; yet there was always the +river. Had it come to that? Was there nothing else?</p> + +<p>She lifted her eyes from the stone walk as hard as the heart of the +world, and found herself opposite a brightly lighted building. She +leaned against the door. From within came the sound of music, the +strains of a hymn, words of prayer. The light streamed about her face +from the stained window. This was a Church of God. Stained window, +stained woman, confronting each other in the night!</p> + +<p>There was no God for her. There might have been once, but she had +committed the unpardonable sin against society and society was God. +There was no place for her anywhere, save the jail or the hospital or +the river. That last was the best. The street was deserted. She had +thought it not a good place in which to ply her trade! She made a step +forward and stopped.</p> + +<p>In her pathway stood a figure seen dimly in the darkness. It stood in +the shadow beyond the broad light from the painted window. There was +something strangely familiar about it. She glanced up at that window. +Had the figure there stepped down and embodied itself vaguely on the +walk before her?</p> + +<div><br /></div> + +<div class="center"> +<a name='fig3' id='fig3'></a> +<img src="images/fig3.jpg" +alt="She laid her hand upon the knob of the church door." +title="She laid her hand upon the knob of the church door." /> +<br /> +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">She laid her hand upon the knob of the church door.</p> +</div> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>What was this strange figure? Who was he? As she stared, the outline +drew nearer. A man vested in long white draperies confronted her. He was +bareheaded and appeared insensible to the cold in which she shivered. +She put out her hand and something folded it back upon her breast. She +opened her lips and something sealed them.</p> + +<p>As she watched, the figure slowly moved. It bent forward and went slowly +down on its knees on the sidewalk. The white hand began to trace +strange, mysterious, unknown, incomprehensible characters upon the +pavement. She watched with bated breath, some memory of another sinful +woman of whom she had heard in childhood coming back to her prostrate +mind. Yes, and there behind the figure stood others, hateful and hating, +very violent, passionate men. She stared from the handwriting in the +dust to these others and they faded away. She was alone with the +kneeling figure and, as she looked, it too vanished in the chill air.</p> + +<p>She bent over the pavement. There was nothing there, yet she had +received a message. After a last glance she turned away, new courage, +new life, new hope in her heart.</p> + +<p>She mounted the steps, she laid her hand upon the knob of the church +door, she turned it and went bravely within.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> + +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI" />VI</h2> + +<h2>The Burden Bearer</h2> + +<h3>"HE, BEARING HIS CROSS, WENT FORTH"</h3> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The sound of the running feet of the man smashing through the burned +stubble ceased abruptly. He stopped at the threshold of the door. No +friendly bark of dog welcomed him. From the barn there came no gentle +lowing of cattle, no homely clucking of chickens. Like the house the +byre too had been ruined, gutted with flame.</p> + +<p>The soldier whose march had brought him back to his own village that +night stood in the entrance of what had been his home and stared at the +smoking walls, the charred roof gaping to the sky, the empty casements. +The enemy had been there. He whispered his young wife's name, he called +softly to the baby, as if they might be sleeping somewhere within the +devastated house. He listened for a reply but none came. Perhaps he +would have been thankful even for a groan or a cry of agony, anything +that meant life. But all was silence within, without.</p> + +<p>Yonder on the winding road at the foot of the hill he could hear the +trampling of men, the groaning of wheels, the clank of iron cavalrymen, +the jingling of bits and swords, sharp words of command. The army was +advancing. He could delay no longer. He must get back to his place in +the ranks. Summoning his courage he crossed the threshold and stepped +into the vacant emptiness of the house. Everything was gone but the four +stone walls. There were unrecognizable heaps of ashes here and there. He +bent over them fearfully in the twilight wondering whether the +shapeless, formless masses were—</p> + +<p>Something caught his eye. The one thing intact apparently. He stooped +over it. It was the baby's shoe—white, it had been originally. He +remembered it. Now it was stained with blood. That was all that was +left—a little baby's shoe, blood spotted. He pressed it to his heart +and groaned aloud. A spasm of mortal anguish shook his frame. He lifted +his clenched hand toward the sky overshadowing the roofless walls.