The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1873-04-22
THE PATRIOT AND TRAITOR

ing On the arm of the scaveDger, thread
ed his way through the dark suburbs.
That very day strange man had
fallen speechless in front of the scav-
enger's rude home The good hearted
lstreet= sweeper, taken him In and
laid him on his own Ted, he had not
spoken once, and now he was dying.
This was the story Of the rough old
man.
And now through dark alleys, among
miserable tenements, that seemed to
topple down upon their heads, into the
loneliest suburbs they pass, that white
haired minister and his guide At last
in a narrow street and up fight of
stairs that creaked beneath their tread
and then into the death-room.
In one corner on coarse straw and q
ragged bed, lay the dying man. He
was but half dressed-his legs were
concealed by military boots.
The aged preacher drew near and
looked upon him. And as he looked
you might hear the death watch ticking
in the shattered wall.
1t was the folm of the strange man,
growing old with care more than age.
There was q face you might look on
once and yet wear it in your memory
forever. Let US bend over the he'd and
look on that face.
A bold forehead scanned by one deep
wrinkle between the owS-lOng locks
of dark hair, sprinkled with gray-lips
firmly set, yet quivering as though they
had life separate from the life Of the
man, and two large eyes, vivid, burn
ing and unnatural in their steady glare.
All, there was something so terrible
in that face-something SO full of un
utterable loneliness, unspeakable des.
pair-that the aged minister started
back in horror.
But look! those arms are clutching at
the vacant air, the death dew starts in
drops upon the cold brow-the man is
dying ~ %
Observation-Disclosures the death
watch in the shattered wall
"Would you, die In the faith of a
Christian?" faltered the preacher, as he
knelt there on the floor.
The white lips Of the death stricken
man trembled but made no sound.
Then, with agony of death upon him
he rose to sitting posture. For the
first time he spoke. : --sassg.a-
"Christain p he echoed in that deep
tone which thrilled the preacher TO the
heart, "Will that faith give me back my
honor Come with me-with me far.
far over the water IIa we are there
This is my native home; yonder is the
church in which l knelt in childhood
yonder the green on which l sported
when boy. But another flag than that
waved when was a child. And listen.
old man. were / to pass this street as
passed when but child, the very babes
in their cradels would rise their tinny
hands and curse me; the graves in yon-
der church-yard would shrink from my
footsteps, and yonder flag would stain q
baptism of blood on my heart
This was an awful death-bed. The
minister had watched the "last night
with hundred convicts in their cells,
and yet never beheld scene as terrible
as this. = sas.
I Suddenly, the dying man arose. He
tottered along the noors With those
white fingers, whose nails are blue with
death chill, he threw open the valise.-
He showed his military coat, trimmed
with silver; an old parchment, piece
of cloth that looked like the wreck of a
battle flag. Hstlo lo
aLook ye, priest, this faded coat is
spotted with my bloodr' he cried, as
old memories seemed stirring him.
"This is the last coat that ] wore when
+ / planted the banner of the stars on
Ticonderoga That bullet hole was
pierced in tn. fight at Quebec: now
am-let me whisper in your ear"
'.Now help me priest" he said in q
voice grown suddenly tremulous s.helr
me put on this coat Of blue and silver
For you see" and ghostly smile came
over his face "there is no one to wipe
the cold drops from my brow; no wife
While he stood arraying himself ir
that worm-eaten coat of blue and silver
the good preacher spoke TO him of faitf
in Jesus, yes, of that great faith which
pierces the clouds of human guilt anc
rolls them from the face of God.
| "Faith - echoed the strange man. who
stood there erect with death-light in hi:
eye. "Faith, can it give me back my
honor? Look ye, there over the waves
sits Geo. Washington, telling his com
rades the pleasant story of the eigh
years war; there in his royal hall sits
King George, bewailing in his idiotit
voice the loss of his colonies. Ant
here am who was the first to raise tht
flag of freedom, the first to strike thu
blow against that King--here am dy
ling like dog" fo
The awe-stricken preacher started
back from the look of the dying man
while throh, throb, beat the deathwatcl
in the wall
/. "Hush silence along the lines there,
he muttered in that wild, absent tone
as though speaking to the dead, "sl
lence along the lines Hark you Mont
gomery? we will meet there in victor,
or death. Hist I! silence my men, not
whisper as you move up those stee
rocks! Men Of the wilderness, we vii
gain the town; now up with the banne
of the stars, up with the flag of free
dom, though the night is dark and th
snow falls! Now" yelled the death
stricken man, towering there in the blu
uniform with his clenched hands ws
wing in the air "now one blow, an
Quebec is ours!'
His eyes grow CLASSY with that wor
on his lips. he stands there, o! what
! hideous picture of despair, erect, livi
and CHASTITY! There for moment, an
then fell He is dead, all, look at tbs
proud form thrown cold and stiff upo
the damp floor; in that CLASSY eye theI
fingers even yet, horrible energy,
sublimitY OF despair -.
Who is this strange man, dying her
alone in this rude garreti this man, who