Spirit of Jefferson. [volume] (Charles Town, Va. [W. Va.]) 1844-1948, 1873-07-08
MIs CELIA N EoU
THE RIGHT ARM;
The Patriot and the Traitor.


sqs city OF London. At the dead of the
night; when the storm was at its highest an
aged minister living near the suburbs of the
city. was aroused by an earnest cry for help.
Looking from his window he beheld d rude
man, clad in the coarse attire of the sweeper
of the public streets. Ina few moments.
while the rain came down in torrents, and the
storm growled above, the preacher, leaning on
the arm of the scavenger, threaded his way
through the dark suburbs.
That very day strange old man had fall
len speechless in front of tho scavengers rude
holne- The good hearted street sweeper had
taken him on his own bed-he had not. spoken
once-and he was dying. al
This was the story of the rough man.
And now, thro' dark alleys. among misora-
ole tenements, that seem to topple down upon
their heads, into the loneliest and dreariest
suburbs they pass-that white haired minister
and his guido at last; in narrow court, aud
up flight of stairs that creaked beneath
their tread. and then into the death room.
IT was, in truth miserable place.
glimmering light stood on a broken chair
There were the rough walls. there the soli>
tary garret window, with the rain beating
through the rags and straw, which stuffed the
broken paues-and there, amid heap of cold
ashes, the small valise which it seems the
stranger had with him.
In one corner, on the coarse straw of the
ragged bed lay the dying man. He was half
dressed-his legs were concealed by military
boots.
The aged prcncher drew near and looked
upon him And as he looked d-throb-throb
you might hear the death>watch ticking in
the shattered wall.
1t was the form Of a strong man, grown old
with care more than age.
There was face that you might look upon
once, and yet wear in your memory forever
Let us bend over the bed and look on the
face
A bold forehead, scanned by one deem
wrinkle between the brows-lope locks of
dark hair sprink led with gray-lips firmly set.
yet quivering as though they had a life sepa-
rate from the life of the man-and then. two
large eyes, vivid, burning unnatural in their
steady glare.
I All, there was something SO terrible in that
face-something SO full of unutterable lone
Illness, unspeakable despair; that the aaed
minister started back in horror.
But look, those strong arms are cltftchine
at the vacant air-the death sweat starts in
drops upon the cold brow-the man is diving.
Throb! throb! tbrob! beats the death. watch
in the shattered wall.
''Would you die 10 the faith of Chris
tian Z" faltered the preacher, as he knelt
there on the dark floor.
The white lips of the death-stricken man
trepIbled, but made no sound.
Then with the agony of death t,pon him,
he rose to sitting posture. For the first
time he spoke:
Christian 2" he echoed. in that deep tone
which thrilled the preacher to the heart,
"wili faith give rne back my honor? Come
with me-with me, far. far over the water.
Hal we are there! This is nv native home.
4onder is the church in which knelt in
childhood d-yonder, the green on which
spotted when boy. But another flag than
that waved when I was child And listen.
old man, were I to pass the street as 1 passed
when but child, the babes in their cradles
would raise their tiny hands and curse me-
The graves in yonder church-yard would
shrink from my Footsteps. and yonder flag
would strain baptism of blood upon nv
heart"
That was awful death bed The min-
lister has watched the "last night" with a
hundred convicts in their cells. and We. never
beheld scene so.terrible as this.
Suddenly the dying man arose. He tot>
tered along the floor. With those white fin
gers, whose nails are blue with the death
chill he threw open the valisc. He showed
the military coat, trimmed with silver, an old
parchment, piece of cloth that looked like
the wreck of a bat.le-fag.
'1.ook ye, priest, this faded coat ia spotted
with my blood ]" he cried, as old memories
seemed stirring at his head. ..This is the
last coat wore when planted the stars on
Ticonderoga. The bullet hole was pierced in
the fight at Quebec; now am a-let me
whisper in your ear
CHOW, help me, priest" he said, in voice
growing suddenly tremulous, ..help me put
on this coat of blue and silver For YOU see. %
and n ghastly smile came over his face. sthere
is no one to wipe the cold drops from my
brow no wife, no child must meet death
alone; but will meet him as me. him in