</p> + +<p>Now he suddenly became aware that he was not alone. There was someone +else in the room. He saw vaguely, indistinctly, a figure strangely clad, +staggering on with bended back as if under some crushing load. He stared +in the twilight striving to concentrate his faculties. The figure passed +by. On its back was a shadowy something—beams of wood roughly crossed, +he decided. It raised its head and looked at him. The face was somehow +lighter than the rest.</p> + +<p>The man's arm fell. The room was empty after all. He stared at the +little shoe. Was it somewhere well with the child, with its mother? +Unbuttoning his tunic he thrust the little shoe within, over his heart. +He straightened up. Away off on the road a bugle call rang out above the +tumult. He turned away, seized his rifle, shouldered it, stepped rapidly +toward his regiment and his duty.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> + +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII" />VII</h2> + +<h2>The Thorn Crowned</h2> + +<h3>"THE SOLDIERS PLATTED A CROWN OF THORNS AND PUT IT ON HIS HEAD"</h3> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>It was ghastly cold in the ruined church. It had been warm enough there +during the day, but the fire that had gutted it had died like the young +acolyte, like the aged sacristan, the venerable mother, the sweet young +novice, the women who had sought shelter there in vain. Neither the +dignity of age nor the sweetness of maidenhood nor the innocence of +youth nor the sanctity of profession had availed.</p> + +<p>The old priest was glad they were dead. Life after what they had +suffered had been unthinkable. He thanked God for that oblivion. He +wished that he, too, might die in that violated shrine where he had +peacefully ministered for so long a time. They had taken the flock, the +shepherd must follow. He should have led.</p> + +<p>He had fought, oh, he had played the man for the honor of the poor lambs +committed to him. Had he done right? Should he not have stood dumb +before the shearers? They had shot him and stabbed him and beaten him +into insensibility. The last thing he had heard was the shriek of one +woman, the piteous appeal of another. They thought he was dead, but he +was living. Why had he not died?</p> + +<p>How could God be so cruel? This was war. This ruined sanctuary, these +broken men and women who had sought only to serve Him! Was there a God +indeed? Faith, hope, what were they? Assurance, trust? Words, words! Ah, +how he suffered.</p> + +<div><br /></div> + +<div class="center"> +<a name='fig4' id='fig4'></a> +<img src="images/fig4.jpg" alt=""It is He," whispered the priest. "His sorrow was +greater than mine."" title=""It is He," whispered the priest. "His sorrow was +greater than mine."" /> +<br /> +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">"It is He," whispered the priest. "His sorrow was +greater than mine."</p> +</div> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>It was bitter cold and yet he burned with fever. The tremors of pain so +exquisite that they might almost be counted pleasure shot through his +ruined, torn, broken figure, yet he recked little of these. It was the +shame, the shame. He had been zealous for the Lord of Hosts. There was +no God. Men were not made in any image save that of hell. He could not +move hand or foot, but he could see. He could speak. He could curse God +and die.</p> + +<p>As his lips framed that anathema he saw vaguely the figure of a +stranger; a slender, wasted body, dark stains upon it in the moonlight. +It wore some kind of curious headgear. The man stared. The light was +reflected from the sharp points of long thorns. A cloth was fastened +about the loins. The figure stood very straight in the desecrated Holy +of Holies. A light seemed to come from its face. Its eyes looked at the +man with great pity. Slowly the figure raised its arms. Slowly the arms +extended themselves; there were blood-stains in the palms of the hands.</p> + +<p>"It is He," whispered the priest. "His sorrow was greater than mine. +Lord, I believe."</p> + +<p>He knew nothing more save that a great peace had suddenly stolen around +him.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> + +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII" />VIII</h2> + +<h2>The Broken Hearted</h2> + +<h3>"ONE OF THE SOLDIERS WITH A SPEAR PIERCED HIS SIDE"</h3> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>"I'll get that man if I die for it," said the soldier. "He's found the +one position in the lines from which he can fire into our trenches."</p> + +<p>"It's easier said than done," remarked his comrade, "and the minute you +cross that spot you come within his range. He'll put a bullet through +you before you can level a rifle or press a trigger."</p> + +<p>"I'll not go that way," said the man.</p> + +<p>"What is your plan?"</p> + +<p>"You know that salient yonder on the right? I'm going out of the trench +there."</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"Now. I'll wrap myself in white. That little run of coppice will cover +me until I get within a few feet of him, then I'll have to chance it."</p> + +<p>"Wish I could help you, old man. I'd like to get that man. He's shot six +of the best fellows in the company and—"</p> + +<p>"You can help me by making a diversion to attract his attention. Keep +him looking at that alley."</p> + +<p>A few moments later the soldier shrouded in white crept out of the +trench and noiselessly rolled down the slope to the bushes. The snow was +deep on the ground. There was no touch of color about the soldier. He +even thrust his rifle under the linen in which he had wrapped himself. +Outside the shelter of the trenches the wind blew with terrific force. +It was terribly cold. He had discarded his overcoat for freedom of +motion. Only his indomitable resolution kept him alive. He locked his +jaws together to keep his teeth from chattering. The ice-covered snow +under his bare hands almost blistered the flesh as he crept along.</p> + +<p>He intended to use the bayonet. If he shot the man he was stalking alarm +would be given and he would be riddled with bullets before he got back. +He was willing to give a life for a life if it were necessary, but he +was reluctant to do so if it could be avoided. Cold steel would be +better. Cold steel! He smiled grimly. It would need some hot blood to +take the chill off the bayonet at the end of his rifle.</p> + +<p>Slowly, almost holding his breath lest he be noticed, he edged his way +along. He had plenty of time for thought. This was not so easy a job as +he had fancied, not the physical part, but the mental strain. He could +shoot a man who was shooting at him, he could batter a man over the head +who was trying to do the same to him, but this stalking a man in cold +blood was different somehow. Cold blood! He laughed soundlessly at his +recurrent fancy. He went a little more slowly. Finally he stopped to +consider.</p> + +<p>From the nook ahead of him in which the enemy had ensconced himself came +a sudden rapid rattle of rifle-shots. His friend back in the trench was +doing his part. The man was awake—on the alert. It would be something +of a fair fight, he thought with some little satisfaction. He surveyed +the intervening space beyond the coppice. The men in the trenches on +both sides would be awake, too. It would take him a few seconds to cross +that space and get at the man he was stalking. Could they shoot him +before that? There was some shelter where the enemy was. If the stalker +could get to that spot he would be protected for a moment from fire from +the enemy's trench.</p> + +<p>It would take him a second or two to cross that space. In a second or +two what might happen? Well, he would have to risk that. At the very +end of the coppice he gathered himself together and rose slowly to a +crouching position. Another rain of shots came from the nook; the man's +rifle would be empty, he must give him no chance to reload. Now it would +be a fair fight with the bayonet.</p> + +<p>He threw aside the white draperies that impeded his legs and in half a +dozen bounds the two men were face to face.</p> + +<p>No shot had been fired. Yes, the magazine of the man's rifle was empty. +He heard the crunch of his enemy's feet on the snow. He rose to his +feet, his bayoneted rifle extended. The two barrels struck with terrific +force. The men swayed, drew back for another thrust, and they were +suddenly aware of a mist-like figure between them, a figure draped in +white, lightly, diaphanously.</p> + +<p>They stood arrested, guns drawn back, and stared. The figure slowly +extended its arm, carrying drapery with it. A man's breast was bared. +There, over the heart, was a great gaping wound, fresh, as if a broad, +heavy blade had pierced it.</p> + +<p>There was a clatter on the ice as a gun dropped and another clatter as a +similar weapon struck the stone opposite. The two men bent forward, +their hands outstretched. They took a step as if to touch the figure and +there was nothing there! The hands met. They clasped warmly in the cold +against each other.</p> + +<p>"My God, what was that?" said the stalker.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," answered the other.</p> + +<p>"A pierced side!"</p> + +<p>"Was it—"</p> + +<p>"No. It couldn't be."</p> + +<p>"Well, we worship the same God and—"</p> + +<p>Ah, they were seen. There were quick words of command from the +trenches, a staccato of rifle-shots, and two bodies lay side by side, +hands still clasped, while the snow reddened and reddened beneath them.</p> + +<p>And it was Christmas eve.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> + +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX" />IX</h2> + +<h2>The Forgiver of Sins</h2> + +<h3>"I SAY UNTO THEE UNTIL SEVENTY TIMES SEVEN"</h3> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>"A Priest, for Christ's sake, a priest," moaned the man.</p> + +<p>A white-faced sister of charity upon whom had developed the appalling +task of caring for the long rows of wounded at the dressing station +before they were entrained and sent south to the hospital, hovered over +the stretcher.</p> + +<p>"My poor man," she whispered, "there is no priest here."</p> + +<p>"I can't die without confession—absolution," was the answer. "A priest, +get me a priest."</p> + +<p>Next to and almost touching the cot on which the speaker writhed in his +death agony lay another man apparently in a profound stupor. He wore +the uniform of a private soldier and his eyes were bandaged. His face +had been torn to pieces by shrapnel, fragments of which had blinded him. +At that instant he came out of that stupor. Perhaps the familiar words +recalled him to himself. He moved his hand slightly. The sister saw his +lips tremble. She bent low.</p> + +<p>"Who seeks confession, absolution?" he whispered. "I am a priest."</p> + +<p>"You are wounded, dying, father."</p> + +<p>"How can I die better than shriving a fellow sinner?"</p> + +<p>That was true. The heroic woman turned to the man who still kept up his +monotonous appeal.</p> + +<p>"The man next to you," she said, "dying like you, is a priest."</p> + +<p>"Father," cried the first man with sudden strength. "I must confess +before I die."</p> + +<p>"Lift me up," said the priest.</p> + +<p>The woman slipped her arm about his shoulders and raised him.</p> + +<p>"The sister?" began the other.</p> + +<p>"I shall be blind and deaf," said the woman.</p> + +<p>"Speak on," whispered the priest.</p> + +<p>"I have been a great sinner—there isn't time to confess all."</p> + +<p>"What is heaviest upon your soul, my son?"</p> + +<p>"A woman's fate."</p> + +<p>"Ah."</p> + +<p>"There were two who loved her—a dozen years ago—she preferred me—I +took her away."</p> + +<p>"Did you marry her?"</p> + +<p>"No. And then we quarreled—I deserted her. When I came to seek her she +was gone—young, innocent, penniless, alone in Paris—I have sought her +and never found her."</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" asked the priest suddenly with a fierce note in +his quivering voice.</p> + +<p>"Father, can I be forgiven?" answered the man giving his name.</p> + +<p>The dying soldier stared anxiously up at his bandaged comrade, at the +nun who had hid her face behind the shoulder of the priest. He noticed +that her body was shaking.</p> + +<p>"And the woman's name?"</p> + +<p>The priest suddenly sat upright. He shook off the sister's restraining +hand. He tore the bandage from his own face. He bent over the dying man +as he murmured the woman's name.</p> + +<p>"Wretch," he cried, "look at me."</p> + +<p>His face was gashed and cut and torn but something remained by which the +other recognized him.</p> + +<p>"You!" he cried shrinking away.</p> + +<p>"I loved her, too," said the priest. "I would have married her. When +she went away with you Holy Church received me."</p> + +<p>"Mercy," cried the soldier uplifting his hand.</p> + +<p>"What mercy did you show her?"</p> + +<p>The priest could not see but he could feel. His hand seized the other's +throat.</p> + +<p>"My father," interposed the nun. "He has confessed. God will forgive, +even as I."</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" asked the blind priest, fearfully.</p> + +<p>"The woman!" cried the dying man shaking off the other's hand and +lifting himself up.</p> + +<p>The sight came back to the priest on the instant. The fierce agony that +filled his blinded eyes seemed to give place to the gentle touch of a +hand upon them. He seemed to hear a mighty word—<i>Ephphatha</i>—that meant +"be opened." Light flooded his soul. Looking up he was aware of two +figures. One of the twain, an old man, gray bearded, was appealing to +the other, clad in white raiment and youthful. And the priest suddenly +recalled an old and well-known story of a fellow servant who would not +have mercy.</p> + +<p>"Father, forgive—" whispered the man before him.</p> + +<p>As the voice of the dying sinner died away in the silence all was dark +again. The priest saw no more, but the horrible pain in his eyes did not +return. Over his torn features came a look of calm. He lifted his arm. +His wavering hand cut the air in the sign of the cross.</p> + +<p>"<i>Absolvo te</i>," he murmured as he pitched forward dead upon the breast +of the dying.</p> + +<p>And the woman tenderly covered them over.</p> + +<div><br /></div> + +<div class="center"> +<a name='fig5' id='fig5'></a> +<img src="images/fig5.jpg" alt="Absolvo te." title="Absolvo te." /> +<br /> +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">Absolvo te.</p> +</div> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<hr/> + +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="X" id="X" />X</h2> + +<h2>The Giver of Life</h2> + +<h3>"HE THAT EATETH OF THIS BREAD SHALL LIVE FOREVER"</h3> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Of the five specters in the boat three were without life. Those whose +faint breathing indicated that they had not yet reached the point of +death were too weak and indifferent to rid the boat of the bodies of the +others. Ever since the homeward-bound whaler had struck a derelict in a +gale of wind north of the Falklands and foundered, this little boat, +surviving the shipwreck as by a miracle, had drifted on.</p> + +<p>For three weeks in vain they had scanned the horizon for a sail. Their +scanty supply of bread and water had been consumed in ten days. +Thereafter they had nothing. The baby had died first, next a man whose +arm had been broken by a falling spar in the disaster, and then the +ship's cabin boy. The survivors were a man and a woman. They were both +far gone. The woman was plainly dying. The man kept himself up by sheer +exercise of will.</p> + +<p>Their drifting had been northward toward warmer seas. It was winter in +their home land and, though they knew it not, Christmas day. There the +tropic sun blazed overhead from an absolutely cloudless sky. There was +no vestige of breeze to stir the canvas of the solitary sail or ripple +the glassy surface of the smoothed out ocean. The boat lay still. Not +even the iron man at the helm could have lifted an oar. It had been dead +calm for days. Speech there was none except in the gravest necessity. To +talk connectedly was impossible.</p> + +<p>After scanning the horizon for the thousandth time the man's burning +eyes sought those of the woman at his feet. He was astonished to find +them open. Her mouth was working, her parched lips strove to form words. +He dropped the tiller which his hand had grasped mechanically, and which +was useless since there was no way on the boat, and bent his head lower. +Some sudden recrudescence of strength which the dying sometimes receive +came to the woman.</p> + +<p>"Death," she whispered. "Glad." She turned her head slightly and saw the +form of the child. "The Baby—and—I—together."</p> + +<p>The man nodded. Tenderly he laid his hot wasted hand on the woman's +fevered brow.</p> + +<p>"A priest," she said, looking up at him uncomprehendingly.</p> + +<p>She was evidently going fast yet she knew what she wanted although she +was not conscious that she craved the impossible. It would appear that +she had been a good churchwoman. The man could only stare. He was no +priest, only a rough sailor.</p> + +<p>"A priest," said the woman more clearly. "I want—a priest—the +sacrament." By some nervous convulsive effort she lifted her arms up +toward him beseeching, appealing. There was another kind of agony in her +voice that had not been present when she had moaned for water in the +days before.</p> + +<p>"The sacrament," she insisted, "I die."</p> + +<p>The man looked away. Hard by the boat where there had been but a waste +of sea rose a green island. A stretch of pleasant meadow met his eyes. +It was so close to him that if he had leaned over the gunwale of the +boat he could have laid his hand on the lush grass. Dumbly he wondered +where it had been before, how he had come upon it so suddenly, why he +had not seen it hours ago.</p> + +<p>In front of him were hundreds of people, men, women, and children, plain +people in strange simple garb, the like of which he had never seen. In +front of these people and with their backs toward him stood a little +group of men, in the center a figure in white garments. A lad offered +something in a basket.</p> + +<p>The man watched, amazed, awe-stricken, yet with a strange peace in his +soul. He made no movement to gain the shore. He only looked and looked. +The white-robed figure bent over the basket. He lifted from it a crude +rough loaf of bread. He raised his eyes to heaven, his lips moved. He +broke the bread and gave it.</p> + +<p>As the sailor watched the island disappeared as suddenly as it had come. +The scene changed. Now he looked into a low room, dimly lighted with +strange lamps. Through an open window he saw the stars. The few men that +had stood about the man in the grassy meadow were alone with him in that +upper chamber reclining about a table. The man lifted from the board a +cup of silver. He blessed it and gave it. The fragrance of wine came to +the watcher.</p> + +<p>He rubbed his eyes and looked again and before him spread the smooth +unbroken surface of the monotonous sea. The woman's voice smote his ear +again, higher, shriller, with more painful entreaty.</p> + +<p>"A priest—for the love of God—the sacrament," she whispered.</p> + +<p>The man tore open the last canvas bread-bag. It was tough material but +it yielded to his insistence. In the corner there was a single tiny +crumb they had overlooked. He lifted it gently with his great hand. He +held it up in the air a moment striving to think. He was an English +sailor and in his boyhood had been a chorister in a great Cathedral. The +mighty words came back to him. He bent over the woman.</p> + +<div><br /></div> + +<div class="center"> +<a name='fig6' id='fig6'></a> +<img src="images/fig6.jpg" alt="The cry for bread." title="The cry for bread." /> +<br /> +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">The cry for bread.</p> +</div> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>"Bread," he whispered. "The body—"</p> + +<p>He shattered the water breaker with his fist. There was a suggestion of +moisture on the inside of the staves of the cask. He drew his finger +across them and touched it to the woman's lips.</p> + +<p>"Water," he said hoarsely. "The blood—"</p> + +<p>The terror, the yearning, disappeared from the woman's eyes. She looked +at the man sanely, gratefully.</p> + +<p>"God bless—" she faltered and then her lips stiffened.</p> + +<p>Some tag of quaint old Scripture that had impressed him when he first +heard it because of its very strangeness, but of which he had never +thought in all the years of his rough life since boyhood, came into the +man's mind now. He lifted his head as if to see again that figure.</p> + +<p>"A priest forever," he gasped, "after the order of Melchis—"</p> + +<p>He did not finish the word. The woman was dead. He knew now for what he +had been kept alive. His task had been performed. He bowed his head in +his hands and entered into life eternal with the others.</p> + +<p>Presently a little cloud flecked the sky. Out of the south the wind blew +softly. The smooth sea rippled blue and white in the gentle breeze. The +little boat, cradling its dead, rocked gently as it drifted on.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<hr /> + +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI" />XI</h2> + +<h2>The Stiller of the Storm</h2> + +<h3>"BE OF GOOD CHEER; IT IS I; BE NOT AFRAID"</h3> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p>"It's Christmas eve at home," murmured the young lad after he had said +his prayers and tumbled into his narrow berth on the great ship. "I +suppose they're trimming the Christmas tree now and hanging up the +stockings. I wish I were there."</p> + +<p>He was very young to serve his country, but not too young according to +the standards of mankind to be a midshipman on the great steel monster +keeping the leaden deep. It was the first time he had ever been away +from home on Christmas day, too. The youngsters had all laughed and +joked about it in the steerage mess. They had promised themselves some +kind of a celebration in the morning, but in his own cot with no one to +see, a few tears which he fondly deemed unmanly would come. He had the +midnight watch and he knew that he must get some sleep, but it was a +long time before he closed his eyes and drifted off to dream of home and +his mother.</p> + +<p>Athwart that dream came a sudden, frightful, heart-stilling roar of +destruction; a hideous crash followed, a terrible rending, breaking, +smashing, concatenation of noises, succeeded by frightful detonations, +as through the gaping hole torn in the great battleship by the deadly +torpedo, the water rushed upon the heated boilers, the explosion of +which in turn ignited the magazines. By that deadly underwater thrust of +the enemy the battleship was reduced in a few moments to a disjointed, +disorganized, sinking mass of shapeless, formless, splintered steel.</p> + +<p>As the explosions ceased, from every point rose shrieks and groans and +cries of men in the death-agony hurled into eternity and torn like the +steel. And then the boy heard the surviving officers coolly, resolutely +calling the men to their stations.</p> + +<p>He had been thrown from his berth by the violence of the explosion. His +face was cut and bleeding where he had struck a near-by stanchion. His +left arm hung useless. He had lain dazed on the deck for a few moments +until he heard the orders of his lieutenant. He was one of the signal +midshipmen stationed on the signal bridge. Whatever happened that was +the place to which to go; he still had a duty to perform.</p> + +<p>Picking himself up as best he could, he hurried to report to the +lieutenant. With such means as were available signals were made. Calls +for help? Oh, never! Warnings that the enemy's submarines were in the +near vicinity and that other ships should keep away.</p> + +<p>The captain was on the half wrecked bridge above. The boy noticed how +quiet he was, yet his voice rang over the tumult.</p> + +<p>"Steady, men, steady. Keep your stations. Stand by. Be ready."</p> + +<p>The old quartermaster whose business it was to tell the hours saluted +the captain.</p> + +<p>"Eight bells, sir," he said, "midnight. Christmas day," he added.</p> + +<p>"Strike them," said the captain.</p> + +<p>And, as clear as ever, the four couplets rang out over the chaos and the +disaster.</p> + +<p>"Christmas day," the boy murmured.</p> + +<p>"She's going, men," said the captain, as the cadences died away. "Save +yourselves. Abandon the ship."</p> + +<p>"Christmas morning," said the boy. "I wonder what they're doing at +home."</p> + +<p>"Overboard with you, youngster," said the signal lieutenant; "I wish I +had a life-preserver for you, but—"</p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas, sir," said the lad suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" said the man. "Merry Christmas! They will think of us at +home."</p> + +<p>What was left of the ship gave a mighty reel.</p> + +<p>"Quick or she'll suck you down," the officer roared, as he fairly flung +the boy into the water,—and how he hurt that broken arm! "You can swim. +Strike out. Good-by."</p> + +<p>The boy had caught a glimpse of the captain standing on the bridge as +the wreck went down and then the wild waters closed over his head. It +was frightfully cold. A hard gale was blowing. The waves ran terribly +high. His left arm was helpless. His head ached fiercely. What was the +use? Still the boy struck out bravely with his free hand. The instinct +of life! It was too dark to see. The sky was covered with drifting +clouds. Only here and there a little rift of moonlight came through.</p> + +<p>"Christmas morning," he sobbed out as the waves rolled him over. "Oh, my +God!"</p> + +<p>He felt himself going down. All at once the waters seemed to grow still. +It was suddenly calm. He was no longer cold. He threw his head up for +one last look at the sky and life and then he hung, as it were, +suspended in some strange way. He saw a figure walking across the smooth +of the seas as it had been solid ground. The figure drew nearer, the +wind seemed to have died away, but the draperies that shrouded it swung +gently as they would while a man walked along. The face he saw dimly, +vaguely, but there was light in it somehow. It came slowly nearer.</p> + +<p>"Christmas morning," whispered the boy.</p> + +<p>The hand of the figure reached down. It caught the boy's right arm. He +was lifted up.</p> + +<p>"Home and Christmas morning," whispered the boy, closing his eyes.</p> + +<p>The moonlight broke through a cloud and fell upon him. A wave rolled +over him and the sea was empty as before.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div><br /></div> + +<p class="center"><i>He that hath eyes to see, let him see!</i></p> + +<p> </p> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14606 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/14606-h/images/fig1.jpg b/14606-h/images/fig1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..35d4874 --- /dev/null +++ b/14606-h/images/fig1.jpg diff --git a/14606-h/images/fig2.jpg b/14606-h/images/fig2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f9ffc47 --- /dev/null +++ b/14606-h/images/fig2.jpg diff --git a/14606-h/images/fig3.jpg b/14606-h/images/fig3.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a03d582 --- /dev/null +++ b/14606-h/images/fig3.jpg diff --git a/14606-h/images/fig4.jpg b/14606-h/images/fig4.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..46fe23e --- /dev/null +++ b/14606-h/images/fig4.jpg diff --git a/14606-h/images/fig5.jpg b/14606-h/images/fig5.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6380073 --- /dev/null +++ b/14606-h/images/fig5.jpg diff --git a/14606-h/images/fig6.jpg b/14606-h/images/fig6.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e9b5f9e --- /dev/null +++ b/14606-h/images/fig6.jpg |
